Before I slammed the phone down on the cradle I heard my mom begin to wail. Her cry was so sad and desperate I was tempted to run back to Taylorsville and comfort her; stay so she wouldn’t suffer, but self-preservation won out. I decided I didn’t need any permanency; I’d wind up trapped like her.
An existence without roots appealed to me.
***
In the fall of 1969 I traveled with a small group from California to Arizona. We took the I-10 through the desert in a beat-up Jeep. Smoke trailed out behind us as we consumed one joint after another. I had my long skirt bunched up around my thighs, the sun made my skin feel dry and tight and the wind tangled my hair into tiny knots. Kevin, one of the two guys in our group sat next to me in the backseat and held my hand. We weren’t dating, but had slept together in San Diego at a commune. He decided to tag along for a change of scenery. Carly, a girl I met in San Francisco and who was a free spirit like me, sat in the front passenger seat. The guy driving the Jeep was someone Carly latched on to at a Dead show. He mentioned to her his intentions to travel to Arizona and, sensing an adventure, begged him to let us tag along. I’d heard from her past conquests that a half-naked Carly is difficult to turn down.
We drove straight through Phoenix to the ASU campus in Tempe. A protest against the U.S. presence in Vietnam was scheduled for the next day and we made our way to a sports field where a crowd had already begun to form. By nightfall more people had shown up and a party was in full swing. I wound up getting blitzed. A local band started to play and I twirled around, barefoot on the grass. Then I happened to glance over at the edge of the crowd and spotted Carly and Kevin kissing. She had her legs wrapped around his waist and his arms formed a brace under her ass. Now I never considered myself a jealous person, and I didn’t have a claim on Kevin, except I had slept with him first. In the frame of mind I was in, the sight of them together, flipped a switch.
I stomped over to them and started screaming. “What are you doing? Kevin’s mine!” I yelled at Carly.
They stopped kissing and both looked at me like they didn’t recognize me at first.
“What?” Carly asked.
“Kevin’s mine.”
Carly looked at Kevin and then laughed. “I don’t think so. He wouldn’t be all over me if that was the case.”
“Yeah babe, I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Fuck you both then!” By this point I had tears pouring down my face. I ran away from the crowd, needing to be alone to get my head together. The emotional outburst left me thirsty and slightly nauseated.
I set out to find a bathroom and food. A 7-11 provided both and I sat on a curb sipping a cup of water debating where to go from there when an avocado green Volkswagen van pulled into the spot next to me. Several guys got out. One of them, a guy with tan skin and long brown hair caught my attention. He smiled at me as he walked past. The way his hair hung in his blue eyes reminded me of Johnny. I turned my head every once in a while to watch his progress through the store and was quick to pretend I wasn’t looking when he came out.
Hitchhiking was my mode of transportation. Everyone did it. After I left Vegas, I discovered how easy it was. I just had to show some skin and cars would pull over, their male drivers begging for me to ride with them. If I had to do a favor in exchange, so be it. Peace and Love, man. I was wearing a prairie style dress that had a long skirt and deep neckline. I pulled this down to reveal more cleavage and hiked my skirt up to show some leg.
“Do you need a ride or something?” the guy asked, coming to a stop in front of me, his eyes glued to my breasts.
I looked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“You should come with us. There’s a music festival going on in Flagstaff.”
“Okay.”
He held out his hand and helped me up off the cement. He introduced himself as Troy and squeezed into the back of the van with me. After getting comfortable, I ran my fingers through my long blond hair and lit up a jay. The party had begun.
Tabs of acid were passed around and I helped myself. One of the guys jammed out on his guitar and we all grooved along with him. I closed my eyes and let the drugs take hold. Troy’s fingers danced along my spine and I leaned against him, my head rolling on his shoulder as I listened to the music. His lips found mine and the kiss was gentle at first. I kissed him back and this encouraged him. His tongue slid into my mouth and my drug addled mind interpreted it as a snake. I jerked away, but Troy’s hand was on my back, holding me close. It was too close and my chest began to tighten. Suddenly things got weird. I started hearing things and smelling smoke, only it wasn’t from the joint being passed around. I opened my eyes and the inside of the van was on fire. The men that had been sitting around us were melting.
Screaming, I leapt forward out of my seat and tried to get the driver to pull over by pounding on the back of his headrest. He kept yelling at me to shut up and batted at my hands. Flaming arms wrapped around my waist from behind, scorching my stomach through my dress. I was being dragged back into the inferno and fought every step. A human torch stood in front of me and slapped me. It felt like my cheek had ignited, adding to my hysteria. I noticed the van had finally pulled over to the side of the road. The sliding door opened and I was tossed out onto a clearing. Flames jumped out of the van licking at my legs.
Suddenly Troy was on top straddling me, half of his face was melting off and as disgusting as it was, I was grossly fascinated and reached up to touch the distorted flesh, but he grabbed my wrist and pinned it over my head. It suddenly registered that I wasn’t in a good situation. I screamed and clawed at his melting face like a feral barn cat.
“You bitch!” he bellowed and backhanded me before ripping the top of my dress apart, exposing my breasts. I started screaming again, struggling against his weight. He ignited as if my protests acted as an accelerant. They excited another part of him too that I felt pressing against me, growing harder the more I struggled against him. Troy’s hair went up like a candle wick and it raced over his body. The heat kept increasing and I noticed the skin on my chest bubbling. Kicking, fighting and screaming did nothing to deter him. His friends didn’t do anything either, in fact a few were cheering him on while only one kept yelling at him to stop. Troy shifted and lifted my skirt. I wasn’t wearing any underwear and didn’t have any barriers left. Everywhere he touched burned.
To silence my screams, Troy put his free hand over my mouth, covering my nose in the process. I thought my nose was going to crush under the pressure. Breathing became increasingly difficult. Black spots appeared in my line of vision. I twisted my head in a final attempt to break out from underneath his hold. I saw three phantoms off to the side; two men and a woman. They glowed in the dark and their presence was strangely comforting.
The burning stopped and I was no longer pinned to the ground. I turned back to see Troy and his friends getting back into the van. The fire had been extinguished. Not a trace remained, no charring, no scorch marks, nothing. The sliding door slammed shut and the Volkswagen peeled out.
When I went to sit up to see if the strangers were still with me, I noticed my head and upper torso were still on the ground and I was staring down at them. It was if I had peeled a carbon copy of myself up. With a yelp, I attempted to jump to my feet, but wound up practically floating over my body. LSD, it has to be the LSD, was my first thought. I sensed a presence to my left. The woman approached, glowing brighter than earlier. If she didn’t have curves I probably would have mistaken her for a boy as she wore dark denim jeans and a flannel shirt. Her dark hair was short and tucked behind her ears.
She told me her name was Juanita and then she said life no longer existed for me. I slapped her and my hand passed through her face as if it was made of air. Startled, I stepped backwards onto the highway and directly into the path of a speeding Mustang convertible. I stood, frozen in place, and it drove right through me. The driver didn’t even flinch.
He couldn’t see me.
I walked ba
ck and stood watch over my lifeless body. Juanita stayed by my side. She told me the names of the two other ghosts who were respectfully keeping their distance.
It didn’t take long after dawn for my corpse to be discovered. Unfortunately it was by a family in a station wagon. The father got out of the car and made his wife and four young children stay inside. He picked up the tattered remains of my dress and covered my exposed body, making me more presentable. I thanked him, but he couldn’t hear me.
I thought of my parents and how they were going to get the news. I hadn’t seen them in close to two years since I ran away from home. I did what I had to do to get by and I’m not ashamed of it. I had permanently disqualified myself from the Church of Latter Day Saints and couldn’t be happier.
Hours later our little patch on the side of the highway was a full blown crime scene. A news crew drove up from Phoenix to do a story on the latest victim of the sixties counterculture. How I was just one of many beautiful girls who lived fast and died young. I tried to rip the microphone from the dude’s hand and tell him that no one deserved to die the way I did. It wasn’t my fault. My efforts to be seen or heard were futile. I was forced to helplessly stand by as I was made into an example.
The family was interviewed by police, by the media and then by the police again. When they were dismissed the father looked like he had aged ten years. Bags had formed under his eyes and a frown dragged his face down like Droopy Dog. He was probably thinking of his own daughter. As the station wagon pulled away, the youngest child, a boy with the biggest dark blue eyes I had ever seen, waved at us. Juanita and I reflexively raised our arms and waved back. The boy smiled and waved one more time before turning around to sit facing forward.
“Juanita, I understand I’m invisible. I mean, I had a fucking Mustang drive through me, but that kid saw us didn’t he?”
“I believe he did.” Lawrence answered. I hadn’t seen him join us. We all stared after the station wagon until the taillights disappeared.
“Far out! So other people might be able to see us?”
“I don’t know, I guess it’s possible. We’ve never had that happen before,” he said.
“Good, let’s find someone who can see and hear us. I memorized the license plate of the van those men were driving. They can’t get away with what they did to Georgia,” Frank said. He pulsed and flickered with intensity, unlike the others.
“Hey man, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but how are we going to find someone?”
Turns out we only had to wait eight years, which really isn’t that long when you have eternity stretching out ahead of you. Unfortunately, when that someone who could see us arrived, it didn’t turn out quite as we hoped.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Margaret “Peggy” Wellington
b.1948 – d.1977
BEFORE
This is nice - our third date and we’re at Durant’s – very high class. I am impressed. Is it too early to sleep with him? I think he deserves it after taking me here. He must like me. I smile across the candle lit table at my date. He smiles back and cuts into his T-bone. Blood runs out and pools underneath his steak. Durant’s is one of the oldest steakhouses in Phoenix and it has a 1940’s Hollywood charm; dim lighting, dark wood and plush maroon velvet seats. I’ve been here twice: once for my parent’s twentieth anniversary dinner and then again after I got my associate degree.
He even ordered a bottle of wine. He must like me. He’s nice and has thick hair, like Ryan O’Neal…doesn’t talk much, though. Yes, I think tonight’s the night. I won’t be considered easy, it is our third date. Wait, what…is he? Oh my God! Is he really? Ewww, he is! He is picking his nose right in front of me! Not a casual pick either, like he has an itch, but a full on, finger up the nose pick. I can’t believe this! Should I say something? I think I’m going to be sick. Gross and I kissed him!
Brian examines his finger before wiping it on his napkin then he resumes sawing off another bite of meat. Is he really going to act like that didn’t just happen?
“Brian, I’m not feeling well.”
“Do you want to go home?” He sets his cloth napkin on the table and starts to get up.
“Oh no, you stay here and finish your dinner. You can’t waste it. I’ll take a cab.” Thank God I ordered a salad; I’d feel guilty leaving a good steak behind.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Uh, okay. I’ll call tomorrow to check on you?”
“Um…I’ll call you.” I say over my shoulder as I practically sprint from the table, my purse tucked under my arm like a wide receiver cradling a football.
***
Three Months Later
I check my appearance in the compact and dust powder under my eyes; a growing habit since I turned 29 and noticed the bags becoming more visible. A man walks toward the table and I quickly stash the make-up in my purse and ready a smile. Our eyes meet and my heart stops. Wow! Stacy really set me up with the hunk of the year! Will I even be able to talk to him? I wait for him to say something, but in an instant he is moving past the table and into the arms of another woman. Damn! I wait for twenty more minutes and call it. I’d never been stood up on a blind date before. I pay for my glass of wine with the little bit of cash I have in my wallet and drive home to my apartment.
The pantyhose come off first, followed by my earrings. I wash my face and use the magnified mirror for a closer examination. The results don’t bolster my spirits. At this rate, I’m going to be an old maid. There has to be a guy out there for me…a soul mate.
I let out a sigh and turn off the bathroom light. That night I fall asleep and visions of marital bliss dance in my head.
In the morning, I feel better and wake with a renewed perspective. I haven’t always been in a race for the altar. My goals after high school were to go to college and pursue a corporate career. I’ve done all that. I’m an executive assistant for the Vice President of Research and Development at Motorola. I don’t live with my parents; I pay all of my bills and can take care of myself (as long as I adhere to a modest budget). Lately, I’ve started to experience panic attacks. Moments where I’m convinced I will die alone and will never share my life with anyone. These attacks usually occur after attending a bridal or baby shower; and there have been more of them this year. I avoid the second floor of Goldwater’s at the MetroCenter Mall because the very sign for Bridal Registry causes palpitations.
My father thinks I’m nuts. I think he doesn’t want to chuck out the money for another wedding and my mom thinks I’m past my prime. None of them are a lot of help. Neither are my two sisters, both younger than me, who are happily married. They have joined in with my married friends on a charity effort. I’m the charity. Their mission is to set me up with a decent man. After last night, though, I need a break. I’m okay with where I am, I tell my reflection in the mirror, after applying lipstick. If I am meant to fall in love, it will happen.
***
Four Months Later
God, this is worse than sitting at the singles table at a wedding. The hostess brings my order out in a paper bag and I eagerly jump up to meet her at the cash register. All I want is a chicken enchilada dinner, the no. 5 entrée special. It is Valentine’s Day and I am prepping to hide away like most single people, but won’t hide away hungry. I thought grabbing take out instead of venturing into the depressing grocery store was the lesser of two evils on this holiday. Seeing all the occupied tables for two makes me wish I opted for the freezer section or delivery.
“Just one dinner?” the hostess asks. I can see the pity in her eyes.
“That’s right!” I muster up a big smile and leave. Once inside my Datsun I let the smile crumble. My next stop is the liquor store. I don’t care that it’s Monday and I have a big meeting to oversee tomorrow.
I get home, lock the door behind me and put on my pajamas before flipping on the television. After adjusting the antennae, I sink down onto the sofa with my enchilada and bottle of wine.
The Next Morning
I can’t get out of bed, I just can’t. I flip over onto my side and stare at the clock. The time gives me the power to move. It’s after seven already and it takes a half hour to get to work. I need to hustle (Do the hustle!) if I’m going to make it by eight. The big wigs are coming into town for a huge meeting and I need to make sure the coffee and pastries are ready.
I’m three minutes late, but thankfully my boss hasn’t arrived yet. A box from the copy center sits on my desk containing reports for the meeting. I walk down the hallway to the conference room, the carpet muffling the click clack of my heels. The caterers are already setting up an ornate breakfast display of bite sized pastries and exotic fruits. A row of stainless steel coffee urns reflects the sunlight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. The brightness exacerbates the dull ache festering behind my temples. A quick flick of the cord on the vertical blinds diverts the beams. It’s going to be a very long day. I help myself to a cup of coffee before walking back to my desk.
Just as I move around my desk to take a seat, the elevator doors open and my boss, Harvey Phelps, steps out, followed by five men in business suits. He is deep in conversation with the group and breezes past me without acknowledgement. I sink with relief into my chair. Mornings are unpredictable and I never know if a big project may have materialized overnight during an overseas meeting that took place while I slept.
With Mr. Phelps preoccupied, I lay my head on my desk and pray for my hangover to go away. The usual miracle of coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.
A throat clears and I sit up, blinking my eyes. My boss is staring down his nose at me.
“Oh, I’m so sorry sir! I’m not feeling well this morning.”
End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1) Page 9
