Intersections Read online

  That’s what this current scene reminded me of, minus the beer and perspiration. Dozens of spirits filled the street, gathered on porches, and strolled down the sidewalk. Several waved to me and smiled. They all had the same inky grey auras—like the ticklish old woman at the funeral home or Jonathan Heck.

  Next door to Mom’s, three ghosts stood on Mr. Rodgers’ porch—an old white lady dressed in her Sunday best, a young black man wearing only swimming trunks, and a twenty-something guy wearing a suit with the back cut out. If he was aware that his ass was hanging out, he didn’t acknowledge it. Once my leg healed, I limped over. He introduced himself as George. The other two were Pidge and Gary.

  All three of them had solid black eyeballs, the cornea and iris as completely eclipsed as the old woman at the funeral home. I tried not to stare but they didn’t seem to notice.

  “Why is everyone out here?” I asked George.

  “It’s a beautiful night,” he said. “No clouds. So many stars.”

  He was right. I looked up, and the only thing clouding the sky was the Light, all washed out by the hundreds of thousands of souls waiting to stuff themselves inside. The sight reminded me of maggots on a corpse. I shivered. A half moon hung to the east.

  “Are you cold?” George said.

  Not waiting for an answer, he stepped in and pulled me close. His arm draped over my shoulder. He wasn’t warm, but where we touched, a tingle rippled through me. It was not unlike the sensation I felt when the ghost at the funeral home grabbed me only this time I needed this touch—to be held, reassured. Except the way he held me, my left arm had no choice but to cradle his exposed back. The flesh of his muscular butt nudged my wrist. I decided to roll with it. After all, you only live once so it followed that you only died once, too.

  I introduced myself and asked him, “So where was everyone earlier, during the day?”

  “Oh, we all lay low when the sun’s up. Sometimes we rest at The Gorge.” That was one of the local bars.

  “I’m new to this.”

  “Welcome to the party,” he said, pulling me even closer. Tingles.

  “This reminds me of college, chilling on the porch.”

  He smiled, and I bet those teeth were gleaming white when he was alive. “Once when I was in college, I road-skied on the back of a pickup truck in the snow while wearing only a scarf and holding a beer.”

  By the end of the story, he had me laughing so hard I worried that something in my phantom insides might’ve ruptured. We settled into easy conversation and I lost all track of time. Nothing seemed to matter. Our auras merged into a patina-speckled glow. His eyes unnerved me, but I could ignore them if I stared only at his mouth. More than once, I imagined what his lips would feel like on my nipples. I wondered if ghosts could even have sex. Was it possible for male ghosts to get an erection? If not, it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d had to improvise with a less-than-stiffy.

  I’d only been with a few men after the divorce. I’d done the usual post-marriage parade of debauchery until I had my interlude with Frank. Since then, I couldn’t bring myself to connect again with another human being. I’d vowed to myself that I’d never again experience such pain again.

  My time with George was perfect, though. He seemed genuinely interested in me and yet conversely totally distant. We talked about the weather and the houses around us, and old memories about the town. He referred to himself as a “well to-do businessman” which apparently translated into car salesman. Twice I asked him about the clogged Light in the sky, and both times, he brushed off the question.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “That reminds me, did I ever tell you about the time I road-skied naked in the snow on the back of a pickup truck while drinking a beer?”

  He treated me to this story multiple times, and somehow it never got old. Fuck it, though. We were ghosts. We were never getting any older, so why should our stories?

  George was yammering about how he used to make out with his neighbor in a tree house when I heard someone vaguely calling my name. A hand gripped my arm and spun me around. Shannon stared at me like I was the asshole who’d just interrupted a perfectly good conversation.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  “I remember trying to talk to you, and you very clearly stating that you didn’t want to have—” And here I air quoted. “—a tender ghost girl power moment in the fucking road.” End air quote.

  “Haven’t you noticed anything strange about all these ghosts?” she said.

  I shrugged. “I struggle to conjure any one thing that isn’t strange about today.”

  “Look into my eyes.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “No, look. What do you see?”

  I barely glanced at her face. “Um, hatred and bitchiness?”

  “Look closer. At my eyes.”

  So I did. I leaned in, close enough that I could’ve kissed her. For a moment, I wondered what that’d be like. Sure, she was a terrible little wench, but I couldn’t help feeling a pull toward her. As if my aura longed to merge with hers. Because of my time with Jeremy, I’d never had any bi-curious experimentation in college, though I’d often fantasized about it.

  I squinted at her eyes. Her pupils had eclipsed her irises and were now wiggling tendrils of darkness nibbling away at the whites of her eyes.

  “It’s worse than before, isn’t it?” she said.

  I nodded. “That’s gross.”

  “Well your eyes look worse, too. Whatever’s happened to these idiots is also happening to us.”

  I jerked back and pointed at George, who was already chatting and laughing with four other spooks on the crowded porch. If he heard her insult, he didn’t show it.

  “That’s my friend you’re talking about,” I said. “Don’t be a dick.”

  “He’s not your friend. He’s cattle. They all are. Can’t you see that?”

  I pointed my finger between her perky high schooler tits. “No, you know what I see? I see a bratty little girl who wants to make herself feel big by making everyone else feel small.”

  “Whatevs,” she said. “I was trying to help you—to help both of us. Enjoy grazing with the other sheep.”

  She stomped off and I fought the urge to give her the finger. Instead, I stepped back onto the porch next to George and slid my hand onto his bare waist, cupping the upper edge of his butt cheek. The bluish patina glow snuggled back into our merged auras. His black gaze turned toward me, and he smiled.

  “My name’s George,” he said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  My heart winced but somehow I managed to say, “Hi, George. I’m Molly.”

  “Welcome to the party, Molly.”

  I looked around the loose circle of ghosts, all of them smiling and nodding, and occasionally talking over each other. Shannon was right. They were cattle. Oblivious. I tried to gaze at my reflection in the front window—to see if my eyes looked as infected as Shannon’s—but of course ghosts had no reflection. I supposed we were a bit like vampires with our sun allergy and mirror difficulties.

  It pained me to leave George’s embrace, but I knew I couldn’t stay here. The false companionship was all too enticing. If I lingered any longer, I feared I’d lose myself.

  I drifted off the porch and onto the sidewalk. Shannon was already turning the next corner, and I had to run to catch up with her. My feet barely skimmed the asphalt as if I were running on water, on the verge of flying. Little did I know.

  “Hey,” I said when I finally caught up to her.

  “What happened to your boytoy?” she said as I settled into pace beside her.

  “Chicks before dicks, Shannon.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I have no use for dicks.”

  I frowned. “Clearly you haven’t found the right one.”

  She said nothing to this except for, “Hmm.”

  We strode through an awkward pause, past porch after porch of chatting and laughing spirits. In the sky, a smattering of hopeful spirits