The Spirits of Route 66: Book of Delbert

PART 1: Spring Once More

Two ghosts sat upon the concrete side-rail of the old Cimarron river bridge. Sure, they could have been floating in the air or wafting across treetops but there are some things ghosts do because it still feels good. It feels right. Comfortable. It makes them feel as if they're still a part of that other material world.

One of them was a rather rotund yet jolly fellow, the other, skinny, wry, dry, and more than just a little bit of a snoot. An unlikely duo perhaps, an odd pairing, but then ghosts that arrive together tend to stick together.

The skinny one looked over at his comrade and sighed.

"Otto, as usual, you're looking rather disheveled again. Are you allergic to combs, your hair is a mess? And that ghastly stain upon your shirt. And those shoes..."

Otto turned both feet up and looked down. "What about 'em?"

"If I have to tell you then what could possibly be the point of my doing so?"

"Then don't."

Yes, they may have arrived together, Otto manifesting just a few moments after Reginald (R's seniority a distinction that he would never let Otto forget), but they certainly did not run around with each other in their previous state. This was merely a random coupling, some might call it fickle-fate, but whatever the reason, the compulsion to remain best buddies was often put to the test in the midst of such needless infernal bickering.

Otto glanced back over at Reginald, as always outfitted in a black tuxedo that must have been fashionable in some earlier (and needlessly haughty) era, which shone brightly under this silver moonlight, with his perfect knotted tie and black leather shoes, always polished, always spiffed, dashing and ready to dance should a ballroom gala happen to materialize along with a full swinging big band.

"You do look good, Reginald, quite the gentleman, but I aint you. I'm Otto, the grease monkey, the lawn boy, that guy down the street that you hardly ever see and never really notice. So, if ya don't mind, leave me be."

"No need for testiness, my friend, I was merely pointing out your current shortcomings, the small, obvious ones, so easily remedied if you'd only allow me to..."

Otto swatted away Reginald's approaching white-gloved hand.

"Leave me be," he said once again, this time with eyebrows raised, this time a little slower and with a more labored pronouncement. Clearly, Otto had had enough.

Just then there was a flickering at the east end of the bridge. A brief spark in the night, but then again, taller, and then again, wider, until it took, it held, a full manifestation, and once again a new brother was ushered into this not so nefarious netherworld.

                                                                                          

As one might imagine, such new brothers and sisters don't come smiling from ear to ear into this other world. Nope, they don't come eagerly and with great fanfare. In fact, they traverse that tiny gap from living to ghosting in one continuous stride shrouded within sheer vulnerability. A small hop, perhaps, but beware the depth of the fall into that widening crack! Their last breath upon earth-solid, the one spent finally letting go of the human condition, metamorphoses into the first experience of the new sense, referred to as soul-doggling, right there upon non-earth-solid. The truth is that they could have gone on and skipped this particular place, in many cases they should have, into the last vast unknown, the proverbial final place of resting and doing so in eternal peace (or so it is said), but there was something leftover within their human mind that touched the heart and entered the soul at the one critical moment and so they took the scenic route instead – they entered into this risky dimension of wandering apparitions (let's skip the less flattering description of lost souls). It was not exactly a chosen option, only the result of a restless spirit not quite ready to be done with all earthly endeavors, and the pull was enough to make it so.