ghost story
"Yeah, I saw your Bluesky post about all the chaotic energies today, or—"
My friend Sam and I were on the phone. "Well, or it's more like I'm out of sync with everyone today," I said. "The connection is bad. It's just weird. Like, from the moment I got up this morning."
Then I explained that I'd awakened to a text from a friend, who'd wanted me to know she was going to the "pool bar" for "game night" tonight. I knew that "pool bar" meant "the bar with pool tables," but I wasn't sure what game night meant. "What game?" I'd asked her.
This had stressed her out. She didn't know. She thought it was like a board game night. Maybe? Ohh, I texted. I'd been thinking of a sports bar scenario. Game day, game night. Which made me wonder, what sports season is this? Tennis? Would we be watching tennis? I texted this to her. "It's not that serious," she replied. I recounted this exchange to my friend Sam. Oh, my God.
Then Sam mentioned finding healthier ways to self-soothe, and I launched into another anecdote from this morning. "My Lyft driver did not talk to me today. Which is very unusual. That's how low my vibes are."
"It's unusual?" Sam asked.
"Yes," I said. "On high-vibe days, everyone wants a bite of this." Another peal of laughter from Sam, which I ignored. "But today, I am the poison apple." No takers.
"I'm sorry," Sam said, "but these turns of phrase bring me joy."
"Let me finish! So, since I was left in peace for once, I put my head on the sill of the car's open window and closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face. Like a dog. And at some point I guess I'd started petting myself, or, like, stroking my own hair. And I suddenly opened my eyes and realized I'd been doing this, and I stopped and put my hand down. But no one was looking. I guess what I'm saying is, try that. When no one's looking, or whatever." Yeah! Try giving yourself a pat.
It's these strange days of invisibility, where no one makes eye contact or seems to fully hear anything I say. It actually started yesterday. I'd gotten into a Lyft, and the driver said "are you okay" which was atypical. And at that moment I was indeed feeling like maybe things weren't okay.
Later, at a red light, I'd said to him "hey, I like your glittery nutcracker," of the glittery nutcracker hanging from his rearview mirror. I was holding a bittersweet childhood memory in my own mind, but it would've taken too long to explain to anyone. "Does it hold special significance for you?" I asked him after a short pause.
"Yes," he said. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. It was probably a glare.
Yep, nope, don't ask people why they have Christmas ornaments hanging in their cars in April.
"Good," I said, which was probably the worst thing to say, and we both looked away from each other. The rest of the drive was spent in silence. The weather has been hot and cloudless for the past three days.
I've read that ghosts don't really enjoy communicating with the living—because of the bad connection. I mean, it's shouting across spacetime, it's trying to communicate anything of substance using magnetic poetry. Seems frustrating. I guess that's why poltergeists throw chairs like Bobby Knight.
A Lyft driver recently asked me if I knew who Bobby Knight was.
"Yes," I said uncomfortably.
Most of that Lyft ride had involved questions about college basketball, a sport I've never watched, but about which my adoptive parent was passionate. And, like my adoptive parent, the Lyft driver was about 100 years old. "My grandfather attended I.U.," I finally volunteered.
"A hoosier!" said the Lyft driver. "Have you ever seen that Gene Hackman picture? .......Hoosiers?"
"Yes," I said. This was when we made the turn toward my apartment, thank God. Thank God.