Michael's Ghost Girl

The Girl With the Hungry Blue Eyes

"What the...oh god, no." What could he do, call "Ghost Hunters", or something? This wasn't  funny. Michael didn't scare easily, but his heart was racing, and his breath came in gasps. These things only happened on phony television shows and people who believed in ghosts were flakes. It was this house; it was all the house's fault. His parents should have stuck it out and stayed where they were.

He ran down the stairs to the kitchen to grab something to eat before school, something he could take quickly and avoid talking to anyone. He opened and closed cupboards, looked in the refrigerator, then went back to the cupboards finding nothing he wanted. All right, he decided, he'd skip breakfast.

He turned around and collided with his mother. "Honey, are you all right?" she asked, her cobalt blue eyes, exact mirrors of his, were full of concern.

"I can't find anything to eat. I gotta run."

"Skipping breakfast? Now I know you're not all right," she laughed, "Bagels and cream cheese. Peanut butter and jelly if you want it—since when are you in such a hurry to get to school? I find that hard to believe." She didn't wait for an answer but sliced a bagel and spread it thickly with cream cheese, wrapped it in plastic wrap and stuck it in his backpack, along with an apple. "Go catch your bus." She gave him a quick hug and kissed the top of his cap.

It was not one of those mornings where Michael was in the mood to hug back; but he made sure to tell her he'd see her when he got back from the skate park. Though it wasn't necessary, he ran to the bus stop as if it would help clear the memories of the morning out of his head. He was torn between wanting to tell someone, but afraid of how it would sound. His friends were sure to give him a hard time if he tried to tell them. Forget it, he told himself. 

Michael thought the bus would never come, for once he was glad when it pulled up to his stop. He took his usual seat in the forbidden handicap section and suddenly she was there, her blue eyes staring straight into his. Michael looked away and when he turned back, she'd vanished, but he knew she'd been there, looking as much alive as he. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and slowly counted to ten, then opened them, just to be sure. No, no sign of her, no sign that anyone had seen a pretty girl with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen and long dark hair shiny as a raven's wing.

Usually, he tried to will the bus to travel as slowly as possible to delay its arrival at school, but today he was grateful when it arrived on time. His friends, Dewey and Short Round, stood waiting for him at their usual post at the flagpole, their skateboards at their feet.

"What's the matter with you jerks?" he said, trying to say it lightly but his irritation was hard to hide. He didn't like the way they were looking at him.

"Dude, you're even paler than usual,  you look like you've seen a ghost," said Short Round. He'd adopted the name for himself after seeing "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom". He was Hmong, the only one in his school and prone to brag about it.

Michael wanted to say, "What makes you think I've seen a ghost?', but afraid of revealing too much replied, "Yeah, right, and what have you been smoking?" His heart pounded hard against his ribcage, and he hoped he sounded normal. He didn't need this, not right now.

"My family knows all about that stuff. I'm from 'Nam, remember? I'm tribal, we believe in all that crap. And you do look like you've seen one. You look fricking scared."

"I ain't seen no goddamn ghosts". Mike pretended to pummel Short Round, who, in spite of his small size, could more than hold his own. "And besides, you weren't born in 'Nam, you were born here. I'm going to whip your ass at the skate park today. Those tree roots on my street have really helped my jumps."