Chapter 15 - Spring of 2020

Hello dear reader, LH here. I wanted to leave a little note that this chapter is darker than the rest. Please remember that you matter, and if you’re feeling low, tell someone.

“Why did you lie?” Juniper asked her father as they ate matching bowls of oatmeal at the kitchen table. Maddison orbited Junie’s legs as happy vibrations emitted from the cat’s throat. 

“Which thing are you talking about?” he asked as he swept his brain’s file cabinet of times he told something untrue. 

“What do you mean which thing? Schools are closing out! There won’t be school for a long long time because of the virus. You told me it would be fine!”

”I…” Marco couldn’t argue with her anger. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to be worried in case it was nothing.”

”But it isn’t nothing!”

“I know.”

Juniper crossed her arms and let the cat leap onto her thighs. The innocent creature slid it’s head under her hand, and skillfully convinced the girl to pet it. 

Junie regained her composure. “Mom contacted me.”

”Has she not done that since you left?”

”No, not really.”

”Well?” Marco asked, taking another bite of oats. “I hope she isn’t angry still.”

”Not at me. She pretty much begged me to come back home. You could tell she was panicky”

”You never told me why you left in the first place.”

”It’s a long story.”

”I have time. I want to know.”

Junie picked at her cuticle. “She was just mad at me, I dunno what to tell ya.”

”I’m not sure that’s the full story.”

With sliversome eyes, Juniper readjusted the watch on her wrist. “I’m a total klepto,” she said. “I steal from gas stations, I steal from Menards. She only got mad when I took someone’s bike and almost got away with it. I would have, if it weren’t for Irene. She completely ratted me. I trusted her, and now she’s back and pretending like we’re friends.” 

Neither looked the other in their eyes. 

“I see that she broke your trust,” Marco said without raising his voice. He knew she wouldn’t listen unless he was calm. “I also see that you might also have let her down�"her and a lot of people, for that matter. I thought you were in some kind of danger, not quite literally running away from your problems.”

The cat purred in Juniper’s lap. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

”I understand where you’re coming from, and for that reason I know that you can help it. I do get the struggle though.”

“What’s up with you anyway?” Juniper asked. “Everyone at the function a couple weeks ago was being weird around you.”

Marco pinched the corners of his eyes. ”Ohh, I was gonna tell you about that.”

”Huh?”

”I dunno how to say this without sounding bananas.”

”Man, I don’t care.”

”There’s ghosts. Everywhere.”

”What do you mean, “there’s ghosts”? That’s not a thing there can be.”

”That’s what people try to tell me. I guess from your perspective, that’s true.”

”You’re joking, aren’t you?”

”No.”

”Is that what people were all whispering about? That my dad is freaking crazy?”

”They’re really there, you just can’t see ‘em.”

“Why are you so special then?”

”I-I don’t know.” There was a long beat of quiet. ”Do I scare you?”

Juniper clearly looked uncomfortable, as if she didn’t recognize the man sitting across from her. “No,” she said, but her body language spoke otherwise. 

“I have to go back to mom’s place.”

”I get that. I mean, you haven’t seen her in months.” 

It was nearly unheard of for a quiet moment between Junie and her father to be awkward, but exceptions could be made. 

Picking at his fingernail, Marco said. “I don’t blame you.”

”I know. I’ll tell mom that I’ll be there soon.”

”Ok. Will we keep in touch?”

”Maybe.”

”I love you, Juniper.”

”I know.” 

Her dad looked her in the eye for the first time since their conversation began.  

“I love you too.” The way that she said it felt more automatic than heartfelt.

”I’m sorry that the world is scary.”

”It isn’t your fault. Thanks though.”

It had been days since his child went back home, and Marco had left his house not once. What reason did he have to anyhow? A job? No, that opportunity was out the window. Ghosts appeared, now and again, but they’d stopped making sense long ago.  It was as if they’d tried building a tower to heaven, their words weren't able to be made sense of, but they were predictable enough that Marco could make a decent guess. They were unlike themselves though, like images he was trained to expect. Birdie was sympathetic, Clive was comedic, Lucien took some pity, but all were kept in containment of Hudson’s arrogant shadow. They wrang out awful ideas into Marco’s mind like he could understand any of it. Even in sleep, they appeared, swirling around his head like the smoke of his relapse. When Marco did eat, it wasn’t anything sufficient to the energy he lacked.

One evening, he heard a knock on his door. Someone rattled the handle, unsurprisingly, to no avail. 

“Are you alright sir?” Someone shouted through his window which was open just a crack to let Lucien through. ”I know that you’re in there, sir. Please come and talk if you’re able.”

”No soliciting,” Marco grumbled hoarsely. “Read the sign.”

”I’m no solicitor,” she chuckled nervously. “It’s Ms. Stanley here. Are you well?”

”Go away. I’m not in the mood.”

”Is there a number I could call, someone who can help you more than me?” Ms. Stanley asked.

“Is that gonna make you leave?”

”It will,” she said. 

Marco scribbled down his brother’s number, mostly for his own amusement. He poked the post-it note through the window. Ms. Stanley’s long, thin fingers received the piece of paper. 

“Is there anything more I can do?”

”No.”

”Okay. I’m in your corner, alright sir?”

Marco closed the window. He was too high for this. 

Two days later, the door was visited another time. Marco couldn’t bring himself to get up. Luckily he didn’t have to, once his house was busted into.

”That poor boy,” he heard his landlord say.

”Thank you, ma’am,” said someone else. 

Marco was curled up in the corner of his bed when his brother walked in. Damien ran to his side when he found him. 

“Dude, you’ve gotta get up,” Damien said, tugging on Marco’s arm with a desperate manner. “Come on.”

Feeling airy and quite ghostlike himself, Marco propped his body up by his elbows. Softly, he uttered, “how did you get here?”

”Doesn’t matter, I’m here now though, and I’m gonna get you out.”

”Why?”

”You can keep on living like, you know, in this way.” Damien gestured to the house. Marco was clad in unclean garments. His fridge housed a handful of items that were about to, or already had gone south. “I think it would be more accurate to call this “slow dying”. Where is anyone else who could help you? Your girlfriend, your daughter?”

Both were angry at him for separate yet similar reasons. Lexi told him that they would be “taking a break” until Marco got the ghost situation sorted through and dealt with. 

“Gone for now,” Marco uttered. “I’m sorry for dragging you all the way here.”

”No, dear lord, no. I just need you to be ok. Don’t…” It looked painful for Damien to voice. “Don’t do something irreversible.”

Marco placed a hand on the side of his leg. Underneath his sweatpants, his skin was tattered and scraped, fresh enough that the ink had barely dried. “I won’t.”

With a good amount of aid, Marco was able to stand up and land himself over in the living room while Damien used ingredients that were still good to cook his brother some rice and ramen. 

“How do you feel?” He asked.

”Bad.” Marco responded, after having taken a nibble of noodle. 

“Can you give me more?”

”Kinda hollow, also like I might vomit”

”That tends to happen when you don’t eat for a while. Cold water might help. Should I get you some?”

”No.”

”Have some water. It’s good for you.”

”Fine.”

As Marco attempted to eat, Damien responded to some emails from work. Slowly, Marco regained some energy. He sat up a little straighter, and talked a little clearer. His mind began to settle down, and he was able to collect his thoughts enough to say, “I think I need actual help.”

”Yeah?” Damien asked, snapping his laptop closed to give his full attention.

“I dunno where to go though. The moment you leave, I’ll go straight back to how I was before.”

”Ms. Stanley said she could tell you’ve been chain smoking.”

”It’s been bad,” Marco chuckled. “I’m sorry, I’m not one to laugh at serious stuff, but what else am I supposed to do?”

Damien cracked a smile that was sorrowsome.

”If I did get treatment, I would want to say goodbye to one them first.”

”One of the “ghosts”, you mean?” Damien said with subtle airquotes. “Why?”

”I dunno. Closure, I guess. I don’t want to leave on a bad note.”

His brother tilted his head like he was trying to see Marco from another perspective. ”Do you want a hug? You look like you need a hug.”

“Honestly, I would kill for one right about now.”

His brother’s arms took Marco in and held him tightly. “You’re gonna be ok, dude,” whispered Damien. They stood there for moments, maybe minutes. Neither had any reason to remove himself. 

“Maybe. I hope so.”

”I just know it.”

“Birdie!” Marco called out to the morning fog with Damien trailing along behind. 

“Don’t you worry about other folks seeing you?” 

“First of all,” Marco said. “That ship has sailed. Second, that’s why we’re going at five in the morning. Third, ain’t nobody out here. Ever.”

”Okay,” Damien said without much confidence.

They came up on the Starch River Bridge. 

“Birdie!” He hollered again. Out of the fog, she appeared. Her face pointed to the ground like a sunflower in a cold front. Her likeness was truer to herself, different from the distorted depiction he’d seen of her over the last week. 

Damien stood back and glanced around. “Is she here? Can we go home again?”

Marco sat next to Birdie, her image unclear like the fog itself, likely from dehydration. With arms crossed and lips downturned, she noticed her friend beside her. 

“Hey.” Marco scooted further onto the block of stone. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

”I was hoping you’d stop by before leaving. So… is this it? We’ll never speak again?”

”I guess not.”

Birdie’s lips pursed. “I’m surprised that you’re taking this better than I am.”

”To be honest, I’m not,” Marco chuckled. 

“I suppose it’s my turn to break down.”

”I’m sorry. You are one of my best friends.”

”You shouldn’t say that.”

”I should.”

Birdie glanced at the man standing off to the side. “Who’s that?”

”Oh, Mr. Tennis ball over there?” Marco pointed to Damien, who nervously waved in almost the right direction, his faded green-blonde hair blowing into his face. “That’s my brother.”

”Why’s he here?”

“Emotional support, I guess. I’d rather there be two guys and one spirit than two spirits and one body,” Marco joked.

”You shouldn’t say that,” she hissed.

”You’re right, I shouldn’t.”

”Does the thought of death visit you often?”

Softer, as so his brother�"who wasn’t paying attention anyhow�"couldn’t hear, Marco said “Half of me is mean, the other half is trying to make up for what the first part is saying. Most of the time, the good 50% can reason out why I need to keep existing. My job, my kid, my mother, stuff like that. All of a sudden, those things go away and the bad half takes the upper hand.”

”Well, your mom is still there.” Birdie looked down. “As a mother myself, I can tell you that I would never recover if a child of mine went away.”

”I know. That’s what the good half keeps saying. Something about death seems so… close, though. I’ll simply become a ghost. I can still be here. It won’t be the same, no, but I wouldn't lose that much.” 

“The people around you would lose a whole lot.”

”Who, though?”

”You’re maybe thinking too spesific. Broaden your idea of people who care about you.”

”The pastor at my childhood church?”

”Good.”

”My cousin who I don’t talk to that much ‘cause he lives in Ontario.”

”Yes.”

”My old coworkers.”

”See? That’s a whole bunch of people right there. Entire people with lives and experiences who care about you being alive.”

”I suppose you’re right.”

Birdie nodded. She seemed unsure of what to say. “I dunno how to end this.” 

“It’s bittersweet, no?”

”That’s a good word for it.” She sighed and brushed imaginary crumbs off her lap. “I hate goodbyes.”

”I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say “I hate” before.”

“I wouldn’t say I hate many things. Honestly, sometimes it’s annoying that my mind always finds some silver lining, some sensible understanding. I just want to be able to hate things without being the bigger person.”

”Still you hate goodbyes?”

”Well, I do know that you’ll be in good hands. It’s selfish of me to keep you from getting help.”

”I don’t think so. If I were in your shoes, I’d feel the same.”

Birdie’s face hosted a variety of emotions. She brought her hands to Marco’s. “Can you promise me, if nothing else, that you’ll keep on questioning the world, and your mind, and striving to be better?”

“I can do my best.”

“Then I’ve done my job. Thank you, Marco Rodriguez. Farewell.”

With a smile shining through, Birdie faded out, but it was unlike she’d done before. Mist that had once held her shape spiraled out in all directions, slowly dropping down to the ground, or falling into the river’s way, or over Marco’s tremblesome hands. His heart sank with the mist. She was gone