Day Eight

Then he abruptly picked up his tray and walked away. I had blown it. The most I could have ever hoped for was that he wanted to be my friend, but experience had taught me that was hoping for too much. I left my tray and went outside. I found a corner where I could be alone. I looked up at the clear blue sky and actually hoped I would see a ghost. I hadn't seen any for a really long time. I was beginning to wonder if they'd gone away or if they really were, like my granny always told me, in my head. Whatever the case, I wanted a ghost to appear right then. Not to talk but just to be there. They never talked anyway. I talked to them constantly, but they knew better. Talking always led to trouble. There were other ways to communicate. I would have to learn them. Obviously talking never got me anywhere but alone anyway.


For the next week, I waited with bated breath for Woody to strike up another conversation. I had rehearsed things I could say. Things like "where are you from" or "do you have any brothers and sisters." You know, innocuous questions. Woody, alas, never offered me the opportunity to say these things. In science class he was beyond quiet. He was barely there. The first lab we had to do together, he aptly did everything he was supposed to do. Clearly he was intelligent. Intelligent enough to go through the entire exercise without having to speak to me once. His communication was clear.

And the lunchroom was no different. I sat by myself every day. He, too, sat alone, but in a completely different area of the cafeteria. He sat with the white people. I guess he felt safer there.

The following week started off no different than the first. Then after lunch, outside on what they liked to call the recess area, something happened. I was sitting crosslegged in the grass looking into nothing, daydreaming about Woody, when Corey and about four of his friends approached me. I knew what was coming. I guess they truly had nothing else better to do. It was hot; the sun burned so brightly I could almost hear my brown skin sizzling. And the heat does strange things to people. Before Corey even spoke a word I had a vision of a heat induced mania sweeping the entire school. I saw pictures in my head of kids, Corey especially, festering with sores and blisters on their faces and mouths, a bloody ooze dripping from the corners of their lips as they screamed in agony. I often thought of things like this. This is what happens to your imagination when you grow up talking to ghosts.

"What's up, Peterson?" he asked with a snicker. I shrugged and looked away, but he had come to pester me. "You see any ghosts lately?"

"Boo!" Some boy had popped up from behind me. I suppose his intention was to scare me, but he didn't . They laughed anyway. Anything to keep themselves from looking stupid.

"Look at him," one boy said, as if I weren't sitting there.

"Is he seeing a ghost right now?" They crowded around me and Corey, with the biggest grin on his sweaty face, inched ever so close to mine and looked me dead in the eye. "Are you seeing ghosts right now, buddy? Are ya?" I really didn't like Corey. He teased me constantly in elementary school and now I saw that secondary school would be no different. In spite of all this though, he was quite handsome. Had he known how much I would have liked to kiss him in that moment, he wouldn't have dared inch so close. "Tell me, boy, what do you see?"

"Your mama." Their smiles vanished and they were dumbstruck. It was a well know fact that Corey's mother was dead and apparently I had just crossed the line. What they hadn't realized, though, was that I really did see his mother, standing behind him in a gray silhouette of the sun, a disapproving look on her sore ravaged face, a meat cleaver sticking out the side of her head. I hadn't known before then that she had been murdered. I wondered by who. I couldn't help but ask.

"Do you know who killed her?"

"WHAT YOU SAY TO ME PUNK?! WHAT?!" That did it. I went down in dustbowl of clenched fists and heavy feet. With every jab to the head and every boot to my stomach I knew they meant to kill me. At least that's what it felt like. Outside of it all I heard a commotion of kids screaming and then one by one, the pounding faded, until they had all stopped beating me. A white man looked over me and picked me off the ground. He was a teacher, but I didn't know what he taught. At that moment I only knew he was my saviour and he pulled me to safety. Mr. Shephards, a burly minister who also taught Math, was yelling at the boys as they were all escorted away, to the principals office I'm sure. He would enjoy lecturing them and preaching about God at some point during the day. I was sure of that.

"Are you ok, son?" the man asked me. I nodded. I looked around him and saw Corey's mother with her hand over her mouth, crying as her child was taken away. He was in tears. I never meant to hurt him. What was I supposed to do? "You're bleeding pretty badly, here. Let's get you to the nurse." The man placed a gentle hand on my back and nudged me towards the school. Everyone was watching, of course, but I only noticed one pair of grey eyes staring into mine from the crowd - Woody's.

Kids were cruel. The next day the entire school had heard about what happened. People gave me cold looks, tripped me in the hall, talked about me as I passed loudly enough for me to hear and then of course there was Corey, pummelling his fist into his hand everytime I saw him as a warning of what was to come the next time he got me alone ... off the school grounds of course. He'd already been given heavy detention. Another infraction would have surely meant suspension. The malice in the way he looked at me made me think he could care less about being suspended though. It was as if he wanted revenge. I could understand why he felt that way ... because he didn't believe me. None of them did. I hadn't seen his mother since Mr. Doyle, that was the white teacher's name, took me away to the nurse. I did wonder what happened to her. I wondered if anybody had a clue.

Not surprisingly, another day of Science went by without Woody uttering a single word - though I did catch him make a few awkward glances in my direction. Then, in the cafeteria, he sat down across from me like it was the most casual thing in the world. I was stunned. And nervous. Very nervous.

He looked at me for a moment, puzzled. This only made me more nervous because the more he looked at me the more he made me melt.

"You know, the whole school hates you."

"Do you hate me?" I asked before I could even sensor my words. He smiled a bit and shrugged.

"Hell, I don't even know you."

"Nobody does."

He started to say something, but then he didn't. I couldn't look at him anymore. My knee wouldn't stop shaking under the table. I had to look away.

"Well, why'd you say that?"

"Why'd I say what?" I realized as soon as I asked it what a dumbass question it was. Once again, I was up to the task of being predictable.

"Why'd you say that about Corey's mom?" I thought about this for a moment and tried to come up with a good lie. Anything would have been better than the truth. I just wasn't that creative.

"'Cause it's what I saw." He shook his head slightly. I wonder if he thought I was as mysterious as I found him to be.

"So, you're sticking to that story, are you?"

"It's not a story. It's the truth."

"You really think you see ghosts," he said, stuck in his disbelief. The truth was already out now. There was nothing I could do. So, I nodded.

"Well," he started hesitantly, "what do they look like? I mean, do they look like they're dead or do they look like us?"

"They look ... dead. Sometimes, I can see how they died."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, say if someone drowned? They look all wet and torn apart on the outside. And they're always always grey, like real faded. Nobody is black or white when they're dead, you know. Just grey." I almost told him about the meat cleaver, but I thought better of it. I expected him to start laughing and call me crazy or something. People had taken an interest before only to turn around and make fun of me for everything I told them. Even knowing this, I spilled it all because I just wanted to talk to him. It made me happy talking to him.

He had stopped asking questions. He recoiled again. There was something about him, something that was crying out for help. Then it became clear to me.

"Do you know somebody that died?" I asked.

He looked up at me sharply and I knew that I had nailed it. I wondered who it was, but he quickly changed the subject to something I was more familiar with.

"You're really strange." For some reason, when he said it, it almost sounded like a compliment.

"That's what everybody says," I said carelessly. He laughed and then I laughed too. And we looked at each other. In that moment it was all so simple. He was lonely. I was lonely. And for what? What was it about ourselves or about that school that made us feel like we didn't have an alternative? What we so afraid of? In that moment, it was clear there was nothing to be afraid of. We only had the promise of the unexpected. It made me feel so alive for once just knowing that something great could possibly happen. Of course, the opposite was also true. Some horrible fate could have been lurking around the corner wrapped in a vision of happiness. I didn't care. All I wanted was to laugh with him and have it be ok. And for a moment, it was.

"Are you gonna eat that apple?" I asked, referring to the apple still on his lunch tray.

"Why? You want it?" I shrugged nonchalantly. I was starving.

"Why don't you never eat your food? You always sit there picking at it." He watched me? Suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore. My stomach was too tied up for consumption.

I glanced over to my right and said, "you see that boy over there? Every day he comes up and spits in my food. "

"And you let him?" he asked in an extremely disapproving manner.

"Well, what am I supposed to do exactly? I can't fight him. I can't tell on him." He looked over at the boy who was laughing and completely unaware that we were talking about him.

"I see your point." For some reason, I thought that was funny and I laughed a little. At this he smiled. Twice in one conversation now. That was the most that either of us had smiled and laughed since the school year began. "So, what you need to do is change up a little bit, see? You always sit in the same spot. You always get in the same line. Don't you have some food at home you can bring?"

"I guess, " I answered.

"Well, tomorrow bring your lunch. Meet me outside underneath that tree. You know, the one with the red leaves?"

"Yeah. I know which one."

"I bet you when you're not here he's gonna wonder where you went."

"You think he'll come looking for me?"

"Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Don't matter. I guarantee you he won't be spitting in your food anymore. "

"What makes you so sure?"

"'Cause I'm not gonna let him."