Sam, the Medium

Amira set the last of my remaining clothes into a cardboard box. The only belongings of mine that did not burn in the fire were my blue velvet cardigan, my floral headband, and an old Archie comic that I let Amira borrow ages ago. She’d been paranoid for the last month. I always knew Amira to be superstitious, but I never thought she’d be scared of me. Every night, she scanned her bedroom and she’d even started sleeping with a nightlight. And when her mom asked her why she was so skittish, Amira said “it's as if Leila were following me around.” The next day, her mom came home spewing something about spirit attachments, claiming that I followed Amira around because she still had material items of mine. Truthfully, this offended me. I did not follow Amira around because of my cardigan or my comic. I followed Amira around because when the fire took my life and my home with it, I found nowhere else to go. After the fire, my mom stayed in a hotel nearby, and two days after my funeral, she left.  

I never meant to spook Amira. But after I saw her packing up my stuff, and even moving our pictures out of her room, I knew it was time to leave. It was hard watching my best friend become uncomfortable by my presence. But it was even harder finding a place to go. I ventured into the street, alone. This would be my eternity from now on. Drifting alone through the Earth, like a lost soul. Watching as the people who I once loved, carried on without me. Down the street, I walked past old friends and neighbors. I was so close, and I could smell the dried saltwater on their skin. I even heard their thoughts. Yet, they could not see me. No one would see me ever again. 

I reached the beach and became instantly overwhelmed. There were people everywhere- more than I’d expected. I heard nonstop voices wherever I turned, like a plague in my ears. Some thought about surfing, some wished to eat, and some wondered why they got the chills as I passed by. But no one thought of me. With this realization, I understood my place in the world. I was dead enough that people no longer remembered me, yet alive enough to still watch lives continue around me. Suddenly, I missed the peace and quiet of Amira’s home. And so, I ventured down under the bridge, hoping to avoid the bombardment of human thoughts.  

I sat on a limestone boulder, trying to ignore the young man fishing in front me. He was the only person around and that was good enough for me. I watched him patiently hold his fishing rod over the calm waters, and the scene became rather peaceful. It dawned on me that if he were superstitious like Amira, I might scare him off. I sat still enough, hoping he would not feel my presence. But not a second later, he turned around. And for the first time since before my death, someone looked me in the eyes. I’m sure if I were still made of flesh, goosebumps would’ve covered my skin and my heart would've skipped a beat. But I’m not made of flesh, and there was no way he was seeing me.  

For a second, I thought maybe he was like me. A ghost. But it was not possible. The wind carried the scent of his salty hair, and I heard his thoughts clear as day. He dreamt of catching a Mojarra fish. And then he thought of me. He faced me once again and suddenly; images flushed my mind. In some images, I sat in class. In others, I walked through the hallways of my high school, or ate lunch in the cafeteria. I realized that the young man was present in every single frame- somewhere in the background, but always close. It became clear that while I was alive, we knew each other. Surely, we were not friends, as I did not know his name. But he remembered me, nonetheless.  

Still, I watched him fish. And he turned to face me, periodically. How he could see me was not clear. I tried to ask him, but words did not come out. It took an incredible amount of energy for me to move, and I did not generate enough to speak- yet. I was still a very young ghost and young ghosts have limited abilities. Fortunately, I would soon realize that for him, my presence was more than enough. He set down his fishing rod and climbed up the rocks. Now he stood right in front of me, and the hairs on his arm stood upright. There was no mistaking it, my presence frightened him. Swiftly, I glided through space and time, landing some feet away from him. He came closer and I moved away. We played this game several times. And for the first time since my death, I followed no one. Rather, I was being followed. And it felt great.  

Then his words sliced through a heavy silence. “Wait.” But I continued on, until he spoke my name. “Leila.” Now I paused, eager to know what a human could possibly say to a ghost. But he spoke no more. Instead, he pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket. When the pen touched paper, I was transported. Once again, I experienced human life. The sand brushed against my toes; the wind caressed my skin. But I was no longer Leila. I was in his body. And my thoughts became one with his. I thought of my home, the fire, the black smoke filling my lungs, how I fell to the floor.  

He pulled his pen off the paper. I was no longer in his body, and I returned to my ghostly self. And he showed me his notebook. The page was riddled with scribbles. Yet, among the scribbles, he painted a scene; A scene of a young girl, trapped in a fiery home. In that moment, I swear I was transported up to heaven and back. I couldn’t believe I communicated with someone. I did not think it possible. But I still had questions; what was his name, how was he able to see me, why was he not afraid of me? Still unable to speak, all I could do was stare at the notebook and hope he pressed the ballpoint pen back onto the sheet. He must've been able to read my mind because he turned the page and I was once again transported into his body. This time I chose my words wisely: “Who are you?” 

I returned back to myself and he said aloud “Hi, my name is Sam and I’m a medium.”