Guardian

I thought he was dead. He was buried on Main Street, in the cemetery, next to my mother and father. He hadn’t deserved to die, of course, most never do. I, in all honesty, had never gotten over it, it all happened so quick, but it had happened. A sudden heart attack. And I was left without any family.

I’d resorted to staying in bed all day, barely eating. People had come by telling me to open the door, but I never did. There was no point in it, no point for me to be happy when someone that I loved had died. And in a painful way. And I just couldn’t bear it.

But now here he was, standing right in front of Main Street, smiling at me. Not a creepy smile, mind you, just a smile. Almost bittersweet, I would say. I, meanwhile, was terrified. He looked the same as he did last year, which wouldn’t be so strange, but he was wearing the exact same suit. The same shoes. Everything. The same as when we buried him. There was no dirt anywhere, he looked just as alive as me, but in my heart I knew he wasn’t.

“J-Jackson? Is it really you?” I asked him. He simply nodded at me. “You’re- You’re really here, with me?” Again, a nod. “Well say something, Jackson, I’ve missed you. We thought you were dead! Your wife is worried sick, and your child needs to be looked after!” This time he shook his head. 

And I realized he was crying. “Why are you crying, Jackson? Are you okay?” He shook his head and I mustered enough courage to run up to him. “What’s wrong?” He looked so alive, I couldn’t help hugging him.

I had missed him so much…

He finally opened his mouth to speak after all this time, and a low, croaky sound came out. I guess some things don’t change. “Neither of us are alive.”

I couldn’t believe it. Not a word he said. “No, that- that can’t be true. It can’t be. I would’ve remembered dying, I know I would.”

Jackson picked up a newspaper. Tried, anyway, though his hand passed right through. It got my attention all the same, though. Time seemed to stop as I read it: Adam Smith, dead, age 33. It couldn’t be true. But my face was on that newspaper, smiling the way I had before my brother died. I was to be buried with him and our parents. Poor Philippa, having to bury both of the Smith brothers in a year. I felt awful for her and her child. I should’ve stayed over more. I should’ve stepped in. I should’ve comforted them. I could’ve done so much more if I hadn’t been lying in bed feeling sorry for myself. All I had to do was be there. And now I couldn’t.

It was too late.

I was already on Main Street (how had I not noticed that?). I ran to the cemetery, frantically looking around until I came upon a familiar sight. Our family plot. But this time… this time there was a new marker. A new marker and an empty grave. If I need to be more specific, a new marker with my name on it, an empty grave waiting for me. My head spun and I thought I was going to throw up. What was there to throw up, though? What was there to spin? I had no physical body anymore. Nothing mattered. At least, not to me.

I felt a presence behind me. “Jackson, I-“ But it was not Jackson. It was poor Philippa. She was crying at the graves, both of them. I tried to hug her, but I passed right through. The pain on her face was almost too much to bear.

But I couldn’t let her be the next grave. I wanted to crawl into my empty grave, wait for my body to come, and just lie there for eternity. It was so tempting, and it would be so peaceful…

No.

I could not leave her and her child alone. I couldn’t. And I knew that. I was here for a reason. To do something I couldn’t do in life.

I was going to be their guardian angel. Well, maybe not that, I certainly wasn’t an angel in life, why would I be one in death? Just their guardian spirit, then, I decided that day.

And I was.

Time had no meaning, but once a year, Philippa and Richard, their son, would sit around the table, and sing Happy Birthday, and I would be very aware of what day it was. November 1st. A happy day, once a year. Jackson was there, of course, but he couldn’t speak very well anymore. Hadn’t had enough practice since… well, never mind.

After a while, those celebrations of life stopped. November 1st became an ordinary day, nothing important, nothing to laugh about. It broke my heart. But Richard was becoming a very bright young man, so that made up for it. As he got his first job, girlfriend, I watched. He never knew that, of course, but I did, to try to keep him safe however I could. Maybe from bad spirits. Maybe from nothing at all. Maybe I just wanted to see him grow up. 

Either way, he did grow up. And Philippa died. And he died. My job was done. Philippa died twenty years later, only 50. But it was almost too long for Jackson. When she died, he was waiting. I was there, too, but that didn’t matter. They were finally together, no matter how different she looked then. They still loved each other furiously. And Richard died twenty five years after her. He was crying when he went, maybe because, he, too, had a wife, and a darling daughter.

It seemed my job was not done.

And yes, you can’t see us, but we’re here. It’s not like in those stories where we interact with you, or fall in love. That would be weird. But we do protect, and we watch, and we love you. And one day, sadly, you will join us.

And then maybe you’ll start watching.