Slow Dance in Purgatory

Maggie stood numbly, unwilling to confirm anything.

“Of course it wasn’t! ‘Cause Ghosts aren’t real!!!” Shad jumped up and down like a reincarnation of an outraged Rumpelstiltskin. “This is crazy shit! And the craziest part of all is that you would choose some imaginary guy over me.” Shad was crying now, fat crocodile tears rolling down his smooth brown cheeks. Maggie had never seen tears that big. It hurt to watch them fall, and she covered her eyes with her hands. She realized suddenly that she was crying, too.

“You got issues, Mags. But I still love you.”

Shad grabbed his DVD and bolted for the door, tripping over the bowl of popcorn on his way out and sending it skidding across the floor, spewing white puffs in every direction. Shad just gritted his teeth and stumbled out of the house, his composure completely shattered and his pride in tatters. Maggie let him go. There was absolutely nothing she could say. Shad had it all figured out, and he was right. She did have a thing for a ghost.





12


“DON’T BE CRUEL”

Elvis Presley - 1958





Maggie needed to see Johnny again. All night she’d tossed and turned, snippets and sound bites of the confrontation with Shad playing on a continual loop until she finally gave up on sleep and stumbled into the shower. She dozed, leaning against the cool tiles, until the hot water ran out, and she was forced to wash her hair in ice water.

The heat and white noise of her blow dryer had her dozing again, and she woke up to a screaming pain in her arm where the blow dryer had pressed against it and burned her while she slept. She ran her arm under cold water and tried not to cry. It wasn’t so much the pain of the burn as it was the utter futility of the situation she found herself in.

She should stay away from the school, from Johnny – Shad was right. She had issues. She had lost too much in her life, starting with her parents, and with them her home, her friends, and her entire life. Through the years she had lost one home after another, and the cycle of loss continued – lost home, lost friends, lost life. She should protect herself from this inevitable loss, for she would lose him too, she had no doubt. How could she not? Maggie hung her weary head and held her aching arm. She knew better, but she wouldn’t stay away. She couldn’t.

Irene wasn’t yet awake when she pedaled her bike quietly down the drive and onto the street. Honeyville never got much snow, if any at all, but winter was breathing down on them, regardless. Maggie pulled her sleeves down over her hands and cinched her hood around her face. Her backpack was an awkward weight that made her teeter a little as she fought the wind for balance, but it actually protected her back against the wind nipping at her face and shoulders. She tried to ignore the blistering sting that radiated from the burn on her arm.

It was 7:00 a.m. when she unlocked the door to the school, and the heat enveloped her immediately. Before she had even taken three steps, Johnny was there, sliding her back pack from her shoulders and loosening the ties that held her hood in place. Her hair tumbled out around her shoulders as he pulled the hood from her head. He breathed in appreciatively.

“You smell like Christmas,” he observed, rubbing her cold hands briskly between his much larger, much warmer ones.

Maggie’s anxiety fled like a guilty felon as warmth spread up her hands and into her tortured heart. A sense of rightness and of belonging replaced her worry, and she beamed up into Johnny’s handsome face, her eyes hungrily drinking him in. Johnny stared down at her, his smile mirroring her own.

“I smell like Christmas? What does Christmas smell like?”

“Christmas smells spicy and delicious and…cold,” Johnny replied and gently moved his hands to her wind-reddened cheeks. The heat and the comfort of his touch almost did her in, and Maggie groaned thankfully.

“That feels so wonderful. I thought I was going to be a block of ice by the time I got here.”

Johnny rubbed his hands down her arms briskly, attempting to spread the warmth. Maggie gasped in pain.

Johnny’s hands ceased rubbing immediately.

“Ouch! Dang! It’s my stupid burn…” Maggie pulled away from Johnny and gingerly peeled off her jacket, sliding her injured arm from her sleeve. The burn was blistered, oozing, and scarlet red. She’d really gone and done it this time. She had smoothed antiseptic cream all over it, but she hadn’t been able to find a bandage big enough to cover it. It looked terrible.

“Maggie!” It was Johnny’s turn to gasp. “What have you done, baby?” Johnny held her arm out for his perusal, and shook his head at the ugly wound stamped on her inner arm just below her elbow.