Pen Pal

PARADISO

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.

~ Rabindranath Tagore

What we call memory is the intersection between imagination and fact. Memories are the stories we tell ourselves about the important events in our lives. In the telling, some details get lost, others embellished, until truth is closer to fiction.

It’s like Fiona said. Each of us make our own truths, even ghosts.

I suppose I should’ve figured it out the day she came in the house and disarmed the security alarm without me having told her the code. That was the same day she said she thought something was troubling me and that ghosts need closure. By that time, she’d been working for the Wainwrights for more than a month. They kept her on when they bought the house, never knowing just how helpful she’d turn out to be.

She isn’t quite as gifted as her sister, Claire, but the gift does run in the family.

It took months of me sifting through memories and reliving my past to understand what happened. I lived two parallel lives, one past and one present, removed from reality but believing myself in it, utterly blind to the truth.

Everything that happened with Aidan was real. So was everything that happened after New Year’s. But it got all jumbled together and mixed up, because being dead and not realizing it is very fucking confusing.

Past. Present. Fact. Memory. Everything interconnected and part of a whole, like individual pages in a book before it’s bound.

But now my binding is set. My story is told. The book of my life has been written to its final chapter.

All that’s left is to close the cover and put it away.

When I open my eyes, nothing looks the same. The walls are painted a different color. The carpet has been replaced by wood. The furnishings are unfamiliar, as are the people in the framed photographs on the walls.

The house is very different from when I lived in it. Different but familiar, like the face of a friend you haven’t seen in many years. I never noticed the changes before, but the blinds have been lifted from my eyes now. My vision is finally clear.

The storm outside has ceased raging. Everything is still. Beyond the living room windows, dawn spreads glimmering light over the yard and faraway hills. I hear birds chirping, smell springtime in the air, and marvel at the beauty of it all.

The doorbell rings.

I move toward the front door, compelled by a force as elemental as gravity, as unstoppable as time. I turn the knob, pull the door open, and find Aidan standing on the porch.

He’s drenched in golden sunlight, smiling at me as if I’m the first sunrise he’s ever seen.

“Hey, bunny,” he says softly, his eyes shining with adoration. “Did you miss me?”

I fall into his arms. His embrace is sweeter than a thousand kisses, better than a million wishes, more perfect than any dream could ever be.

“You found me,” I whisper, crying tears of joy.

He rubs his cheek against mine, breathing me in as he holds me tight.

“I never lost you. Who do you think has been ringing the doorbell this whole time?”

I bury my face in his neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I couldn’t see. I was so confused.”

He murmurs against my ear, “It’s okay. I told you I’d wait forever if I had to.”

When I raise my head and stare at him through watering eyes, he smiles a smile of such beauty, it takes my breath away.

I say, “The life jacket was a nice touch.”

“I thought so.”

“Was that you during the séance, or was I doing all the knocking and special effects?”

“That was me. But all the other stuff that went on in the house was you. The flickering lights, the open cupboards, the TV going on and off…I’m sorry to say, you made it pretty miserable for the Wainwrights.”

“Wow. I’m dead and melodramatic. You’d think making it to the afterlife would give a person a certain perspective on things.”

He says gently, “You were traumatized. Give yourself a break.”

“And my wedding ring falling through the ceiling? The coin that kept getting moved? I suppose that was you, too?”

“None of that matters now. What matters is that we’re together.”

“But wait, how come I didn’t understand what was happening, but you did?”

He smiles. “Maybe I’m just smarter than you are.”

“That isn’t even a little bit funny.”

All around us, the golden light grows brighter. I feel a pleasant urgency, an upward pull that increases with each incremental lift of light. I want to surrender to the pull, but I have something I need to ask first.

“Why did you postmark all the letters from prison? Was that a clue about your past?”

He smiles. “More like a clue about the future.”

“What do you mean?”

“Washington State Penitentiary is where a certain asshole is being held on charges of murder. I’ve been thinking we should pay him a visit.”

I recall how Fiona told me that schizophrenics can see ghosts and can’t help but laugh. “Oh, Aidan, you’re diabolical.”

The golden light surrounding us grows brighter. Then he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. In his lips, I taste forever.

That and something almost as sweet:

Revenge.