Vintage: A Ghost Story (15 page)

I’m in my room, reaching under my bed and for the first time I notice my hands are smaller than they should be. I feel past old papers, clumps of dust, and a discarded sneaker to pull out a shoebox. I clutch it tight against myself. Even though I know what’s inside, part of me is shocked, so much I almost draw back.

Then I’m down the stairs and out the door at a run. It’s late afternoon and the sky is already growing dark. Cars are returning to the houses, their headlights winking as I run through the neighborhood.

I’m escaping the laughter of the jerks at school. Laughter at my worn clothes that aren’t ever really clean. I’m trying not to think how mother lets little Tracy run bawl ing around the house, her diaper filled with shit. I want to forget how father works and works and barely spends time with me. What’s inside my little box will let me do all that and makes me giddy with the promise of hours away from my life.

Blocks later, I take a worn path that goes past where they are building a strip mall. The last sight bothers me as I know it as a finished trio of stores, a greasy pizze ria, dry cleaner, and a convenience shop serving burnt coffee twenty-four hours a day, yet it is nothing more than a skeleton of concrete and steel girders.

I’m past it quickly though, and making my way through the woods. Even with night around the corner, I know my way to that fallen trunk covered in pale, sweating fungus. I cannot hear any sounds of civilization. All is deathly silent.

The earth smells freshly turned when I slide down to the trunk. The leaves feel cold beneath me. I sit down and lift up the lid of the box. Inside, there are no sneakers, but a stained paper bag, a sweatband, tubes of modeling glue, and a can of cooking spray. Mother never noticed it missing.

I’ve done this so many times before that it is almost a ritual. My fingers squeeze the end of one of the tubes, the clear glue coating the band. Even before I wrap it around my fist and lift it up to my face, the fumes burn my nose. I breathe deeply and when that first taste of light-headed wonder makes everything else forgotten, the side of my face gets sticky from brushing up against the band.

One of my hands starts twitching and I giggle at the spasms. My vision is wavering, and when I focus on my T-shirt, red dots appear on the cotton, like when you stare too long at the sun. More and more dots are appearing, bigger and bigger, until I lift the shaking hand and find my nose is running blood.

Trying to wipe my face with a sleeve unbalances me and I fall back, landing flat on my back. The ground is icy against my flushed cheek. I feel scared at how my heart seems to be stumbling inside my chest. All I taste is blood, the coppery tang choking my tongue.

Another giggle. I don’t care that I can feel pain, along my arm until my entire left side throbs. My eyes are fluttering shut.

I found myself lying on the floor. The lower half of my face felt sticky and when I licked my lips I tasted blood. My nose still bled. When I rose up I felt disoriented and took deep breaths of the stale air of the shop, relishing the scent of dust and mothballs to that of model glue.

First Mike’s spirit stared at me.

Poor First Mike. Dead in the woods from huf fing. “In the woods,” I croaked out loud without meaning to.
The ghost looked down at the Ouija pad. The makeshift pendulum slithered over to
YES
.
I remembered something Trace had once told me. Laying the dead to rest. Sometimes all it took was giving them a proper burial. “Do you want me to find you, Mike? Bring you home?” I talked to him like he was a child, keeping my tone gentle. The pendant remained still but Mike’s spirit slowly nodded. I pinched my eyes shut to clear my head. When I could stand without getting dizzy, I saw that he had vanished. I went to the shop’s tiny bathroom. In the mirror, my reflection looked haunted: a face so pale as to be bone white, dark circles under my eyes, and drying blood under my nose and all along my chin. I washed off in the cold tap water, then took a rag and cleaned up where my blood had spattered the floor. When I was done, I felt an odd sense of satis faction, even though my limbs dragged with exhaustion.
I knew what I had to do next. Tomorrow, I would find him.

Chapter 10
S
UNDAY

The next morning found me not at the shop but at the old hardware store across the street. I had never been inside the place before and asked the bespectacled man behind the counter where he kept the shovels. Would have been cool to buy an old-fashioned lantern like some Victorian grave robber, but I planned on digging up the body during the day.

The clerk didn’t bother to look away from the tiny black and white television set. “Last aisle. Right side.” His voice sounded ground down, probably from years of smoking.

Every wall, every shelf, was crowded with dusty merchandise in faded packaging. Axes, rakes, and shovels leaned against the wall. I picked a stout one with a wide scoop and thick wooden handle. It must have weighed twenty pounds. Leaning it against my shoulder, I walked back to the front. The man continued watching a football game while he made change.

147

Walking down the street with my new shovel left me with a sense of accomplishment. My plan seemed to be working. There had been no sign of Josh in the past two days. After the day’s grim business was over, hopefully Trace would have forgiven me. First Mike would have been laid to rest.

I’d have to make sure that I cleaned it off and put it in my closet as a memento.
After all this business with ghosts was over, what then? I definitely wanted to be with Mike and see what happened there. But having a boyfriend meant I had to do something I had been dreading: coming out to my aunt.
I refused to be like Liz, lying and hiding who I was. That way never ended well. I told myself Aunt Jan was cool; she really cared about me and would understand.
I would be all adult with her, sit her down and explain what had happened back home with my parents. Then I would promise to get my GED, offer to help out with some of the bills, prove to her I’m responsible.
I played over the scene several times in my head by the time I reached Trace’s house. Sometimes Aunt Jan was shocked at finding her nephew was gay, other times I envisioned her with this sly smile saying she knew all along. I imagined having Mike over for dinner so she could meet my boyfriend and she would take me aside and tell me how much she liked him.
Alongside her car in the driveway was a black Corvette I didn’t recognize. I rang the doorbell.
Trace gave me a slightly chilly greeting, obviously still upset at me, but her eyes widened a bit when she saw the shovel.
“Can me and my spade come in?”
She stepped to the side and I called out a greeting to Mike as I walked into the front hall. Would he remember me from last night? I could feel his presence in the house. Odd, how I never really noticed it before. Or maybe my newfound confidence in my abilities made me more aware.
“He’s not here. Went to the mart.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Oh, I was saying hello to First Mike,” I said. I noticed that she wore her “out-on-the-town” makeup rather than the usual “early weekend” face. I even caught the faint smell of perfume.
“Dare I ask why you are carrying a shovel? Smiling and carrying a shovel?”
Before I could answer, Taylor came out of the kitchen drinking from a coffee mug. He wore canvas pants with safety pins along the outer seams and a dark T-shirt with the caption
Honorary Fiend
in red lettering.
“Hey,” he said and leaned against the far wall behind Trace.
I blinked and recovered from my surprise. I wanted her to come along with me to the woods, but Taylor’s presence threw my expectations awry. “Uh, well I was hoping you would come with me.” I looked back and forth between them, deciding to be restrained rather than involve him with ghosts and all. “I have a little chore to do today.”
“This doesn’t lead to some midnight voodoo ritual, right?” Taylor said with a grin. “I promised my granmama no more of that shit. I’ve cut down to Santeria.”
I hoped he was joking. But then, Trace would like a boyfriend who practiced a little black magic.
“What’s going on?” Trace asked warily and reached for the mug in Taylor’s hands. He smiled as she took a sip.
I sighed. She seemed in no hurry to get rid of him. I regretted how quickly my earlier optimism turned to anxiety. She had left me with no choice but to out myself to him. “Last night I had a little séance.”
Her dark eyes widened a bit. “Who with?”
“By myself. Well, with First Mike really.”
She gave me a look, one I had never seen before. Her eyes narrowed slightly and one side of her mouth twisted down, showing teeth. I could not be sure what thoughts were behind it. “So tell me what happened.”
“I saw him, Trace. I know what happened. His ghost showed me so much. I know how he died.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then just as fast turned away a moment, hiding her face. I could hear the emotion in her voice when she finally spoke. “We’re going for his body, aren’t we?”
Taylor moved quicker than I did, placing his arm around her. For a moment, a flash of jealousy went through me. Shouldn’t the best friend be the one who comforted her?
“It’s the only way to let him rest. You’re the one who told me that.”
Trace hesitated a moment then muttered “Okay.”
Taylor grabbed a leather jacket and offered to drive. His total acceptance without saying another word bothered me; I didn’t know whether to be appreciative or irked. Even worse, my satisfaction at being able to release First Mike’s spirit was rapidly diminishing. I had thought Trace would have been happy at my plan but instead I seemed to have only made her more upset.
As we all headed out the door, I looked over my shoulder and called out, “Comin’ along?” In the shadows of the kitchen, I thought I caught a glimpse of First Mike standing in the corner. I held out my hand to him but nothing moved. “Fine, I’ll see you there.”
We took Trace’s car so I could sit in the backseat. With the heavy shovel lying across my knees, I kept leaning forward between them to offer directions based on the stolen recollections of First Mike’s last afternoon.
“So, you can really talk to the dead?” Taylor asked me. Trace had started telling him about our ghost problem along the way.
“It’s no super power.” I pointed at the next turn.
“Most ghosts only want to be heard,” Trace added. “After dying and being trapped in this world, it’s like living a nightmare. They’re so desperate to talk to someone they don’t care whether the person—the medium— wants to listen.”
“Still. That’s pretty creepy,” he said. I saw his eyes looking at me in the rearview mirror.
I shrugged. “Lucky me.”
I yelled out to stop the car when the surrounding trees seemed familiar to my stolen memories. We got out and Taylor went to the trunk. He took out a rolled up plastic tarp and a flashlight. “Just in case we don’t find him before dark.”
The wind picked up as we started to trudge through the trees. The fallen leaves leapt and danced at our legs and more fell onto our heads. I led the way. I told myself that First Mike would want to be released. The notion sounded a bit hollow, though. Would I give up the presence of someone I deeply cared for, even if he was only a shadow of his former self, or be selfish and keep him around to comfort me?
I heard crunching footsteps quicken behind me and turned around. Taylor caught up to me. “Hey, sorry if this freaks you out.”
“Nah,” he said. Then a moment later. “Well, a little.”
“And this is the easy ghost.” I chuckled bitterly.
“Listen, you guys should talk.”
I looked at him a bit confused.
“Trace and you. She’s all upset. Over what happened the other day and now this has weirded her out a bit.”
“She told you about me and Mike?”
“Not everything.” He shrugged sheepishly. “But enough to guess.”
I stayed quiet. I wasn’t sure what to say to her or even how to bring up the topic.
“You know how lucky you are.”
Again, I laughed. “The last thing I feel these days is lucky.”
“Sure you are.” He lifted a hand back toward Trace. “You’re best friends.
I’m just a boy she’s liked for a few days. But you . . . you’re the one she can talk to any time about anything. No secrets because they don’t matter.”
“But I did keep that from her.”
He reached down and plucked a fallen twig from the ground. “You were afraid of hurting her. Happens. But don’t let it break the friendship.” He started peeling the bark from the stick showing pale wood. “I envy how close you both are. Me, well, because I like her, I worry I’ll say or do the wrong thing.”
His candor surprised me. My earlier jealousy turned to pure shame. “Thanks.” If I wasn’t so embarrassed I would have said more.
He smiled and threw the stick off to the side.
I turned back and waited for Trace to catch up to me. Wearing unpractical shoes, she was having a tough time walking through the woods. I offered her a hand, which she took without hesitation.
“I never meant to fall for your brother. Just… happened.”
She stopped and caught her breath, pushing an errant lock of hair away from her face. “I know. Just seeing you both together was the last thing I expected. I never thought you’d be into him. I never thought he was gay.”
I nodded. She left unsaid my past crush for Josh. While I still was a bit lost on how attraction works, I understood that love’s something more than feelings happening overnight. Even with Mike, I was unsure if in the end we’d be together. Everything worthy in life, it seemed, was full of effort and doubt.
“Mike’s sweet and likes quirky things. He’s artistic. I never knew how much all that matters to me.”
She blinked and I realized that her eyes were growing a bit teary. “You won’t hurt him.”
I was glad she stated rather than asked it. “Never.” I hugged her tightly. “Not either Mike.”
“We’re doing the right thing?” Her face buried against my shoulder muffled her voice.
“This from the spook expert?” I had to laugh as I rubbed her back.
“It’s different when it’s happening to you. With someone close.”
When had all the macabre things we used to love turned against us? I worried that we could never go back to that innocent pair reading obituaries to plan the afternoon.
“He wants to be found. I’m sure.” I saw Taylor standing ahead of us, leaning against a tree. He seemed in no hurry. “By the way I like your boy.”
She wiped her eyes and giggled a little. “Thanks. I’m glad you do.”
We started walking together. I think more than memory led me; an almost tangible feeling guided me. When I saw the fallen tree, old and rotten, blocking a ditch, I knew we had arrived.
“This is it.”
Taylor helped me climb down into the ditch. Moist clumps of dirt rained down from the twisted roots of the dead tree overhead. He handed me the shovel, then dropped down, landing on his feet, his back against the earthen wall. Trace stood above us.
I carefully scratched at the ground with the tip of the shovel blade. The soil resisted for an inch or so before turning easily to reveal the first hints of dirty bone: a hand, fingers loose and falling apart at the joints. I think we all held a breath. I dropped to my knees and used my hands to clear away the rest of the soil. I uncovered something hard, its sides corroded with rust. A can of cooking spray. But nothing more of First Mike. I dug deeper and found only grimy beetles.
“He has to be here.”
Taylor slid down to the ditch and started turning over more dirt. “Here,” he said and held up an old tube of modeling glue, squeezed empty and dis carded.
Then Trace called out. It took us a moment to climb out. We found her a few yards away, kneeling over and gently brushing aside the fallen leaves.
“I thought I saw something like bone.” She pried up from the ground a lower jaw. Several teeth were missing along the front, the sockets filled with dirt. The fillings on the back molars were still shiny. “Ugh.”
“Think it was animals?” Taylor asked.
“Probably. Mike’s been out here for more than a decade. They’ll have to comb the woods all around here for ...”I looked over at Trace, who stared at the ground while hugging herself. “Sorry, hon.”
“We better call the police and let them know we found a body,” I said.
“We passed a gas station not too far back. They’ll have a phone,” Taylor said.
“Think I should stay here?” I looked up at Trace.
“No,” she said a little hastily. “I mean, he’s been here for years, he won’t mind waiting a little longer.”
I sighed with relief and rubbed my hands clean on my pants. I really hadn’t wanted to stay around with the dead.