Can You Hold a Tiger's Paw?

I haven’t been in many car crashes, but as far as car crashes go, mine was pretty uneventful. Truthfully, there’s not much I remember of it. A sharp break, a shout, the stench of burning rummer and the sound of glass shattering. And then nothing. There are worse ways to go, I suppose.

It looked horrendous, though. I saw myself from above, floating in midair. I had been impaled on something, too covered in blood to make out. My head lolled uselessly from side to side. I felt nauseous then. I would never have guessed ghosts felt physiological reactions, but hey, I never claimed to be an expert. Nausea is odd, though, when there’s nothing for your body to expel (or even a body in the first place).

I watched the police officers work for a while. The other driver had survived, but was in critical condition. I was almost a little offended the officers spent so much time on the culprit, the one who had smashed into me, just because they happened to be alive. Speaking of alive, so was my daughter, who had safely been strapped into her baby seat. If you think me callous for not considering her until now, well, I had just died. You can cut me some slack. She lived, and she was screaming her little head off, letting the world know she was indeed still here. A nice police lady wrapped her in a blanket and got her onto an ambulance. I bid my corpse adieu and followed.

It was not like I expected. I was just floating after the car, but still keeping up with the speed of it. The world was much clearer. I saw every detail of it, despite the high speed I must have kept. Every sound. Every smell. You might think this would be overpowering, but I was distant from it. Like when your parents make popcorn after you’ve gone to bed on the top floor. It might take you a while, but the buttery smell will snake its way up to you in your bed sooner or later. 

My daughter was okay and she was discharged just the day after. She was no longer screaming, just staring ahead with wild, frightened eyes. No physical injuries, the doctor had said, but she’ll need psychiatric help for a long time. I suppose watching your parent die is fairly traumatic. And her mother was so good when she came to pick her up. Red-rimmed eyes, but smiling. Don’t frighten the girl, act normal. I stroked my smoky hand along her arm, meant to encourage her, but I felt tiny hairs rise at my touch. She shuddered, looked over her shoulder. I learned my lesson then, no touching. I do pat my girl’s head when I can though, her thick curls won’t let me make contact with her skin. Hair can’t shudder. They both went home in silence and I followed them. 

Everything was the same and nothing was the same. I sat in my same old chair, slept on the same side of the bed, but my wife did not notice me. She cried a lot when our girl was asleep. Many nights, she gave in and called her mom, and they sat awake in the kitchen long into the hours, drinking tea. Ginger and cinnamon, my favourite. I tried to take a small sip from her mug once when she left the room, but it literally poured through me. I enjoyed the taste, but figured stains on the floor would sooner or later be awfully conspicuous. But I did interact with other things, when no one saw. Just some small things here or there. Shania forgot to turn the oven off before going to bed one time, and I turned the knob back. My girl left some homework at home and I floated three blocks to leave it in her desk at school before she arrived. I enjoyed being part of their lives, even if they didn’t know. I thought of myself as a guardian angel, in a way. Though if I know my mythology correctly I cannot be an angel if I’m a ghost, but I digress.

My poor wife tried to fake normalcy for the sake of our child, but she was not so easily fooled. For hours, she could just sit in her room, staring at the wall. I wish I could have held her hand then. Maybe I should have. I went with her to therapy, and thankfully, after a few months, she was getting back to herself. Not quite, but she would smile a little more, whistle the three-note tune she’d heard in a kids’ movie once. Before, that tune drove both me and Shania crazy, but she almost cried with joy at hearing it again. And soon, my baby actually said she wanted to dress up for Halloween. Her first! Shania’s eyes teared up, I noticed. Halloween has always been my favourite part of the year. Ironic, I know. But she grinned and said of course, whatever you want. 

She wanted to be a tiger, and I almost cried myself when I saw her in her little outfit. Whiskers drawn on her cheeks, a black patch on her nose. Shania took her hand and braced it as if she was going to war. And they left to go trick-or-treating on the block, with its pretty hedges and well-pruned magnolias. I floated by Shania’s side, pretending that I was a normal parent celebrating a child’s milestone. Fantasy only lasts so long, unfortunately. I couldn’t help but notice how their real, corporeal feet stepped in puddles and splashed water, while mine didn’t. It had rained for days, but tonight was clear and a big moon lit the street. My baby’s eyes were still huge and scared, and she held on tight to Shania. The older kids outside hadn’t gone for the cutesy angle, and even I thought some of their costumes were too much. Where did kids learn how to use latex, anyway? A boy trudged on by, the entire lower half of his face missing, and my girl stopped dead. No matter how much Shania beckoned and comforted, she would not budge. She looked like a terrified rabbit. She wouldn’t even let Shania take her home, when Shania lifted her up she screamed. My poor Shania, if our neighbours didn’t know her they would have thought she was a kidnapper. 

Call it parental instinct, but I touched her then. A light stroke on the shoulder. My baby quieted immediately, whipped her head around until she locked eyes with me. I have no doubt: she saw me. I approached her, slowly, and she let me. Closer and closer, until I could take her little hand and hold it in mine. I had forgotten how small it was, how smooth her young skin was. “Let’s go, okay?” I said and smiled at her. And to my infinite delight, she smiled back and nodded. Just once. Even at her age, in her little mind, she knew that this was our secret. Maybe she was afraid I’d disappear if she told her mom.

Shania sighed with relief that the fit was over, and asked if she still wanted to go trick or treating. I floated on the other side, holding our baby’s paw. I got to see her light up when she received a huge caramel apple, her saucer eyes when a lady dressed as a vampire opened the door to give out candy. Her joy at seeing a group of older kids dressed as unicorns, splashing water from the puddles as they walked down the street. Through all of it, I held her hand, and all was right.