Ghost Story

So if I were really going to start at the beginning, I would start with the ghosts. The ghosts were the first hint I had. Whether you believe in them or not is irrevevant - I'm still not sure I do. But I know what happened. And what happened is that there were ghosts - two of them - Roy and Bill. They were long-dead cowboys. I was almost four.

We lived in a condo in Bakersfield, California. I remember opening my eyes, it was morning, and there were two cowboys in my room. I took a deep breath, preparing to scream - not that they were the least bit scary - but when you are four, and you wake to find two unfamiliar adult men in your room, it usually warrants a shout out. But then Roy told me not to scream, so I didn't. Roy was older - maybe 60, with a graying moustache, and a tan, wrinkly face that was always smiling. He had eyes like Santa Claus and skin like soft, worn leather. He was the boss.

Bill was younger - maybe 25, maybe 40. Everybody seems old when you are four. Bill had soft, brown hair underneath his cowboy hat, and his vest was always dirty. Bill had a kind, patient face. He was quieter than Roy, and always looked right into my eyes with a soft, knowing smile. He had a gun in his holster and I remember thinking that he probably never used it.

We sat there for a while. Roy told me about the gold rush. I was listening to his story, when my mom popped her head in the door to say good morning. I looked at her, waiting for her to notice - wondering how on earth she could explain this. But her gaze drifted from the wall back to me, and I watched Roy slowly shake his head back and forrth - she couldn't see them.

As she left the room, they both looked at her with the kindest smiles I'd ever seen, and it was Bill who looked back at me with that patient, piercing, sad smile, and I knew - I knew right away.

What it really felt like was remembering - in one heart sinking, stomach dropping swoop I remembered everything. I remembered that she would die, I remembered how it was going to end. And then - then I screamed.

I ran to the kitchen - she had to remember- she had to fix this! But she didn't. Instead she laughed and said I must have had a dream. I told her to go to the doctor. She said she was fine. She said "There's no such thing as ghosts."

But "no such thing" came back - almost every morning. Bill said, "Nobody believes in ghosts." Roy laughed and said, "Until they become one." I asked them if it hurt to die. Bill said being dead didn't hurt - but the lead slug hurt - a lot.

Every morning for a whole year I talked to ghosts. My mom said it was a dream.
It was not a dream. It could have been a lot of things - a great imagination, a hallucination, too many Flintstones vitamins, or maybe just dead cowboys. All I know, is that whatever it was, it was right and she was wrong.

And it was not a dream.
It was not a dream.