City of GlassWritten by Jim & Becky Beard | | email@example.com
6:45 p.m. I had two things to accomplish today. I just took care of one. That should help me with the other.
I drove out to the Lucas County Recreation Center, parked, and thought of Jack. And there he was, walking toward me, that dopey grin breaking my heart.
I got out, help up my hand to silence him, and let loose my first salvo.
“Jack, what kind of car do you drive?”
“’63 Impala. I can’t wait to take you for a ride. You’re gonna love her.”
“My landlady and I attended the first home game of the season yesterday. Didn’t see you there, Jack. Why is that?” He glanced around at the old racetrack-turned-ballpark, as if searching for a reply. “But my photographer and I saw you later, Jack. At Monroe and Parkwood. In your ‘63 Impala. You were there, and then you weren’t. I wouldn’t have believed it if Armando hadn’t snapped this,” I said, handing him the photo.
He looked sick. Like I’d slugged him in the solar plexus.
“I like you, Jack. A lot. But I want answers.”
He stared at the clouds, spoke from someplace far away. “It was raining. There was a lady. By that museum. And a kid. Little. Maybe a year old. The kid dropped her blue bunny. The lady stopped to pick it up. Oh, God, Maggie.”
I gave it to him with the big gun. “Jack. Are you dead?”
I’m afraid the expression on his face as he faded from sight might haunt me forever.
8:08 p.m. When I came home, I sat on my bed in the twilight. I tried summoning Matt the same way I had Jack: by thinking about him. It didn’t work. I found myself becoming mesmerized by the falling snow. I remember wondering if the Mud Hens-Bulls game would be affected. Not that I’m a burgeoning baseball fan any longer. Let the stadium be buried by a blizzard.
“Maggie.” I looked around owlishly before switching on the lamp. The light hurt my eyes. I finally focused on my brother, lounging at the foot of my bed, smiling foolishly.
“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me.”
“That I’m not a hypnogogic hallucination?”
“That my new boyfriend is a ghost.”
“What? Do you think it’s a country club? That we all hang out together? I don’t even know the guy. But you’re playing with other fires, Baby Sister, and I’ve tried to warn you.”
“Go, Matt. Have fun on the links.”
And he was gone. Don’t know if I’ll be seeing him again. Don’t know if I’ll be seeing Jack again. Don’t know if I care. I’ve got a paper to publish. Leave the spooks to The Bowery Boys.
But why, why, why are all the men I love dead?
To be continued …