Moving On

The woman was young when she arrived. She moved in with her full size bed and a drastic amount of pillows. There was a singular chair in the kitchen pulled up to the counter where she ate her breakfast while reading and her dinner while watching TV. She didn’t have any blinds or curtains and there was constantly natural light flowing through the glass. I had full length curtains when I lived here, sewed by my mother as a house warming gift. I missed those.

At first, I didn’t like her living here. She didn’t take care of it the same way I did. She rarely swept the floors and her inability to keep the kitchen clean made me stick up my nose in disgust. Occasionally, I would usher bugs in through the window and hope that she would get the message to tidy up. It was infuriating to watch my beautiful home tarnished by someone who didn’t have the care to keep it up.

After a few weeks, however, I realized that she didn’t forgo cleaning because she did not care but rather she did not have the time. She was always gone, running in and out and changing in between. She came home late every night, obviously exhausted, and immediately flopped onto her bed with heaviness and elegance all in one movement. She would fall asleep within minutes and sometimes I would tuck her comforter in around her. She had no one else looking after her.

I grew up in the New York countryside where the winters were harsh but the summers beautiful and everything in between teetered just on the line between magical and miserable. I loved it there so much that after exploring the world and working until retirement, I moved to a quaint farmhouse back near home. I would host my nieces and nephews during the summertime and as they grew, we would work on house projects together. We even built a porch. The house became my pride and I would spend hours each week on maintaining the property. It was only fitting that I would pass on underneath this roof. It was a painless death caused merely by my age and I am happy to say that I enjoyed my life. The one thing that I truly regretted was not being able to share my life as I aged. After my fiancé passed in my early thirties, I dared not to try again in fear of my heart being broken. I loved babysitting for my siblings children, but never had the honor of having my own. Sometimes, when I watch the woman who moved into my home, I think of her as a daughter. After all, she slept under the same roof as I.

On one particular Thursday, she brought a new friend inside. He was well mannered and obviously well educated. He wasn’t the funniest, but she had a contagious smile and loud jokes to carry the conversations. I never realized how funny she was. As I watched them interact, I realized how very little I knew about this woman besides her home routines. To have lived with someone for months and not truly know them was discomforting. That should change. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.

When her friend went to leave, he paused briefly at the door. He looked as if to say something, but decided against it. He bid her goodnight and shut the door behind himself. Once he was gone, the woman tidied the kitchen and got ready for bed. Once she was asleep, I began to hunt out more information. After rifling through some mail, I discovered her name: Eliza Simmons, although a handwritten letter addressed her as simply “Ella”. She had college donation requests and junk mail, nothing more of note.

Creaking open the front closet, I discovered boxes filled to the brim with what appeared to be trinkets, photographs, and possibly clothes. While I could rifle through some envelopes left out on the table, moving a full box and going through it was above my capabilities. That was the odd thing about being dead. My soul could make limited impressions on the living world, and it mustered great strength to do so. Leaving the closet, I moved onward to her guest bedroom. Here were photographs of a family, likely hers when she was younger, with two sisters and parents pictured. She had one of a group of friends and thirdly, a wedding photo of two young people in love. Her radiant smile beamed up from the page and her husband’s matched it. He was handsome, but in the kind and approachable manner. Where was he now?

“No, mom, I don’t have time for that!” Ella exclaimed, meandering around her kitchen table in circles.

“Well honey, you have to put yourself out there. It’s been-,” her mom started.

“I know! Five years! I get it!” Ella interrupted, “I just don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“You’ll never be truly ready, hun, he was your husband. I know it’s hard, but-”

“Mom, I’m not in the mood for this conversation. I’ll call you back later. Love you,” Ella said and tossed her phone aside.

I watched uncomfortably. It wasn’t frequent for her to get upset with anyone on the phone. The problem with being invisible to those living was that I was a useless outside observer. I knew what heartbreak looked like, and it was etched all over her face. There was just nothing I could do about it. Or was there?

I had not left my house since before I died. It has been several months of staring at the door and wondering if the world outside had changed. I was too afraid to ever check. But today, I opened it and was set free.

The sunlight was harsh. Way brighter than it should have been, and my skin warmed up immediately. I did not move for a minute, simply absorbing my surroundings. The sky was a brilliant thing, wasn’t it?

I stepped off the porch, letting the wind rustle my clothes like it did from a lifetime ago. It felt strange. I missed going outside, even if I wasn’t able to experience it the same any more.

I began to walk. The friend of Ella’s had mentioned working downtown at the high school, which was only a few miles away by foot. Nobody should spend their days alone after facing such a tragedy as Ella had. She deserved a second chance at love, and he seemed kind enough. I never played match maker during my time alive, but I had nothing better to do currently. Besides, I could not feel tired from walking. I was already dead, after all.

It took roughly an hour to walk from my home to the school. There were enough classrooms to occupy me for another twenty minutes before I found him. He was teaching in the science department on the second floor. Roughly twenty students were engaged in a chemistry laboratory while he sat at his desk, watching the chaos ensue. I slowly urged the door open, careful that no one noticed, and stepped into the classroom. The fumes of whatever they were burning hit me all at once like rotten eggs and I nearly gagged. Chatter and laughing filled my ears for the first time in what felt like ages. Ella never had people over, and kept headphones on while watching TV. I forgot how loud children tended to be, and how busy a classroom setting was. Clinking glass and odd liquids spilling became my focus as I froze in my tracks. A scrawny blonde boy was running straight at me, holding his beaker in one hand and his notes in the other.

“Mr. Keysworth, the color just isn’t looking right!” He exclaimed just as he stepped through my silhouette. The rush of heightened sensations overtook the both of us and he dropped his glass, brownish liquid splattering on the floor between the desks where we stood. I stepped aside, shaking out the feeling of our beings pushed so closely together in space. There were not meant to be two souls overlapping, it was too overwhelming to bear.

“Well, it looks like you’re going to have to restart anyway bud,” Mr. Keysworth said, standing up from his desk and grabbing the paper towels.

“Oh I am so sorry sir, I do not know what happened. I really don’t feel so good now,” the kid groaned as beads of sweat lined his forehead. For a living person, walking through a ghost would feel like having tinnitus, the shivers, and food poisoning suddenly all at once.

“How about I get this cleaned up and you head to the nurse, alright?” Mr. Keysworth began tidying the mess while the other students returned to their own messes. The blonde boy stumbled out of the room, clutching his stomach.

I felt very out of place. I was likely sixty years older than the teacher, an outside observer whom no one else could see, and I was, most obviously, dead. I should have thought this plan through more thoroughly.

Mr. Keysworth finished cleaning the spill and washed his hands, brushing them dry on his washed out jeans. He smiled gently at the rest of his students before returning to his desk.

I simply observed for the remainder of the class. I had no compelling ideas for the time being, and it was nice to be reminded of life again with kids bustling around and laughter ringing in the air.

When the bell rang, I snapped out of my daze and remembered the task at hand. Mr. Keysworth was rubbing his eyes at his desk, taking a break from being a teacher just for a few minutes before the next class piled in. He rolled out his neck and stretched out his arms far above his head, his brown sweater falling a little short on the arms. Once settled, he took out his phone and began scrolling through contacts. He sighed deeply, placing it back on the desk in front of him and closing his eyes momentarily.

I glanced at the screen and was surprised, but Ella’s name was front and center on the screen. Well, that makes this easier. I watched as Mr. Keysworth stared at the screen for a few seconds, lost in thought, and I decided to act. I tapped the contact for him. It took more of a punch worth of pressure, but it clicked. Holding my breath, I waited for the call.

None came. What? I scrunched my nose in confusion and leaned over the phone. It had simply pulled up a larger screen with her name and number listed. That was useless. Mr. Keysworth didn’t even notice! How did these work, then? I squinted harder at the phone, wishing I wore my glasses when I died. It looked like there was a phone button on the screen, under her name. Taking a deep breath and stretching my hands, I tried again. I hit the phone as hard as I could and waited.

Nothing happened. I must not have pressed hard enough. Taking both hands, I lined up my pointer fingers and leaned over the desk as far as I could without brushing Mr. Keysworth’s head. I then pressed with all my might on that small phone button.

It started to vibrate. Ella’s name lit up the screen as it read “dialing.... dialing... dialing...”. I did it! It was ringing! I looked up at Mr. Keysworth. He wasn’t paying attention.

I looked at the phone again and saw that it continued to ring. Then,

“Hello?” Ella’s voice could be heard over the phone. At least, I could hear it with my heightened senses. Mr. Keysworth, it seemed, could not. “Omar? Hello?”

Omar, apparently, still was oblivious. I groaned, which of course he did not hear. I waved my hand in front of his face and then decided to just pass it through his hand, right next to his phone.

“Ah!” He exclaimed, flinching his hand away. That’s when he noticed the phone. “Oh, what the- hey, Ella! What’s up?”

“Hey Omar, I’m at work right now so I’m a little busy. Why did you call? Everything okay?”

“Oh! Yes! I, uh, well,” Omar stuttered over his words, face flushed red and kids starting to pile through the doorway. “I called you, yes. I was just wondering, actually, if you would possibly be interested, tonight, in dinner? I cook. I can cook. Dinner. For you, if you want. Or are interested.”

The rambling was both humiliating and hilarious. From his time at my house several weeks ago, I suspected he was very intelligent. I was starting to rethink this idea. There was a pause in the conversation.

“Yeah, that would be fun. You sure you’re alright? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Yes! I am great, actually. Alright, so sorry to bother you at work but the kids are coming in so I need to go. I’ll see you tonight, at my place. I’ll cook. It’s a date!”

“A date? Omar, I-” Ella started, but he had already hung up and deflated into his seat.

“Mr. Keysworth, what happened to you?” One of the girls asked. She laughed as he groaned and rubbed at his eyes.

“I am tragically bad at speaking to women, Carmen. But, this is no time to talk about that nonsense,” Omar stated, standing from behind his desk. “Alright, class, today we will be doing our experiment on the transformation from...”

At this point, I strutted out of the classroom’s open door and into the hallway with a fresh spring in my step. For a ninety two year old, I felt on top of the world! Once you’re dead, joint pains and aches disappear altogether thankfully. Tonight was going to be the start of something good, I could feel it.

Ella was fiddling her thumbs while circling her bedroom. She had three dresses laid out on her bed. Each simple and beautiful, but she looked as if she was going to cry.

“I didn’t realize he was asking me out! I just thought it was dinner!” She muttered to herself. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t feel ready for this.”

Sometimes, when she was especially anxious or stressed, I would punch play on her radio. That’s what I did now. She jumped at the sound, cursed out the ‘faulty electricity’ and then sighed into the soulful melody playing in the background. She stopped pacing and faced her dresses.

“You know what? I can do this. It’s been five years. Mom is right, I just need to put myself out there. That’s what he would have wanted.”

After three minutes, she had not said anything and remained staring at the dresses before her. I glanced at them and then back at her. Her eyes darted between the three, getting teary and glazing over the more she looked at them. Her face, already flush from anxiety, was reddening further. If she continued down this road, she was not going to be leaving for this date.

I looked at the dresses. One was dark blue, long and strapless. It was lovely, but too formal for a dinner date. The second was burgundy, shorter and with a high neck and long sleeves. It also lacked the certain appeal for a first date outfit. The third, however, was an emerald green mid-length dress with a v-neck and tie in the front. It was beautiful, simple, but casual enough for a home dinner date. Perfect.

As she pondered over the options with watery eyes, I had to intervene. Yanking with my full body weight, I pulled her blanket slightly askew enough for the left two dresses to fall off. She sniffled, picking them up and muttering again to herself.

“These weren’t good anyways. I’ll just wear the green,” she sighed.

I left the room as she started to change. Meandering down the wooden hallway and into the doorway of what she had staged as the guest bedroom, I remembered when it happened. I was sitting in a plush blue armchair which I purchased some fifteen years prior, reading an old novel. I fell asleep in the soft sunlight streaming through the pinned aside curtains. It was peaceful. I was dreaming of my fiance, as I often did in my old age. Never to be married, but always holding on to that piece of my heart which still loved them. I don’t even know when it happened, but soon enough I was watching myself getting rolled out of the room on a stretcher while paramedics swarmed my house. It was both heartbreaking and heartwarming to remain in this house. I did not understand why I never fully left the living world, but after watching Ella step into the hallway with her hair curled and pinned out of her face, I knew it was to push her to go on this date. Just as I lost my fiance so many years ago, Ella did not need to dwell on the loss of her husband for the rest of her life. This house was meant for more than one, and she deserved someone to share it with. She brushed off the front of her dress and took a deep breath. I followed as she walked to the front door, and after hesitating for a moment, she stepped outside into the setting sunlight.

And then, I was gone too.