Encounters
I ask the ghost to leave, but I don’t think he can hear me. He walks with me under street lights, sits a few tables away at the restaurant. When the waiter asks for my drink order, I look for him. I feel cold.
The ghost buys me shots; waits for me in the lobby. You’re real, I whisper when I first see him and I blink and he’s gone. At 2AM, he calls to say he loves me. But for the next few days, it’s like he doesn’t exist. I fall asleep wondering if I made it up.
Weeks go by. I see the ghost in grocery store aisles, coffeeshop lines, waiting for the next bus. I have a fear of hotel rooms, beer fridges at the local deli, rain-slicked sidewalks. I call my friend on Halloween and tell her I’m seeing things, there’s a shadow at the end of the street.
When the party dies, the ghost leaves too. I tidy up a room I never lived in. Now I question the other side of the bed; notice the clothes on the floor, the cups on the counter. Who was the one who left?