Tangled Tales: Art in the Afterlife

“Most ghosts aren’t in graveyards because by the time they are buried they’ve long left their bodies. More than likely they’re where they died, or someplace else,” she always said.

She stood in the middle of a room surrounded by 19^th Century California art. It was a quiet day at the museum so she was able to savor her favorite pieces undisturbed. Then she noticed a woman standing next to a painting of the redwoods. Under the trees in the image were three men sitting around a campfire, a dog, and a tent. 

She’d known the men when they were alive back in the 1880’s. They were artists. Brilliantly talented party boys. She knew the dog. She sighed as only a ghost can, and thought she might go back to those woods one day.

Then she looked at the other woman – the alive one. She knew the alive one. Her name was Persephone. What an odd name for a parent in 1960 to give a baby. Oh well. Persephone was a docent, and a damn good one.

Persephone turned, after feeling the air on her right side turning icy.

“Glenda,” said the docent. “It is good to see you today.”

Glenda smiled. She didn’t always show herself. Persephone was one of the few people who could actually see her. Sure, there were plenty of lovely ghosts to look at art with, but it was always nice to have a live person to discuss favorite works with, especially the newer more modern works. An added bonus was that this person was a docent.

“I followed your tour this morning. It was quite lovely and informative,” said Glenda.

“I didn’t see you, but I knew you were there,” said Persephone.

For the next hour they walked the galleries together as they had so many times before. After the docent had left Glenda watched her from a window walk to her car and drive away. She wondered what it was like for people who could see ghosts. She couldn’t see ghosts when she was alive. She didn’t even think about ghosts, except from silly fictional stories others would tell her about. It just wasn’t her thing.

Glenda imagined if she’d been able to see ghosts that people would think she was crazy and she would have ended up in an asylum or locked away. She only been twenty five, so her opportunities so see ghosts might have been limited. She’d never know.

At the end of a long hallway, lined with landscapes, she was a man waiting. Her heart went all fluttery. Another ghost. Maybe someone she might not have met. He’d been a young lawyer struck down by tuberculous, just as she had been. 

He held out his hand and they danced in front of a grand painting of Yosemite Valley. Graveyards were too sad for her. Here she had art, friendship, and romance. What more could a ghost could ask for. 

~ end