I was participating in my writing prompt group today and didn't notice that my phone had frozen. I had glanced at it a few times and it looked like everyone was still writing. The twelve minutes we were given to write lasted about forty minutes and I didn't notice. When I did notice, the writing prompt session was almost over.
The story below is what arose from my concentration. The prompt was, "The person in the picture. "
Everyone was crying which was at odds with the beautiful summer day. Mom made me wear this frilly black dress, the one with the matching hat that had a pretty black rose on the band. I liked the hat but the dress was hot and it itched.
One by one people slowly walked by the square box of ashes. The box was about as big as my jewelry box and had golden edges. Suddenly my mom grabbed my hand and started dragging me out of my folding chair.
I resisted at first. For one, how many eleven year olds needed to have their hands held. I was also a bit worried that I would start bawling like the rest of them. I’ve always been an emotional reactive person. I could feel emotions of the people around me and I didn’t like to cry in front of people. As we waited our turn in line, inching slowly forward, I was able to see more clearly what everyone was fussing over.
Next to the box was a picture of a man. I recognized the man from our trip to the Keys. He was a friend of my uncles, I think. The man in the picture had a black beard, thick black hair, brown eyes and was wearing a dark blue suit. He looked a lot like a man that was standing near the box. But the man near the box was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, khacki shorts and sandals. It seemed a bit out of place among the black suits, but I silently applauded him for wearing what he wanted to this shindig.
There were a lot of people here at this thing and the line moved at a snail’s pace, but as we neared the box mom started crying. It kind of looked like that fake cry she used to get extra cash from dad when he dropped me off after the weekend. I could handle the fake cry; I felt nothing when she did that.
In line, I heard a guy say to another, “He got what he deserved that no good cheating son of a …
“Quiet, there are children!” spat a white haired man next to him.
“Oh,” the man with the black hair glanced at me, smiled and said, “Sorry kid!”
He continued talking to the old man, “He shouldn’t have stolen our inheritance, then he wouldn’t have become alligator bait!”
The two men lowered their voices but kept whispering to each other. My mom’s bawling got louder, it was kind of embarrassing.
When we got to where the box was she said something that made me pause. She said, “Jerry, why did you have to leave us? Why couldn’t you listen and stay home. You knew it wasn’t safe to go out in the boat in weather like that. We are going to miss you!”
I scrunched up my nose wondering why my mom was blabbering about a missing Jerry. Then it hit me. Jerry, that was the name of my uncle’s friend; The man that had the air boats and showed us the alligators. He was a lot of fun. I looked at the man in the colorful shirt. He smiled at me and gave a thumbs up. I smiled back.
My mom jerked my shoulders and uttered a “Quit smiling!” at me. Then, with no trace of tears in her voice said, “That’s no way to act at a funeral.”
“Whose funeral is it? “ I whispered
“It’s Jerry, Uncle Jasper’s brother-in-law.”
“It can’t be.”
“Yes it is, look at the picture, that’s who we are saying goodbye to today.”
“You mean that person in the picture is Jerry?”
“Yes.”
“Um mom.”
“What?”
“It can’t be Jerry.”
“Hush, you’ll embarrass me.”
“But mom..”
“What?”
“Jerry is here. He’s standing right There.”
“You better stop joking around right now.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Shhh, don’t let anyone hear you talk like that.” Mom then let out another wail and shoved tissues into her eyes.
I looked up at Jerry and he winked at me.
That’s when I realized, nobody else was looking at Jerry, because they couldn’t see him.
I stared at Jerry. He shrugged his shoulders, pointed a finger at me and mouthed, “See ya later kid” then he disappeared.
This was not the first time I had seen ghosts. I’ve actually been seeing them my whole life. I always had trouble telling them apart from real people. Mom used to call them my “pretend friends” when I was little, The therapist called them my “alter egos” when I was seven and then I learned to keep my mouth shut until I could determine if the person I was seeing and hearing was real or not. I got pretty good at ignoring them, even though some were persistent with their griping.
I started believing that the therapist was right. Ghosts were some latent feelings or something going on in my brain. I stopped talking to them and ignored them totally. I was good at “not seeing” the ghosts that nobody else could see. Until, last year, one ghost was particularly bothersome. She, a girl of about 8 years old, kept asking me to find her. “Please find me, they can’t find me. I’m here; It’s so dark and wet.”
Just for the fun of it, and with nothing else to do I started talking to her. That’s when I learned that she had fallen into a manhole and been washed down the sewers. I couldn’t just call up the city and say, “Hey, the little girl you are looking for is underneath 8th street.”
So, I found where she had fallen, jumped in, and started yelling for help. I couldn’t see her body, but it smelled really bad. When the people came to save me they found her too.
As they were loading her body into the ambulance I watched her wave at me, then lay down to rest inside her limp body. I never saw her again. I was so wigged out by that. She looked so real but nobody else could see her. From then on, I made a point of figuring out the real from the dead. I noticed things about their eyes, the dead didn’t look around, they stared straight at me. I could throw things all over the room, but they only looked at me.
But Jerry took me by surprise. I thought he was real. He was acting very, very real.