Ghosty Girl (Kind Of)

The car crash was brutal and painful. I knew I wouldn't survive the moment that I died. I know that this sounds kind of counter intuitive and obvious, but bear with me.

I am actually dead. I know what you're thinking. Addy, have you gone insane? Yes, yes, I have. I have been insane for a while now, but that is beside the point. When I say I am dead, I do not mean it in a metaphorical sense. I mean it literally. I have been dead for thirteen years, twelve days, and twenty-three hours. That is a lie. I only know the number of years, but I just really like dramatic flair. But you get the idea, I have been dead for a while or whatever, but that begs the question, why am I still here? I was only sixteen when the car crash happened. I should be nothing more than a faint memory. So why am I still on earth, watching all my friends and family move on?

I just want to make it clear. I am not a ghost. I am alive. At least not as the definition of a ghost, even though I don't know the definition. No, I am alive. Kinda. Let me explain.

I am Addy Harrington. But my name is now Kristine Spencer. How I became 'Kristine'? I have no fucking clue. I got in a car crash as Addy, and when I woke up, I was Kristine, an orphan, same age as I was before, same birthday. You're probably like 'Well Addy, or Kristine, or whatever the hell your name is, didn't you ask? Didn't they realize it was you?' and to that, I say no. Trust me, I asked. Just ask the assistant at the orphanage. But apparently 'Kristine' has amnesia, so they attributed my sudden confusion and questions to that. Awfully convenient if you ask me, but whatever. So here I was, with all my memories as Addy, none as Kristine, a new face, a new life, and no idea what the actual fuck was going on. So, I rolled with it. I figured I would never see my parents again. Then I learned that I was still in my hometown, much to my 'luck'.

The first time I saw my family was three days before my birthday, when I would turn seventeen, and they were at the ice cream shop with my brother, Luke. As soon as I saw them, I turned on my heel and walked away from the shop, tears already forming in my eyes. They had an empty chair at the table. It was the chair I sat in when we went to the ice cream parlor. I wiped my eyes and went back to the orphanage.

I didn't get adopted. I was far too old for that. So, the remaining two something years at the orphanage I avoided my parents and focused on schoolwork. I didn't have money to go to college, or high enough grades to get a scholar ship, so I didn't go to college, and ended up employed at the brick-and-mortar book shop as the librarian helper, with a cramped apartment across the way, at the old building I used to dream of moving into. It was a quaint little building, pink stucco roof, lots of graffiti all over the walls, and the distinct smell of downtown burning your nose hairs. That was when I stopped being able to avoid my mom and dad.

They visited the bookstore every Sunday, and I couldn't help chatting with them. I still loved them. I still missed them. I just... couldn't tell them because my life was actually going surprisingly well, and I don't want to go to an insane asylum. So, I would talk to them. I would give book recommendations, help them reach stuff, smile and wave when I saw them, and I would be me. Which was still undeniably the Harrington daughter. It was a regular Sunday, with the sunny couple walking in, smiles and small talk, when I made one of my signature jokes. My mom burst into tears right there.

Me and my dad tried to calm mom down, telling her it was okay, and trying to comfort her, but she couldn't say anything through the tears. At last, my mom managed to choke out something about how she was sorry, but I just remind her so much of her dead daughter. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying I was her dead daughter. I still really wanted to tell them, but must I remind you that they probably would not believe me even if I did tell them. And trust me, I wanted to tell them.

My dad apologized and they left, my mom still in tears. It left me wishing that I could tell them. If only I could go back to being Addy, being with family. Being with any of my old friends. I wish that I didn't have this secret.

Of course that wasn't the last time I saw them. They still came every Sunday after that, always being extra sweet to me and even bringing me gifts. I met a woman one day, liked books almost as much as me, super-hot, super sweet, and fell in love soon after. Six years later we were married. I never told her the secret though. Not yet. I didn't want to turn her off. My parents came to the wedding, my dad eve walking me down the aisle, though I don't know why, maybe because he didn't get to walk Addy down the aisle? Whatever the reason, they still didn't know it was me. That was the best day of my life. During the honeymoon, I finally managed to gather the courage to tell her. She believed me, much to my surprise. Maybe one day I would gather the courage to tell my parents. Probably not though, since I have bigger things to focus on right now, such as adopting a child with my dear wife Eliza.