In the wee hours of the morning, just before sunrise, as I made my way downstairs to feed the animals, and get coffee, I saw a pale figure sitting at my breakfast nook table looking at my laptop.
“Nigel, what are you doing?”
The Ghost looked up at me. His translucent state turned solid as he brushed his black hair out of his eyes. This morning he’d traded his black funeral suit for Levi’s and a black tee-shirt.
“I’m looking up old girlfriends,” he said as he glanced up at me.
“You said you weren’t seeing anyone at the time of your death.”
“Not really. There were always girls around but none of them stuck around. Well, there were a few, but… come on Juliette, you know I was a player and an asshole, and busy. That didn’t mean that there were a few who slipped through my fingers but still stayed in my heart.”
“They’d all be in their 60’s now.”
“A few in their 70’s.”
“They were robbing the cradle then,” I said with a smile that included a bit of fang.
“Maybe. I was free, white, male, and over 21. This was the 1980’s. I was an artist. What did you expect.”
“That is exactly what I expected. By the way nobody uses that expression anymore.”
“Oh please, don’t drag me out of my own time.”
“Fine, be a dusty old ghost like the guy who sits on the back fence wondering who is going to win the 1852 election.”
Nigel flipped me off and turned back to the computer. I made coffee. One cup was for me to drink, and the other was for Nigel to savor the smell.
“Did you find anyone?” I asked him.
“I can’t even remember half of them. I don’t know if that has to do with me being a Ghost or the fact that I was bludgeoned to death. Damn, if I could remember who killed me…I bet I slept with her.”
“You’re annoying Nigel, but I can’t even imagine someone killing you over a bad romance.”
“Hang out in the Ghost World for a while. Even you, a Vampire, would be surprised how some people REALLY died.” He ran a hand though his dark hair and gave me a slight sarcastic smile. Today his eyes looked bluer than usual which I knew was a stupid Ghost trick to make himself look more alive, or, well, less dead.
“So far all of them are doing great,” Nigel continued. “They had, or have careers, they had adventures, they’re movers and shakers paving the way for younger women. Younger women like their daughters.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I should have had a daughter, or two. Maybe even a son or two. Or one of each. Even just one. I could have…not died. But look,” he said, motioning for me to look at the monitor. “This is Mona. She’s a museum curator down in Southern California. She specializes in California Impressionist and later figural artists. Who would have known? When I was seeing her she was working in a gallery and working on her MFA. She didn’t like my art. Said it was too figural for her. She couldn’t understand how I got such high prices for my art or how I supported myself. I don’t think she liked anything about me, except all of the gallery shows rubbing elbows with important art lovers. She only spent time with me because…I don’t remember, but it wasn’t because she wanted a serious relationship. Her husband died a few years ago. He’s not a ghost, thank goodness. The guy got to move on, which is always a good thing, well, almost always. She has two sons who are in their early 30’s. Look at that gray hair. It used to be brown. But the gray looks good on her. Sixty six years old. Damn. I dated her friend Trisha, only I didn’t know they were friends. She stalked me. I was in my bedroom one night and there she was looking through my window. Now she is a retired math professor living in Guam. Who the hell lives in Guam?”
Nigel went on and on and on about a dozen other women. I let him talk. He tends to ramble on, but I’m fine with that. I’m not going to change things by telling him to make it short.
“Sit by me,” he said as a chair slid out from under the table. I have learned that all ghosts can move things if they want to. Nigel said they’re all poltergeists. More dogs, cat, children, and husbands than you can imagine are blamed when ghosts knock things over. He also showed me once how he can move the planchette on a Ouija Board, but that is a story for another day.
“Look at this,” he said.
I thought Nigel was going to show me photos of women he’d known or something along those lines. He showed me a photo of a cave lined with dark rocks.
“Does one of your old girlfriends live in a cave?”
“This is Lava Bed National Monument. Have you ever been there?”
“No, but I was thinking about going this fall.”
“I know. Will you take me.”
“Take you?”
“You know I can’t drive on my own. I need YOU to take me. You’re my person.”
“I’m flattered. Sure, I’ll ask Teddy.”
“Sure. Teddy is ok. You know, he’s nice enough for a Vampire. Damn, I just thought of something. Your husband could have been a Vampire but if that didn’t work out he could have just died and become a Ghost like me. Maybe he would have been my Ghost friend. Did you ever think about that? How many potential Vampires end up as Ghosts?”
“I never thought of that. Maybe you should apply for a Ghost Grant and do a study.”
“Ghost Grant? Very funny Juliette,” he said sarcastically.
A few minutes later Nigel had lost interest in his past and making a list of places he wanted me to take him.
So much for morning coffee with a Ghost.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
Vampire Maman 