I drift outside, an ache in my chest. Out here in the backyard are the remains of my beloved bicycle. The frame is bent, and the brake cable has snapped. I brush my hand against the frame, remembering the day I died.
My thoughts go to another, to one whom I’m sure does not grieve. I find her house easily; I’ve been here a hundred times. I remember very clearly walking her home from school every day, never having the nerve to tell her. I see the street corner where I stood, watching until her front door closed and I could no longer see her. Our neighborhood had been the center of a rash of burglaries, and she hadn’t felt safe walking alone. She told me she felt safer walking home with me.
I see her figure through the window, sitting on the couch, a jacket splayed across her lap. After a moment, she stands up and approaches the front door. I see her pause for a minute, then quickly pull it open and step outside. She still holds the jacket I lent her.
I whisper her name to myself. She begins to walk down the street.
“You have regrets, too?”
I turn. Another ghost is beside me. He smiles.
“So she’s the one?” he asks.
We watch in silence as she knocks on my door. My parents open it, their eyes widening when they see her. She gives them the jacket and explains that it’s mine. My parents tear up.
“I’m here,” I call. “Please, hear me.” But they don’t. I call her name, knowing in my heart she won’t hear me.
Below me, I see her tilt her head and look around as if she heard someone calling her. My heart racing, I say her name a little louder. She turns and looks right at me, her eyes widening. Could she really see me? I salute her in that half-joking way that I always used to when I was alive.
“Is it really you?” she asks. “Why have you come back?”
“I never left.” I reply. “I’m such a coward for not telling you this when I could. I love you. I have always loved you!”
Tears come to her eyes, and she smiles. “I love you too.”
Beside me, my companion claps my shoulder. “See you later, then.”
He disappears, and I smile. As I prepare to leave this world forever, I see my parents standing in dumbfounded shock in the doorway and the girl I love trying to explain to my parents what happened.
The last words I hear before I enter eternity are “He’s okay now.”
About the author:
Corinne Morier is a bibliophile-turned-writer with a penchant for writing stories that make readers think. In her free time, she enjoys blogging, playing video games, and swimming. Her motto is “Haters gonna hate and potatoes gonna potate.” You can keep up with her latest by following her blog at http://corinnemorier.wordpress.com/.