The Ghost of Me

The stairs are lonely as I sit, waiting, for you. You walked out earlier this morning, passing me without even a look. I noticed a tear roll down your cheek, but before I could stand, before I could ask you what was wrong, you were out the door, in the car, and gone.

The concrete is cold beneath me, almost as cold as death. I hold the flowers I’d picked in my hand, waiting.

Time passes slowly, a minute stretching into an hour, an hour stretching into a day.

Finally the door below opens. I watch as you enter the stairwell, carrying bags of shopping. Behind you comes another woman, a woman larger than me, her muscles tense with the shopping in her hands.

I used to do that, used to carry your shopping for you. But you stopped letting me do that for you the day you threw me out into the cold.

“Please, talk to me –”

But it’s too late. My flowers fall onto your doormat as the woman shuts the door, locking me outside.

I want to cry. My heart is torn again, shredded by the way you ignore me.

I sit on the stairs, holding my head in my hands. Behind me, the door opens.

“Please, let me –”

The woman walks out of your apartment, standing on the flowers on the mat. She jumps as the leaves crunch, and bends down to scoop them up.

“I think someone left these here for you?”

The sound of your footsteps, light, elegant, makes me stand, forces me to turn and tell her what I think of her.

“That’s strange,” you say, taking the crushed flowers from her. “This is the forth bunch of flowers someone’s left on my doorstep in the last month.”

Yes, you remember! I stand up, looming over the woman’s shoulder. You glance at me, frowning lightly, then look to the crushed flowers.

“May,” you whisper, staring at the flowers. “May used to leave me these flowers, did leave me these flowers, before she… left.”

Your voice, so soft and gentle, breaks on the last word.

“I didn’t leave, you threw me out!” I yell, trying to step around the woman, to hug you, to hold you and make you feel better.

But the woman beats me to it, holding you to her chest. You cling to her as you cry, the flowers in one hand, this big woman in the other. I try to grab her shoulder, to drag her away from you. She half-turns, glancing at me, then goes back to holding you tightly.

Tears. There were tears in her eyes!

“Come on,” she says, gently letting you go. “Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold or something.”

You nod, turning to go. I scream your name, trying to get you to turn, to acknowledge that I’m here. My shouts echo off the walls of the dim stairwell, but you don’t seem to notice. You nod to her, the woman, and let her take you inside to your own home.

“No, please!” I call, standing on the doorstep as your door closes. “Please, just let me talk to you!”

Nothing. Nothing but silence.

I fall to my knees, crying on the doorstep, my head in my hands. I know who this woman is. She is your new lover, the one you replaced me with. She’s the one who will help you forget me.

Two could play that game.

I pull out the card I was going to give you and tear it in half, letting the two pieces fall to the ground as I walk away from the stairwell.

The streets were silent, calm, as I walked along them, heading home to my place. You are not far from my mind – you never are.

My block is full of rowdy kids, each screaming at the others for some minor indiscretion. I wave and nod to their parents – no one acknowledges me – and unlock my door, heading inside.

 

I sit alone all night, thinking, trying to work out what I can do to make you talk to me again. There is nothing in this would I wouldn’t do for you, nothing I wouldn’t get for you.

My walls look so full now. I’ve been writing, like you told me to. All that black clashing against the hospital-shade pink looks so good.

There’s nothing in the world like it.

 

Morning rises, and still I don’t feel tired. All I can think of is you, you and that woman. I know she spent the night, just as sure as I’ll find myself at your doorstep before night falls again. Maybe before the sun fully rises this morning.

The streets are still and silent outside my window. I look down on the empty road, noting my neighbour’s door opening in the rising sun. She sets out, decked out in her running clothes, and heads off north, towards the park.

She reminds me of you. The same hair, the same eyes. The same style, even she could be you, if you were still in your teens.

Thoughts of you drag me down. The night catches up to me, and I head to bed.

Maybe tonight you will speak to me.

 

Again, I stand at your door, the flowers in hand. I knock, loud, trying to get your attention. I hear movement inside. I know you’re here. You have to still be here.

The door cracks open, and she is standing there, a towel around her body. She stares at the flowers in my hand.

“Love,” she calls over her shoulder, and I hear you stir. “Can you come and take a look at this?”

My fists clench around the stems of the poppies. I can feel them crunch, their sap dropping down my hand. Her eyes widen.

“What is it?” I hear you ask, sleepy. Your eyes widen, however, when you see me there, poppies in my hands.

I can’t help it. She vanishes, the world vanishes. It’s just you and me.

“May?” you ask quietly, slipping around the woman and staring at the flowers. “May, is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” I ask, smiling wider than I have in seven months. “Please, please take me back.”

But you continue to stare at the flowers, ignoring my words. She wraps her arm around your shoulders, and you burst into tears, turning into her arms.

And, like that, the spell is broken. My sight returns, with your arms around her waist. I throw the flowers down on the mat, ignoring the petals as they flurry away, and turn to run.

“May,” you whisper, bending down to scoop the flowers up. “Why did you have to –” Tears shake your breath again. “Why did you have to go out that night?” you ask the flowers, making me stop. “Why didn’t you see that other car?”

I turn to look at you. Your arms are around her chest, your face buried in her shoulder.

“Why did you have to die?”

The question passes through me. I can’t move, I can’t think. All I know is that you’re telling the truth.

The world clicks back into order. Fired without notice, my job given to someone else. People ignoring me.

You ignoring me.

“Oh, May…”

And, as though your words broke a wall inside me, images flash in my memory.

The fight.

The car.

The crash.

The light.

But there is no light now. You are the only light in this black, forsaken world.

I burst into tears, and return, pressing my hand to your head. You look up, right at me. I smile, and you blink.

“I loved you, May, but I have to move on. And so do you,” you say, and then burst into tears.

And there it is, the light.

For seven months, I have been without a shred of light in this world of darkness. And yet, here it is, the Way to Heaven.

Taking a poppy from the bunch in your hand, I place it behind her ear.

She will be your light now.