PJ and Pete

The metallic shutters over the couch shiver and a chill crawls up my spine, the only indications that Pete has arrived in my small, tidy apartment. I glance at the clock over the stove as the kettle finishes boiling and clicks off. 19:19pm. Right on time, as usual.

I pour the boiled water into the pot, put on the lid and carry out the antique tea tray I’d inherited from my grandmother.

“Hey, doll.” Pete’s smile is familiar and contagious. He lounges in one of the chairs by the dining table, one leg thrown carelessly over his knee, his trademark, ragged combat boot bouncing with banked restless energy. His brown hair is long around his face, due for a cut, and unkempt in the way of teenage boys.

“Hi Pete.” I set the tea tray down and drop into a chair opposite, gripping my hands between my knees to keep from reaching out. “How are you?”

“You know, same old, same old.” His lips twitch into something like a frown before that smile bounces back and he shuffles in his seat to sit his lanky frame up straighter. “What about you? Did you get that job promotion you were telling me about?”

I smile. It is one of his more aware visits, if he can remember what we were last talking about. Those don’t always last long, but it is good to have my friend back. Even if it is only for a few moments.

“I did. My official title is Senior Special Events Coordinator now.”

“Ace! I knew you could do it, PJ. They’d have been crazy to pass you up. You’re an organisational machine.” Pete punches the air and hovers above the seat for a moment before coming down. It is almost like having him alive again, until he does something like that.

“You know no one calls me ‘PJ’ anymore.” I shake my head at him and set out the two tea cups. It makes him feel more included, though I know he never touched a drop of tea in his short life.

“Ain’t no one like me around anymore either, PJ.” Pete drawled, grin turning wicked. “Besides, ‘Penelope Jane’ sounds so old and stuffy.”

“I am old.” I remind him as I pour.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in, why don’t you?” Pete tosses his hair from his eyes and pouts. He’s a beautiful young man, with a sharp jaw and gorgeous cheekbones. Just a look from him had always set my teenage heart pounding. He would have grown up into a formidable man.

“Don’t sulk.” I lean back in my chair, gripping my teacup. It’s best to keep our conversation on good things, positive things. His visit isn’t guaranteed for long.

“Easy for you to say. I’m nineteen and I’ve only ever seen two sets of boobs. No one else can see me, and I only ever come back to you, so unless you plan an orgy for my next visit, or want to show me yours,” he winks wickedly, “I’m stuck on two for the rest of eternity.”

“Odds are, you wouldn’t even remember seeing a new set of boobs.” I tell him, laughing internally at the way he perks up in his seat.

“Wait, are you saying you’ve already shown me, and I’ve forgotten?”

I say nothing and sip my tea. When I was younger, I used to entertain the idea of something happening between us but now… now it’s just impossible and silly.

“Come on, PJ, just a peek?” His grin is so broad that the light overhead flickers. We both look up. “So, any men in your life I need to haunt?” He asks, subject changed, just like the flicker of a light.

I shake my head. “I’m thinking of getting a cat, though.”

“Good God! Not a cat. I forbid it.” Pete leans forward, elbows on the table to swipe a hand through the air, as if the decision is final. “I will not have you becoming a lonely old cat woman. Come on, PJ, there’s got to be someone out there.”

“No. Work keeps me busy and I have friends, but no one romantic right now.”

“What happened to old Chicken Legs?” Pete asks, leaning forward with a wiggle of his brows. I roll my eyes.

“His name was Charles and he was perfectly lovely.”

“Aside from those scaly hens feet.” Pete snorts and throws himself back in the chair belligerently. For a moment, I think he is going to sail right through but, pulls himself upright at the last second. I’m not sure he is sitting on the chair, or just floating above it. He’s never been able to touch anything in all his visits so, it stands to reason he is just contorting himself to look like he is sitting, probably in an effort to feel more normal.

“He was a lovely man.” I sniff, sipping my tea. Poor Charles, after Pete pointed out that his skinny legs were horrifically chicken-like, I just couldn’t see him the same anymore.

“Lovely. Lovely. Lovely. Pfft!” Pete rolls his eyes and tosses his hands up. “You need someone to rock your boat, PJ. You’re gorgeous and smart and you need someone to knock you out of your own safe little bubble.”

“If you say so.” I answer, rather than arguing back. There’s no point. Pete had his opinions in life and he kept his convictions in death, there was no arguing with a thunder storm, a tornado or Pete.

“I do.” He huffs and looks around the apartment. “You can’t get a cat. This place is too small for you, let alone a wild animal.”

“A kitten is hardly a ferocious tiger.” I snort and pick up a biscuit. I lay out the plain ones with no cream when he comes over because he hates them. No point in taunting him with what he can’t have.

“Have you heard from my folks?” He asks suddenly and I nearly choke on my biscuit. It isn’t often Pete asks about other people, particularly his parents. He hadn’t been the easiest teenager to live with but, he had loved them and they had been devastated after the accident.

“I spoke with your mum a couple weeks ago. They’ve had to put your dad into a home, the dementia is too much for Jeanie and your mum to deal with alone.” I explain softly. Pete’s lips pinch and he doesn’t look up. I know he would give anything to see his parents again, and his sister, to speak with them, if only briefly.

“Do you think I’ll get to see him… you know, after?” He asks. The lights above flicker again and, this time, Pete’s image flickers with them, less substantial with each passing second. It’s almost time, now.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” I say. “I hope so, for both your sakes.”

Pete finally looks up from the floor and smiles, though it’s sad this time.

“You’re the best PJ.” He flickers again and I notice his boots have faded almost completely. ‘No cats, though, okay?”

“No promises.” I force a smile and he laughs, sounding younger than his young nineteen years. “I’ll see you next time, Pete.”

“See you then, doll.”

In seconds, he is completely gone, with not even a shudder of the blinds over my couch. I sit for a while and finish my tea and biscuits then restack the tray and take it back into the kitchen. It’s always bittersweet having Pete visit. Today has been a good one, though. Something I can smile about for a few months, at least until next year. At least until next anniversary.