Ghosts' of November

Chapter 2: Unexpected Encounters

> The clock doesn't tell time, it merely keeps it, and we are the prisoners. We can only guess when time really began; therefore we can only guess how it would end. There are some dreams that feel as if they are the moments the dreams created, not the other way around. Not all prisoners in life escape, but not everyone believes they are a prisoner. I'm a prisoner to time. If you live in two worlds do you age twice as fast? If you fight in a civil war then really only you can win, but then again you always lose. I sometimes wonder what would've happened if I never went to the bathroom that morning.

> I get up and use the bathroom, it is the only excuse I can find to keep these tired eyes open. Instead of going back to bed, I went to the table. I would rather read, than dream again. As the color of the sunrise breaks against the midnight sky. I begin to realize once again how empty this all feels. The pictures on the wall, the cups in the cupboard, and the empty chair. I wish memories could only be remembered in black and white, it's the color that hurts. The silence is enough to drive a man crazy, but it is all that I have left. I haven't left here since the day I poured her ashes under a tree with some words that have long since vanished.

> I put the book down and realize that I am hungry, for the sunlight, not for food. Where could I go except all the places I've already been, and she would be there. The clock needed batteries and the cabinets needed food, but I didn't want to go. The world had gotten faster, and louder, but it hadn't gotten any nicer. There was a little store owned by some Chinese family a few blocks down the road. The stairs turn in a circle and yet walk in a straight line at the same time. It's strange how quiet a noisy world becomes when you run out of things to say. On the streets, people were walking in every direction, but I couldn't hear them.

> I'm not sure why, but there is a panic in the store, no one is saying anything but it is in their eyes. The shelves are almost empty. I wonder if I will ever understand why people become so selfish when they become afraid. I buy the things I think I remember how to cook, and almost forget the batteries. The owner's name was Andy, and he spoke better English than most. His wife's name was Faith, but that's not how she said it. We had become friends throughout the years. She became friends with anyone, and I was guilty by association. I didn't really have anything to say, but he tried anyway.

> I wonder why everyone always asks the same questions when it concerns death. Just once I wish someone would ask how I remembered her. Our favorite place to visit was Lands End Labyrinth. We used to walk this path as the sun was setting, telling stories of Never Land, and making promises we both thought we could keep. I want to go, but I know I have to get the groceries home. It's a strange coincidence that somehow the things we want to do are hindered by the things we have done. I knew I wanted to go to the labyrinth, but I went to the store first. Now I wish I would've gone to the Labyrinth first.

> The walk home is long as I walk through the park instead of the sidewalks. I wonder if in this park, are there initials written on some tree branch, as two lovers try to hold onto forever. Are there lovers sitting under branches of green pretending they know just what they are doing? The first time I told Lizzy I loved her was under a tree, it was the trees that had kept all the secrets I had ever told them. She drew a heart on a tree one night, and we carved our initials deep into that tree. I wanted to erase that moment, but in the end, I was powerless to do it. I can see the corner where I'll cross the street.

> I wonder will we ever know why the chicken crossed the road? After the groceries are put away, the tea kettle begins to whistle. On top of the box is the knife Lizzy used to draw that heart, It was the last thing I put in the box, for it held the promise I couldn't erase. I put the knife back next to the Bible, and close the box. The comic would be today's guilty pleasure. I was never a collector but always collected. It was the pictures that told the story. I learned long ago, not all the words written on the page are meant to be read, some will need to be imagined. As with all things in life even the Incredible Hulk had changed.