“Ghosts aren’t real, ghosts aren’t real, ghosts aren’t real.” After several incantations, she opened one eye as if to verify that Maggie still remained. The blue eye immediately squeezed shut again, and the denials of ghostly existence resumed.
“Is she talking about me?” Maggie thought, stupefied by the thought. “Are you talking about me?” Maggie said aloud, although “out loud” felt different in this dream body. It was almost as if she directed the thought out instead of actually creating sound.
The little girl frowned and her eyes popped open. She raised one eyebrow slowly, and Maggie had a rush of recognition. Her mother used to do that…raise that one brow ever so slowly, creating an expression that said “Are you kidding me?”
“Daddy got really mad at me the last time I told him about Grandpa sitting in his chair after the funeral. How was I supposed to know it was a ghost? He looked real to me! Daddy sent me to my room for two whole days after that. I had to eat in here and everything. It was awful! Now whenever I see a ghost I have to pretend that I don’t. It’s very frustrating.” The girl folded her hands in her lap and waited for Maggie to respond. Maggie stared, dumbfounded. This little girl saw ghosts…just like she did. The slim eyebrow rose again, imperiously. Maggie rushed to introduce herself.
“My name is Margaret. But you can call me Maggie. What’s your name?” Maggie thought she might already know, but the answer was too crazy to be true, and she waited breathlessly for a response.
“My name is Elizabeth, but you can call me Lizzie.” The girl parroted her response in the same cadence Maggie had used. Maggie tried to school her expression into calm acceptance.
“Is your older sister named Irene?” Maggie wondered aloud, trying to appear casual. She failed. She could see that the girl thought she was being visited by the angel of death.
Lizzie’s expression immediately grew guarded, and fear tiptoed back across her features. “Why? What do you want with her?”
“Nothing…I don’t want anything.” Maggie shook her head as she spoke, underscoring her words. How could she possibly explain? They stared at each other for several long moments. Lizzie was the first to speak again.
“Most ghosts don’t usually talk to me,” Lizzie said matter-of-factly. “They just walk around doing boring things and pretending I don’t exist. It’s very rude.”
Maggie smiled at that. She would have to agree. “I’m not really a ghost.”
“You certainly are….”
“No. I’m not dead, I’m just dreaming. I mean, I don’t think I’m dead.” Maggie suddenly realized that she could very well be dead. Maybe she had returned to the past because that is where Johnny had existed. If so, she supposed God had been benevolent; wherever Johnny was was where she wanted to be.
Lizzie rose from the bed and walked toward Maggie with a determined set to her chin. She walked with a slight limp, and Maggie noticed her right leg was somewhat shriveled next to the left.
“Did you hurt your leg?”
“I just got my cast off last week. I broke my leg falling out of the tree in our backyard. It was worth it, though. I got to see my mother. She talked to me just like you. And I could see through her, just like you. That’s how I know you’re a ghost.” Lizzie stopped just in front of Maggie and crossed her arms defiantly.
“How do you know Irene? And why are you in my room?” The little girl had some moxie – no doubt about it. She reminded Maggie a little of herself. Maybe being able to see ghosts had steeled their spines and given them courage in the face of the impossible.
“Well. This might sound strange…but, I’m your….your…granddaughter,” Maggie finished sheepishly, knowing how ludicrous she sounded. But weren’t dreams supposed to be a little bizarre? Without warning, the pulling sensation she had felt as she’d sat beside Johnny in Irene’s father’s car began to radiate around her. She pushed back against it. She had never known her grandmother. She wanted to stay. The feeling abated a little. She spoke again.
“I live in this house, too…just a long time from now.” This time, both of Lizzie’s eyebrows rose and disappeared under her curled bangs. The tugging increased around Maggie, demanding that she succumb. She shoved at it again, annoyed.
“My mother was Janice….your daughter.” The pull became a vise – an ever tightening clamp. Maggie sucked her breath in sharply and struggled to free herself from the invisible bands.
“Maggie?” Lizzie reached out her hand. “I can barely see you now, Maggie. Can’t you stay a while? I’m really tired of Jamie’s company. He’s just a stuffed bear, after all.”
Maggie could barely see Lizzie either. The room had narrowed in diameter, and, just like before, Maggie was whisked away from the past, and the world that held Lizzie winked out like a light.
***
At first she thought it was her dad calling to her, entreating her with the gentlest of voices. She wanted to see him. She wanted to be held and welcomed. She struggled out of the black she was floating in. The voice urged her on. She moved toward it eagerly. She could be with them now…with Dad and Mom, and Johnny too. Oh, please, Johnny too.
But it wasn’t Dad. It was Gus. She stopped struggling. She loved Gus, but Gus belonged to a world where Johnny no longer existed; it was a world she didn’t want to inhabit any longer. But she had risen too close to the surface, and she could no longer block out the words that poured over her.
“He’s gonna need you now, Miss Margaret,” Gus said insistently. “He’s gonna need you real bad. He’s been through hell and back to be here with you. So you need to wake up. You gotta wake up now, Miss Margaret.”