Chapter Four: His Ghost Girl
The first time he notices her at school it is the flash of blue hair that draws his eye to her. She is wearing an oversized black hooded sweatshirt, loose faded blue jeans, glasses with thick black frames and purple earbuds in both ears. Tattered sneakers that looked as if they had been mud wrestling with lawnmower blades complete her outfit. He can't remember seeing her around before and he asks the group he hangs out with who she is that day as they all gather around the lunch table. This is the first time he will hear rumors about the ghost girl. His ghost girl, because as he listens to the rumors he can feel himself growing protective over this girl he has never spoken to and has only just noticed.
"I heard she's a lesbian."
"Oh yeah? Well I heard that she killed some people in the last place she lived in and moved here to get away from the cops."
"I heard that she's a whore. You can buy her for a fiver any night of the week."
"I heard she accused the football team at her last school of raping her. As if anyone would touch her with a ten-foot pole."
"I know, right? She fell from the top of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down."
Laughter follows each comment. His friends start to remind him of hyenas and the laughter is cloying in his ears. He leaves the table and no one notices, to absorbed in trying to out do each other with rumors about the chick that nobody will talk to. He finished lunch on one of the library couches, his back to the librarian's desk so they can't tell he is eating. Five minutes before the class bell rings he is done. He gathers the wrappers of his lunch and gets up to go. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and is turning to go when he sees something that he hadn't noticed before.
His ghost girl is on the floor, huddled in a corner created by two bookshelves. She is trying to make it look like she is interested in the books on either side of her, but he can see the way she is holding her wrist. He can see the way she is using her hair to hide the fact that her left cheek is red, like someone slapped her. her can see that the frames of her glasses have been cracked. He can see the minuscule flinch that moves her when he drops the remnants of his lunch into the trash bin. When he goes over to her and holds out his hand, he can see her trying to make herself smaller. It takes almost half a minute before she takes his hand.
He helps her up and he can see the way she holds herself, like her ribs are bruised or cracked. He holds her hand as he takes her to the infirmary. Neither of them say a word on the walk there, neither of them say a word as he leaves her by the infirmary door.
It will be two and a half more years before he hears her voice.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Ghost Girl; Chapter 3
Chapter Three: Can You See Me?
A month and two weeks and a day have passed since they met in the forest. School has begun. She thinks that maybe it is time to make friends who can speak English, instead of the language of the forest, the wind through the trees, the oncoming storm. Maybe, she thinks, it is time to have a friend among my own species. So she dresses like a human female. A thin, tight shirts, tighter jeans that have been acid washed and cut in strategic places so they can cost more than normal blue jeans. No sweatshirt. Makeup on her face and polish on her nails. A light spray of perfume. Shoes that are part of a trend instead of her battered old sneakers that Gyp has been gnawing on while she got ready. She grabs her backpack, which is black and littered with buttons that have statements that make her laugh on them, and makes it to the bus stop a minute and a half early. No one talks to her on the way to school and the few times she attempts a conversation no one responds. She gives up.
By the time she gets back on the bus she has gotten lost on the way to class three times. She has tried to engage in conversation more than three times. She has said "Hi! I'm new here." to people who didn't care and didn't hear more times than she cares to remember. She has made no new friends, no new acquaintances. She almost misses her bus stop, but the driver seems to remember her in time. She gets off the bus, goes home and throws the girl clothes on the floor, where they will remain until she remembers them several years from now and throws them away. She pulls on blue jeans that are almost two sizes to big and have been faded by sun, not acid, and have holes that were not there when she bought them. She finishes her homework quickly, only two assignments because it is the first day of school, and pulls on the ratty sneaker that she should have worn this morning. The left one is still partially damp from when Gyp was chewing on it this morning, but they are still more comfortable than the other pair of shoes. It takes her less than a minute to tie the laces and be out the door and into the woods, all the dogs sprinting after her.
She wonders, as she has for one month, two weeks, and a day, who the trespasser was. She wonders, like she has every time she gets near the place where they had seen each other, why she still thinks about him. By the time she gets home she has decided it is time for a change. She buys hair bleach and hair dye that looks dark blue on the board at the shop, but in reality makes it iridescent indigo, like the shell of a beetle's wing. Three years from now, when they meet again in the same spot, he will look startled to see she has been crying and say, "Ghost Girl? What's wrong?" She will think he is a hallucination and tell him what she has told no one and he will be unsure how to fix things. Her dogs will mill around her, uneasy at their pack-mate's pain, and the bull terrier will lick at her tears. He will hug her and tell her everything will be alright, even though he has no way of knowing the future. They will sit there until she stops crying and, when he asks, she will tell him her name.
A month and two weeks and a day have passed since they met in the forest. School has begun. She thinks that maybe it is time to make friends who can speak English, instead of the language of the forest, the wind through the trees, the oncoming storm. Maybe, she thinks, it is time to have a friend among my own species. So she dresses like a human female. A thin, tight shirts, tighter jeans that have been acid washed and cut in strategic places so they can cost more than normal blue jeans. No sweatshirt. Makeup on her face and polish on her nails. A light spray of perfume. Shoes that are part of a trend instead of her battered old sneakers that Gyp has been gnawing on while she got ready. She grabs her backpack, which is black and littered with buttons that have statements that make her laugh on them, and makes it to the bus stop a minute and a half early. No one talks to her on the way to school and the few times she attempts a conversation no one responds. She gives up.
By the time she gets back on the bus she has gotten lost on the way to class three times. She has tried to engage in conversation more than three times. She has said "Hi! I'm new here." to people who didn't care and didn't hear more times than she cares to remember. She has made no new friends, no new acquaintances. She almost misses her bus stop, but the driver seems to remember her in time. She gets off the bus, goes home and throws the girl clothes on the floor, where they will remain until she remembers them several years from now and throws them away. She pulls on blue jeans that are almost two sizes to big and have been faded by sun, not acid, and have holes that were not there when she bought them. She finishes her homework quickly, only two assignments because it is the first day of school, and pulls on the ratty sneaker that she should have worn this morning. The left one is still partially damp from when Gyp was chewing on it this morning, but they are still more comfortable than the other pair of shoes. It takes her less than a minute to tie the laces and be out the door and into the woods, all the dogs sprinting after her.
She wonders, as she has for one month, two weeks, and a day, who the trespasser was. She wonders, like she has every time she gets near the place where they had seen each other, why she still thinks about him. By the time she gets home she has decided it is time for a change. She buys hair bleach and hair dye that looks dark blue on the board at the shop, but in reality makes it iridescent indigo, like the shell of a beetle's wing. Three years from now, when they meet again in the same spot, he will look startled to see she has been crying and say, "Ghost Girl? What's wrong?" She will think he is a hallucination and tell him what she has told no one and he will be unsure how to fix things. Her dogs will mill around her, uneasy at their pack-mate's pain, and the bull terrier will lick at her tears. He will hug her and tell her everything will be alright, even though he has no way of knowing the future. They will sit there until she stops crying and, when he asks, she will tell him her name.
Ghost Girl; Chapter 2
Chapter 2: It Takes Time
The first time he sees her, he's not entirely sure she's real. Surrounded by the most eclectic pack of dogs he has ever seen, gold streaked copper hair that looks like she cut it with a knife, one side cut shorter than the other, the left side is barely below her earlobe, the right side almost an inch below the earlobe. He can see a couple of braids bound in copper wire poking through the rest of her unbound, uneven hair. She is dressed like a boy, the first time he sees her, in basketball shorts that reach her knees and a loose T-shirt that hides the fact that she is female and probably came from a gas station. He can see scars on her legs; her shins are littered with them; two are the most prominent: on her right calf there is a faded one that goes from two inches above her ankle to three inches below her knee, on her left leg there is another that goes from mid-calf and ends somewhere beneath the black shorts.
A greyhound whines and presses against her leg, she rests her hand on it's head. Her eyes never move from him, they are calmer than anything he has seen before. They are beautiful in the way that the brief respite that the eye of a hurricane brings is beautiful, peace in the center of chaos. He wants to speak, he wants to ask her name, what she is doing here, where she lives. He wants to ask her if she is real, this girl who is not beautiful but is. This girl who is feral and tame and full of conundrums. She turns and runs from him, disappearing into the forest like a deer or a dryad, before any words have a chance to come out of his mouth. He thinks that she is a ghost, running with ghostly dogs. Whenever he thinks of this meeting he will think of her as 'the ghost girl'.
It will be three years before he meets her again, three years before he discovers that her eyes are different colors, the left one is deep green and the right one is ice blue. It will be three years before he learns her name. He will know her before then, through rumor and seeing her in the hallways at school, but he will not remember this meeting in the forest. He will only see a girl that no one talks to, a girl who has dyed her hair an iridescent blue, always has headphones in, and always walks with her head down. He will not connect that this girl with blue hair who looks as if she has been beaten by the world is the same girl who looked at him with quiet confidence and disappeared into the forest with her pack of dogs. It will be three years before they meet again in the forest and he recognizes her for who she is.
The first time he sees her, he's not entirely sure she's real. Surrounded by the most eclectic pack of dogs he has ever seen, gold streaked copper hair that looks like she cut it with a knife, one side cut shorter than the other, the left side is barely below her earlobe, the right side almost an inch below the earlobe. He can see a couple of braids bound in copper wire poking through the rest of her unbound, uneven hair. She is dressed like a boy, the first time he sees her, in basketball shorts that reach her knees and a loose T-shirt that hides the fact that she is female and probably came from a gas station. He can see scars on her legs; her shins are littered with them; two are the most prominent: on her right calf there is a faded one that goes from two inches above her ankle to three inches below her knee, on her left leg there is another that goes from mid-calf and ends somewhere beneath the black shorts.
A greyhound whines and presses against her leg, she rests her hand on it's head. Her eyes never move from him, they are calmer than anything he has seen before. They are beautiful in the way that the brief respite that the eye of a hurricane brings is beautiful, peace in the center of chaos. He wants to speak, he wants to ask her name, what she is doing here, where she lives. He wants to ask her if she is real, this girl who is not beautiful but is. This girl who is feral and tame and full of conundrums. She turns and runs from him, disappearing into the forest like a deer or a dryad, before any words have a chance to come out of his mouth. He thinks that she is a ghost, running with ghostly dogs. Whenever he thinks of this meeting he will think of her as 'the ghost girl'.
It will be three years before he meets her again, three years before he discovers that her eyes are different colors, the left one is deep green and the right one is ice blue. It will be three years before he learns her name. He will know her before then, through rumor and seeing her in the hallways at school, but he will not remember this meeting in the forest. He will only see a girl that no one talks to, a girl who has dyed her hair an iridescent blue, always has headphones in, and always walks with her head down. He will not connect that this girl with blue hair who looks as if she has been beaten by the world is the same girl who looked at him with quiet confidence and disappeared into the forest with her pack of dogs. It will be three years before they meet again in the forest and he recognizes her for who she is.
Ghost Girl; Chapter 1
Chapter 1: Prologue
When I was a kid, I wasn't totally human. I don't mean that every full moon I'd turn into something hairy and go terrorize the countryside. I mean that I never could identify with people. I'd try really hard, I tried until the point where all my classmates would avoid me because all I'd do was annoy them.
I didn't understand why the girls in the class laughed at me, pointed those perfectly manicured fingernails at me and called me 'tomboy', which turned into 'lesbian' as we grew older. I learned the meaning of tomboy and tried to act accordingly, tried to fit in with the boys, tried to make a friend, like my parents told me to. At least the boys didn't laugh. They didn't even notice me.
Eventually I stopped trying. I stopped talking. I was a model student, the teachers loved me. Always does homework, aces all the tests, doesn't talk or goof off in class. Wish we had ten more like her. I always laughed to myself when I heard that, I wouldn't wish this outcast life on anyone. Even the other outcasts made friends among themselves, but none would talk to me. I'd given up after a year of trying, finding books better friends then anything that walked on two legs and looked like me.
My only solace through those years were the woods behind my house and the stables where my parents worked, not even twenty feet for where we lived. We had a pack of mismatched dogs: a border collie (Gyp), a jack russell (George), an old basset hound (McGee), a greyhound (Tigger), four mutts that had too many breeds to properly tell which was which (Kadie, Lira, Spot, and Terror), and a bull terrier (Whisper) we'd found on the side of the road one year with a broken leg that never did heal right. She could give anyone a run for their money though, and for all the bad hype about her breed I'd never heard her growl, not even when George tried to steal her food. As soon as my homework and chores were done I was out the door, racing Gyp and Tigger, the rest of the pack trailing behind us through the woods. I fit in better running through the woods with my pack then I did sitting inside all day, scribbling notes for something I'd never use.
So the summer my parents announced that we were moving there wasn't much for me to miss. Took us a week to get packed, all my books, all the dog toys and beds, all my parents knick knacks, everything we'd ever owned packed away in boxes in the back of a mover's van. It was my 14th birthday, June 16th, when we reached our new home, on the outskirts of a town so small that I doubt it had a tick mark on a map. Big house as well, provided by my da's employers. Ma'd started her own business, making websites and magazines for different companies. The first morning we were there me'n the dogs were out of the house, before Ma or Da could get me to help with the unpacking. There were woods about ten feet from our backdoor, seperated from the house by a stretch of manicured lawn that already had a few holes in it from George and McGee's explorations the night before. We disappeared into the woods, hunting for new sights and sounds and smells to replace the ones we had left behind.
I remember that summer, because it was the summer that changed everything, starting from the second I met him.
((Just to be clear, this is a fictional story. Bits and pieces are probably based off real life, but the idea mainly goes to a manga called 'Say I Love You'. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Leave me a comment or two!!!))
When I was a kid, I wasn't totally human. I don't mean that every full moon I'd turn into something hairy and go terrorize the countryside. I mean that I never could identify with people. I'd try really hard, I tried until the point where all my classmates would avoid me because all I'd do was annoy them.
I didn't understand why the girls in the class laughed at me, pointed those perfectly manicured fingernails at me and called me 'tomboy', which turned into 'lesbian' as we grew older. I learned the meaning of tomboy and tried to act accordingly, tried to fit in with the boys, tried to make a friend, like my parents told me to. At least the boys didn't laugh. They didn't even notice me.
Eventually I stopped trying. I stopped talking. I was a model student, the teachers loved me. Always does homework, aces all the tests, doesn't talk or goof off in class. Wish we had ten more like her. I always laughed to myself when I heard that, I wouldn't wish this outcast life on anyone. Even the other outcasts made friends among themselves, but none would talk to me. I'd given up after a year of trying, finding books better friends then anything that walked on two legs and looked like me.
My only solace through those years were the woods behind my house and the stables where my parents worked, not even twenty feet for where we lived. We had a pack of mismatched dogs: a border collie (Gyp), a jack russell (George), an old basset hound (McGee), a greyhound (Tigger), four mutts that had too many breeds to properly tell which was which (Kadie, Lira, Spot, and Terror), and a bull terrier (Whisper) we'd found on the side of the road one year with a broken leg that never did heal right. She could give anyone a run for their money though, and for all the bad hype about her breed I'd never heard her growl, not even when George tried to steal her food. As soon as my homework and chores were done I was out the door, racing Gyp and Tigger, the rest of the pack trailing behind us through the woods. I fit in better running through the woods with my pack then I did sitting inside all day, scribbling notes for something I'd never use.
So the summer my parents announced that we were moving there wasn't much for me to miss. Took us a week to get packed, all my books, all the dog toys and beds, all my parents knick knacks, everything we'd ever owned packed away in boxes in the back of a mover's van. It was my 14th birthday, June 16th, when we reached our new home, on the outskirts of a town so small that I doubt it had a tick mark on a map. Big house as well, provided by my da's employers. Ma'd started her own business, making websites and magazines for different companies. The first morning we were there me'n the dogs were out of the house, before Ma or Da could get me to help with the unpacking. There were woods about ten feet from our backdoor, seperated from the house by a stretch of manicured lawn that already had a few holes in it from George and McGee's explorations the night before. We disappeared into the woods, hunting for new sights and sounds and smells to replace the ones we had left behind.
I remember that summer, because it was the summer that changed everything, starting from the second I met him.
((Just to be clear, this is a fictional story. Bits and pieces are probably based off real life, but the idea mainly goes to a manga called 'Say I Love You'. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Leave me a comment or two!!!))
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