Vintage: A Ghost Story

I didn't bother with turning on the light switch in my room; there wasn't enough stuff to trip over. I stripped off my shirt, hearing some seam tear in protest. I angrily tossed it across the room as punishment.

As I stepped out of my jeans I noticed the open window had let in a draft. My aunt must have decided to let some fresh air into the room. Perhaps she thought it would be healthy for me. Though it was only a few feet away, I felt too bothered to close it. Instead, I collapsed on the bed, feeling sorry for myself and imagining that while I slept tonight pneumonia might slowly creep into my lungs. Then I could wake with a choking cough and live only a few short days, a bitter fantasy to discover how cold death really was.

"I'm here."

My eyes opened and I trembled at the whisper in my ear. There was more than a draft in the room with me. Or else the long hours, anticipation, and disappointment had left me exhausted and I couldn't trust my senses or my desire to see him again. I crawled to the foot of the bed. I was afraid to speak out, worried that I might be answered. At first my eyes saw only the gloom. But a faint glow grew in a corner until I could see a pale figure standing there. The ghost of the boy from the highway took a tentative step closer. My heart beat faster though I wasn’t sure if it was with fear or desire.

"I'm here. With you."

"Thank you." I could not believe I said that, even though I knew the reason he was there was because of me. For the first time in my life, I had been pursued, wanted. I watched as he made his way to my bed. Even without much light, I could see him in detail: The sheen of Brylcreem left his hair looking wet. The way his chest filled the sweater with such promise. A slight scuff at the tips of his penny loafers. I could not stop looking at him. Knowing the risk he might suddenly disappear forced me to etch every little feature of his into my brain.

When his hand fell upon my bare arm, the feather-weight touch felt cool and set off a chain reaction of wondrous shivers through me. I fairly moaned as his fingers traced back and forth, from my elbow to my wrist. As he touched me his voice became stronger. "I need to talk to you."

I swallowed hard. "I'll listen, Josh."