The Almost Rock Star (A Ghost Story) (DRAFT)

The Almost Rock Star (A Ghost Story) 13, Poppies

Chapter Thirteen

Poppies

I stayed close to Aja as he walked toward the women. As soon as they got a look at him, everything changed. I might have forgotten to mention, Aja is really handsome. And very sexy. I would have been more interested in this except we were best friends. And best friends shouldn’t have love affairs. 

Aja spoke first.

“Hello beautiful ladies. I am Aja. You might know me from the Blind Pig. Yes, I think you look familiar,” he said to a Mom. “I’m the chef there.”

One Hindu lady brightened up considerably. The rest of the women were of various nationalities, a typical Florida cosmopolitan mix of people seeking the beach but not having the money to live in the expensive beach front communities. Middle Florida was full of wannabe beach bums who had skin as pale as Easter lilies. It wasn’t from the 100 spf sunblock. It was office jobs and no beach time. It was hiding from the burning Florida sun. It was escaping the 96 percent humidity. I knew some people who had lived here 20 years and had never gone to the ocean.

“I know you,” she said. “You make a beautiful salad. I eat there all the time,” she said.

“Yes, the Bomdiggity Chicken Salad. I remember you. Tania How is Tyke?” 

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s over there, on the swing set.”

I looked. Tyke was swinging back and forth, back and forth. All alone. The rest of the children were either on the three jungle gyms, around them, or running around on the grass. 

“Well, I am not only a talented chef, but a gifted artist as well. I came here to take pictures and sketch the children. Are you O.K. with that?”

“Oh, I would love that! We can watch, right?” 

Aja shook his head. 

“No, too distracting. I’ll let you see my sketch when it is finished. Before that, I get very upset.”

“You can sketch my kid, too. He’s up kicking that ball around. Tris. The one in the red shorts. By the way, my name’s Helen.” A South Beach bleached blonde, who held a rolled up paperback novel in one hand and a diet Coke in the other, smiled.

Aja and I looked at the dozen or so children kicking the orange basketball around the grass. They seemed to be about five or six years old. The kids were kicking the ball back and forth between two makeshift goal posts. 

“I’ll go see how the light looks on your son. Thank you.” Aja’s smile was brilliant. 

I already had headed up to see if I could get the orange ball headed towards my corpse. I had a rough idea of where my body lay. I thought if I could get the ball near it, the kids would find it. 

I waited by a tree for a while, watching the kids kick it around. Then I ran up to the ball, and the kid in the yellow shirt looked right at me. All of the other kids ignored me. I knew they couldn’t see me. I looked at the kid in the yellow shirt. Then I moved quickly to one side. His eyes followed me. Now he was openly staring at me, his mouth dropped open. 

He looked at his friends and noticed that none of them seemed to see me. He looked at me again and then started to get back in the game. I guessed he was about 5 or 6. 

I positioned myself so that the ball was between me and my dead body. When it came near me, I swung at it. 

My leg went right through it.

“You missed,” the boy said to me. He was standing about twelve feet away. I noticed large blue eyes and straight brown hair, cut like a Beatle in the 1960s.