by Cory Hiles
I closed my eyes and shook my head, completely shocked by June’s response. “Wait!” I said incredulously, “You knew about Miss Lilly’s husband being a ghost?”
June looked at me like I was stupid and said, “Of course. Lilly told me about Louie before she moved in here, she was afraid that he might get lost trying to find his way here. Turns out she was right to worry.”
I was completely flummoxed. “You…You’re ok with the idea of a dead guy living here?” I asked.
“Well, it’s not as bad as all that, Hon. He’ll come and go of course. He’s not entirely trapped in this world like so many other ghosts, or at least that’s what Lilly says, but it’s not like he’s gonna be watchin’ us every minute. Fear not, Soldier, you can still shower without voyeurs.”
June could see that I was shocked by her complete acceptance of the supernatural and reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “Johnny,” she said, “It’s ok to be a little afraid of ghosts. They’re beyond our complete comprehension, but I promise you they are not to be feared. Besides, you have a gift—the ability to see them far more so than most other people…Yes, Lilly told me about your eye a long time ago—so you among all people need to be ready to accept them for who they are.”
I wanted to tell June that I was not afraid of the ghosts but I had been afraid of how she would respond when faced with one. But I decided that it would be kinder to let her think that I had been afraid of the supernatural, and that she had assuaged my fears.
So I thanked her for the talk and told her how much better I felt. And that was true, I did feel better, but only because I understood that life was getting weirder and weirder and it was a comfort to know that June was ok with that.
I still had Rose on my mind and felt like I needed a little time to myself in order to fully process what was rapidly becoming the weirdest morning of my entire life, so I excused myself from the table and went upstairs to think.
When I got to my room I sat on my bed and went to my dresser where I kept my old battered dictionary. I had not used the dictionary for several years, but had never forgotten its importance in my life. It was bound to be a priceless treasure that I would keep until my dying day.
I opened up the dictionary, not to find a word, but to find a note; a note that I had stuck inside of it years before. Because the note had been kept for so long inside the dictionary, it was still in remarkably good condition.
I took the note and placed the dictionary back in the drawer. Then I walked over and sat on my bed. I sat there for quite some time just staring at the note, reading aloud softly, over and over.
La tristesse se lave l'âme, mais il peut se laver l'âme de suite.
Having studied French on my own and at the Academy, my French had gotten rather good and I could have translated the note verbatim even if I had not already known what it said. As it was, I was able to read it aloud in French with very little accent.
After reciting the message several times, but being unable to conjure up the sensual imagery that had accompanied the note in my youth, I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling feeling glum.
I whispered to the ceiling, “Where are you, Rose? Where did you go? I want to see you once more.”
Deciding that lying around feeling sorry for myself because I could not see nor contact a dead girl that I was not even certain existed was a bad idea, I got up and set the note on my night table and headed back downstairs.
I still had a new book to read, summer still belonged to me, and I did not intend to spend it pining away on imaginary romance.
By the end of the day I had managed to read most of my book, take in a few hours of television, cook supper for the family (Miss Lilly seemed to be pretty busy that day), and almost forget about the yearning I had been overwhelmed with earlier that day.
Louie apparently had decided not to join us for supper, or perhaps had been unable to join us, for Miss Lilly was alone when she came to the supper table.
She seemed to be in a strange wistful, yet joyful mood through supper, but she did not say much. June and I had enough courtesy not to pester her with questions about her day, and instead we began discussing our favorite books, many of which all three of us had read at some point in our lives.
After supper Miss Lilly and I did the dishes together and she opened up a bit more about her day, telling me about the talk that she’d had with Louie, and how he’d managed to materialize for her three more times that day, though only for a few seconds each time.
I had developed a new fascination for how the spirit world worked and had a million questions for Miss Lilly as she washed and I dried.
Miss Lilly seemed happy enough to answer my questions as best she knew how and I learned many things about ghosts—or Shadows as Miss Lilly referred to them.
One thing I learned was that a wandering soul is not always trapped here; she used Louie as an example.
“Now my Louie,” she said, “him is no’ stuck here in dis world. Him be able to come visit often, but him free to travel between dis world and de spirit world. But him not be able to stay long in dis world. It use all him energy to be here, an’ him has to go back to de spirit world sometimes to charge up him batteries, cause him not be learnin’ how to charge up all de way here yet.”
I also learned that it takes a spirit, or soul, ghost or Shadow—whatever you choose to call it—a very long time to learn how to control the energy in their new spirit body.
The spirit body is pure energy, and just as it takes an infant a long time to learn to control their physical body, it takes the dead a long time to figure out how to control their new spiritual body.
Generally the spirits learn to manipulate objects first, then they learn to manifest themselves into a physical appearance, and finally they learn to communicate vocally, but it takes them a very long time to achieve all three steps. And it takes a tremendous amount of energy to achieve any behavior that would alert us to their presence.
I was fascinated by all the information that Miss Lilly was giving me and I considered her to be quite an authority on the subject, so it startled me a little bit when she suddenly stopped washing dishes and started asking me questions.
“Boo,” She said, “dis mornin’ you done told me dat you could smell my Louie, even b’fore you could see him.”
“Yes, that’s right,” I replied, “I could smell pipe tobacco, really strong. It was almost like someone had actually just lit a pipe right next to me and had blown the smoke into my face.”
Miss Lilly put on a contemplative countenance and said, “Hmm. Den you says you seen him when I could no’ see him?”
I pictured the scene from the morning in my mind and answered, “Yeah, I could see… like a shadow of him, standing beside you with an arm around your back. But I could not see any features or anything. He was just a transparent one dimensional form of a man, kind of gray colored.”
“I ain’t never done heard of no one wit’ de eye also havin’ a nose for de Shadows, Boo. An’ I always been considered strong in de eye, but I could no’ see nothin’ dis mornin’ when you could. I tink, Boo, dat you eye be de strongest eye I ever done hear tell of, an’ you gonna have great power with de Shadows. You gonna be helpin’ many o’ dem where others can no’ help.”
I didn’t know what to say. I was uncomfortable with the idea of being better than anybody at anything, and especially when it came to the supernatural and Miss Lilly. I did not think I wanted the responsibility of having some strange gift that let me see the dead where others could not, and certainly did not want the responsibility of helping the dead.
I had not decided what I wanted to do with my life after graduation, but I was fairly certain that it had nothing to do with chasing dead people around trying to pull splinters from their toes so they could have a happy afterlife.
Miss Lilly must have seen my discomfort for she dried her hands on a dish towel and placed her hands gently, but firmly on my shoulders, forcing me to look her
in the eye and said, “Child, don’ be afraid of you gift. You not ready yet, but one day you be ready, an’ when dat happen’ you gonna be doin’ de greatest ting a man can do with him life; helpin’ de helpless with problems dat have eternal consequences.”
I was not completely convinced of my desire to hang out with ghosts for the rest of my life, but I did take a liking to the concept of a purposeful existence that helped others to find rest for eternity.
Eternal blessing seemed to me to be a much grander concept than simply feeding a poor man. Feeding a poor man was a blessing to that man, no doubt, and a noble endeavor that should not be overlooked; however, when you bless the living, the blessing can only last for a season. The hungry man that you fed will be hungry again the following day.
If you are able to bless the dead, however, the life span of that blessing is eternal. It will not be a moot blessing in a day, week, month, or millennia. It will bless them forever.
I thanked Miss Lilly for her answers and for my pep talk as we finished up the dishes. I gave her a kiss goodnight and excused myself to go to bed. I had much to consider and was already weary from having considered so much that day.
I met June in the living room and kissed her goodnight as well and went off to take a shower and go to bed.
I stopped by my bedroom on my way to the shower to grab some pajamas and noticed a very faint trace of a familiar rose smell in my room when I entered. My heart leapt into my throat and I looked excitedly around the room with expectations of seeing Rose standing somewhere.
My heart sank, however, as my scan of the room revealed nothing out of the ordinary. I figured that the hint of scent was likely just a trace that had been left behind on the note I’d pulled from my dictionary and left on my table.
I grabbed my pajamas and headed for the shower, chastising myself for being so foolish. I really needed to come to terms with the fact that Rose either did not ever exist, or if she had, she was long gone.
After my shower I felt even more tired than I had before, so I had planned on going straight to bed; forgoing my usual habit of reading in bed until I grew sleepy. As I entered my room I saw the note still sitting on my night table and figured I had better stow it back into my dictionary before I managed to destroy it somehow.
I grabbed it up and was halfway across the room to my dresser when I happened to glance at it and notice new words written on it.
I was so surprised by the discovery that I dropped the note and let out a small holler of surprise. I recovered quickly and dived for the note so I could read it properly.
Pas Rose. Je suis Elle… J'ai été en attente.
“Not Rose. I am Elle… I have been waiting.” I translated out loud.
The words were written just below the original message in the exact same neat, feminine, and flowing script. Looking at it filled my mind once again with images of an indistinct female form, flowing and dancing, indeed undulating in an expression of pure beauty that inspired longing rather than lust to fill my heart.
I was confused about the message however. It appeared to make no sense. I carried the note back to bed with me and stared at it for a long while, trying to decipher its meaning.
After awhile I grew too sleepy to think clearly and was not any closer to grasping the meaning of the note than I had been when I started, so I laid it on the table and clicked off my lamp.
Just as I was drifting away into the realm of dreams I was struck with the note’s meaning. It was a direct answer to questions I had asked aloud earlier that day!
Just that morning as I lay on my bed I had whispered aloud “Where are you, Rose? Where did you go? I want to see you once more.”
The note was a response. Her name was not Rose, it was Elle, and she had been waiting! I sat up in bed, suddenly feeling less tired, fueled by the sudden knowledge that Elle was not a figment of my imagination, and she was not gone.
But waiting? I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what she had been waiting for. I tried asking her what she’d been waiting for aloud, hoping that since that tactic had worked once it might very well work again.
I got no direct response. I waited for nearly half an hour for some kind of contact, but none came. What did come was the return of my fatigue, and I finally drifted off to sleep.
The following day seemed to be a harbinger for the rest of my summer. There was no response from Elle, and there were no earth shatteringly weird events that rocked the foundations of my world. The day was mundane and nothing at all unexpected that happened that day; or for the rest of the summer.
Throughout the summer I had taken up the habit of leaving a pad of paper and a pen on my night stand, and tried asking Elle many questions every night before I went to sleep, but I never got another response on my pad of paper.
I was disappointed, of course, that I got no reply, but somehow I had the impression that she was hiding, just beyond the limits of my ability to notice her, and she was listening. And with that idea in my head I was able to comfort myself with the hope that I was still developing a relationship with her.
I knew that if I had tried to tell anybody about my evening habit of talking to someone I believed to be listening, but who was hiding and who was either dead or non-existent, they would assume I was crazy. But I had long ago made up my mind that I would never be crazy, and had already self analyzed my behavior to death and decided that I had more than enough evidence in the form of two notes to justify and validate my behavior.
Louie popped in regularly through the summer, sometimes completely visible, most of the time, however, just as a shadow. Sometimes Miss Lilly was aware of his presence and sometimes she wasn’t.
Often Shadow Louie would make gestures to me indicating his desire to remain unnoticed, and he would just spend the entire day following Miss Lilly around without her knowledge, rubbing her shoulders or with a hand on her back, evidently blissfully content just to be in her presence.
Louie had mastered the art of object manipulation early in his second life and I often sat at the kitchen table with him playing cards. His company was always a pleasure to me, though I suspect that he cheated at cards, because I never beat him—not one time.
And so the summer of 1997 drew to a close. Only one day from the whole summer had seemed extraordinary to me, but there had been joy and pleasure to be found in each and every day of the summer, and as school started up again I was happy to go back, knowing that I had managed to make the most of my break and had fully conquered the summer.
CHAPTER 25
Two full years passed before I had any encounters with Elle again. By that time I had almost begun to believe once more that she was simply a figment of my imagination—an amazing, lovely figment—but a figment nonetheless.
School had continued to progress wonderfully during those two silent years. I excelled in every course, including mathematics, and found myself on the honor roll over and over again.
June and Miss Lilly were constantly telling me how proud they were of me, and though I pretended to be tired of their praise and was continually telling them it was unnecessary, I secretly loved every single syllable of it.
I loved them both so much and appreciated all the love and blessings they’d poured on me over the course of nine years that I truly loved to make them proud. It was not in arrogance that I loved their praise, but a feeling that I was in some small way paying back a certain measure of their kindnesses to me by making them proud.
On my sixteenth birthday Miss Lilly baked me the most wonderful cake I had ever eaten. It was truly a piece of Heaven on earth and I was almost reluctant to share any of it with the ladies who had saved my life and my sanity and had made me into a better person.
After the four of us finished supper and cake at the dining room table (Louie had decided to join us for the celebration) June asked me to go out to the garage and bring in a box of her old records so we could spend the evening listening to them together.
It is a testament to how
much I loved and respected June that the idea of sitting around the front room on my sixteenth birthday listening to old music with a woman who for all intents and purposes was my mother, was actually an appealing idea.
There are just not enough words in the English language to explain the depth of my love for June and Miss Lilly. They were both my mother, they were my safe place, (yes, even at sixteen years old a man needs a safe place) and they were my best friends and I enjoyed their company tremendously.
When I opened the side door to the garage, I nearly fell down from the shock. Sitting in the usually empty space in the middle of the garage was a brand new Honda Accord with a big red bow on top.
I screamed and whooped and hollered several times and must have aroused Louie’s curiosity because he came out of the house, right past Miss Lilly and June who were standing on the porch, and stood beside me in the doorway to the garage, where I was still standing and jumping around and screaming like a contestant on Let’s Make A Deal.
Louie had gotten much better at making himself visible by that point in time (though June could still not see him even when he did fully materialize) and he chose to become fully visible in that moment; most likely so he could mock me.
He stepped directly in front of me so I would be forced to look at him, opened his eyes as wide as they would go, and opened his mouth wide—as if he were screaming—and waved his hands around wildly.
After a few seconds of wild arm waving, Louie put his hands on his cheeks and kept mock screaming while jumping up and down in place. I couldn’t help but laugh at his little display.
Laughing at Louie’s antics only seemed to fuel his desire to be more obnoxious. He began spinning in circles and stomping his feet, while still holding his hands against his cheeks, and then ran over to the car and leaned over the hood, spreading his arms over it as if he were giving it a hug.
Suddenly he jumped up in the air and landed on his feet on the hood. He placed his hands on his hips and wiped the mock shock look off his face and instead put on a stern emotionless face and began dancing a Russian jig on the hood of my new car.
