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Prologue
“Hey Hank.” I say with a sigh, throwing my backpack on the floor. I flop onto the couch and groan. I toss my head back and look at the ceiling. Contemplating my fucking life. Why? Why do I get to be the town pariah? “I hate teenagers. They are the downward spiral of society.” I say, turning my head towards my living room window.
Hank just stands there; I can see that he is breathing. His chest slightly expanding, a slight movement in his feet. I always wonder what he looked like. Was he young when he died? Did he have shaggy blonde hair? Or silver behind his ears? Does he have green eyes? Or brown? Was he a good guy or maybe the villain?
I have looked up who had lived here previously, and I don’t think any of them fit the bill. I wish I could see more than shadow. I wish he would talk. Since he can't or won't, I talk for him. I named him Hank when I was about seven. I had made up many names before that, but I didn’t like any of the names I thought up for him. For some reason ‘Hank’ stuck.
My mother knew about him, but she never saw him. Would she see him anyways? No one can see what I can. It’s a fucking curse to be honest.
He seemed to only be here when she was gone at work. Then, he would leave when she got home. Maybe he’s my guardian angel? Making sure I don’t burn the house down?
“You know Hank,” I say as I stand up, walking toward him, “I wonder all the time who you were, what you did for work and what you looked like. Did you have a family? Are you attached to this apartment because you lived here or you spent time here?” I cross my arms and inspect him from head to toe. “You're literally a shadow Hank. Can you not form like other ghosts?” I turn around and walk to the kitchen to rummage through the cupboards. I grab some tortilla chips, “I’d ask you if you want something but you know…you’re dead and all.” I swear I can see his shoulders shake, like he’s laughing…or crying.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry Hank. That was careless of me, I wasn't thinking.” I open the fridge, looking for salsa, “I would blame it on my day but that’s no excuse. I’m just a 17 year old asshole.” I grab the salsa and close the fridge. I walk back to the couch and put the food on the coffee table.
“So, Hank, were you hot? I mean like, six pack and shoulders to die for? Could you toss me around? Or do you have a dad bod? Those are hot too, don't get me wrong. I just wonder. Did you work as a butcher or an accountant?” I stuff some chips slathered in salsa in my mouth. I chew for a minute and look at Hank. He’s now sitting down. Looks like he's crossing his legs in front of him. “Were you a serial killer?” I whisper conspiratorially. I eat some more chips in the ever growing silence.
“I wish you would show yourself. What if I give you my energy? You just have to grab my arm.” I grab another chip, “Hold on, let me eat some more chips and you can siphon my energy.” I munch down on some more chips and salsa. I am sure I look like a godsdamn starving hyena right now but gods, I want to see what this man looks like. Maybe a woman, but there's no curves to their body. That's why I assume it’s a man. I shovel a few more chips in my mouth and walk over to Hank.
“Okay, grab my arm.” I hold my arm out toward him. He doesn’t stand or even move for that matter. I sit down and hold out my arm. “Please? I just want to see you. I know that’s weird and I may be asking a lot but you have been watching me for years. I asked my mom if she has ever seen you but she hasn’t so I know it’s only me.” I hold my arm out and shake it. “Unless you have a side piece I don’t know about?” I raise a brow, still holding my arm out.
Hank shakes his head.
Shakes. His. Head.
“Hank! I knew you could understand me. Grab my godsdamn hand!” He shakes his head again. My arm drops down, dejected. I don’t know why I feel like I need to know what he looks like. I just do. He’s been a part of my life for years. Always there. He listens to everything but never says anything back. I tell him about the nightmares I can never remember but I can remember the fear.
Tears well up in my eyes. I just want to see him, just once.
I lay back and stare at the ceiling, wiping my eyes.
“I’m sorry Hank. It’s just been a shit day for the ‘Spaz’ of Plains, New York. I’m so tired of this shit but I love this town. I’m attached to it. The homes, the small town, the architecture. I’m drawn to it. I love it but the people suck.” I punctuate that with a sob. I wipe my eyes and sit back up.
“Well, there’s no point in crying about it. I only have a year left and then I can go do whatever I want. I won't have to be stuck in close quarters with the pond scum of Plains.” I nod decisively. Like that’s was all I needed to do to end my subpar attitude.
“Hank, it’s been real. Thank you for listening to a pathetic teenage girl cry. I’ve got some homework to do. Then mom will be home. Noah might come over for dinner too.” Ugh, Noah, dirty blonde hair, dreamy brown eyes, baseball player, smart and popular. Why the fuck he’s friends with me is a mystery. The guy has eaten with me at lunch, walked me to my classes and drives me wherever I want. He has come over for dinner many, many times and stayed the night. Well, only once but that is another story. He goes to the movies with me and stands up for me.
He is my rock and I tell him everything. He has saved me from the ghosts more times than I can count. Now, he is a man every boy should look up to. He’s the only decent human in this town other than my mother.
“You could join us? I know you can’t eat but you can sit with us?” He shakes his head. “Okay.”
I get up and grab my backpack and pull out my homework. Algebra, I really suck at it. I don’t understand it either. Since I plan to be a barber I don’t need math but I do need to pass for a diploma. I toss it on the coffee table and sit on the floor. I sift through my backpack for my pencil pouch.
The next couple of hours are just of me doing homework and trying to talk Hank into becoming more than a shadow. When mom comes home Hank is gone like usual. I don’t know why it hurts so much today that he is gone but it does. Twists like a knife to the chest. Maybe I have just grown too attached to him.
Whatever it is, the ache lingers a little longer today.
2 Years Later
“She died, Hank.” I sit on the living room floor, staring at Hank’s spot. Willing him to show up. I haven't seen him in months. Sometimes he’s gone for a couple weeks, or even a month. The longest was 6 weeks. I thought he had moved on. Then he was waiting for me one day after school. He’s been gone for about six months now and I think he’s gone for good.
“I just–” I choke on a sob. “I just wanted to talk to you. You always just listen and now you're not here.” I wipe my eyes angrily. “Why did you leave?” I scream at the wall. I sigh, “I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that.” I think about what I’m going to say next before I get angry again at someone who doesn’t deserve it. Not that anyone is here to listen to my anger.
“She was driving home and she slid into a ditch. I don’t understand how sliding into a ditch can kill someone. Maybe she was speeding. It was raining too but I still don’t understand it.” I pick at the carpets. I look up at the wall and Hank still isn’t there. I look back down. “Her body was covered in black marks. Said it was oil.” I trail off thinking about how my mother looked. I know something isn’t right about them. Noah and I are trying to figure it out but so far we keep getting the runaround.
“I have to cremate her. It was in her will.” I tear at the carpet harder, tears are streaming down my face. “She wants her body burned. I don’t know how I feel about that. I don’t like the idea of a burial either. At least, I will always have her with me. Maybe I’ll take her ashes with me on a road trip with Noah. We can spread her ashes up and down the coast.” I curl up on the floor, facing the wall. I lay silent for a while. Thinking about how much my life has changed.
