You never fixed the door. It hung on one hinge for the entire four years I lived in this pit. Every time a storm came it banged and banged and banged, spooky drums of the damned. On summer days it squeeked and groaned, a rusty mockery and a reminder of the impotence of my repeated complaints.

When the pipe broke I called right away. It was raining in my living room. My late grandmother’s painting was ruined. So was my TV. You showed up in an instant to turn the water off. Then I waited six days with no shower or toilet, buying drinking water at the grocery store and hoping to see the promised repair van arrive soon. You did not offer to replace my belongings.

The virus hit. Apparently I am a non-essential worker. I asked if I could pay the rent late, for the first time in four years. I told you my mom was willing to mail me a check to help out. Surprise registered on your face. I wasn’t sure if you were surprised I had a mother, or that my mother was willing to help me. Yes, black men have mothers, too.

You gave me 24 hours to vacate. You sent this eviction notice. The stores are out of toilet paper. This will do.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Nick asked Ann. She was puzzled at the question because it was one she was expecting, but not at this particular moment. Maybe somewhere down the line. They had just made love, but admitting a belief in something so intangable and highly speculative was far more intimate than adolescent sex.

“I wasn’t expecting you to ask me that. Why did you ? What made you ask me that, in bed, post orgasm?” Ann genuinely wondered.

“I don’t know. It just popped into my head and I felt like asking. I don’t think I believe in ghosts and wondered if you did. You seem like a pretty skeptical person, but you never know. We’ve only known each other a couple of months and I really like you. I guess I just wanted to see if I was falling for a weirdo.” Ann felt a sense of comfort with Nick’s loose candor.

“Believing in ghosts isn't just for weirdos anymore. There's so many shows, youtube channels and documentaries about them now, it almost feels like people who don’t believe in ghosts are considered unusual. We are in a post rational world these days. People are looking past what’s obvious and running towards the unexplained.” Ann said with a sanguine tone, while she stood up from the disheveled bed and put her clothes on. Nick watched her.

“I’m up for whatever. If its real, cool. If it’s not...then, whatever. But it would be cool if they were real. Don’t you think?” Nick asked, taking his jeans off the floor, boxer shorts still inside, and sliding both on under the covers.

“Hey? Would you be okay with meeting a family member of mine?” Ann asked, twisting her dirty blond hair into a clip, walking toward the bathroom, off the bedroom in Nick’s small apartment.

“So we’re doing that now?” Nick asked, honestly. He doesn't have an aversion to it, he just wasn’t sure where Ann was going with the idea. He has feelings for Ann, but isn’t sure if ‘meeting the parents’ is in order just yet.

“No. Not that whole thing. Neither one of us are ‘There’ yet. But, I’d like you to meet my aunt. She believes in ghosts. But not really ghosts. She believes in the unseen. She reads tarot cards and she has dreams that manifest sometimes. She’s pretty cool and meeting her isn’t like meeting parents. Aunt Jane doesn’t have expectations like everyone else does. She lives.

She had a dream about me a week ago, and told me about it. And in this dream a man asked me if I believe in ghosts. So, I think maybe the best thing to do, is to have you ask her. Are you up for it?” Ann was serious. Her aunt Jane was rarely ever wrong about these things and won’t make a big deal out of them. Although, Ann is well aware that Jane will find it enticing to have the opportunity to confront a manifest dream.

“Will she read my cards? How much does she charge?” Nick asks in an excited tone.

“Jane doesn’t charge. She asks you if you want a reading, and she probably won’t do one for you when you first meet her. She only reads for family and friends.

“When can I meet her?” Nick asks, putting his sweatshirt on.

“I can text her right now and see what she is up to. You good with heading over now if she is free?” Ann asks.

“Yup!” Nick replies, walks over to Ann and kisses her. She sends Jane a text.

“Hey Jane, my bf? LOL asked me if I believe in ghosts.

Can we come over?”

Nick continues with his affectionate petting while Ann waits for Jane to reply. She is receptive to his advances. Just as they are getting ready for round two, Ann’s text notification alerts her.

She opens the message.

“Sure, I’ve got a couple hours. Come by.”

Ann replies:

“b there in 10 minutes.”

“It’s good. She said we can come by.” Ann tells Nick. He is nearly drunk on arousal, and Ann puts a stop to it. “Come on. She’s not going to wait around all day. We can come back here after.” She puts her phone in the pocket of her tight blue jeans, kissing him back while calming his advances. He easily composes himself with the looming intrigue of Jane.

***

They walked into the old apartment building, and up the steep incline of stairs. The walls bubbled behind the wall paper with uneven horsehair plaster, that had fallen over a decade before. Ann inhaled the familiar smell of ancient must, bringing her mind back to mornings filled with music and games. Jane raised Ann from the age of 2 until Ann decided to leave at 16 to live with her mother, out of a sense of responsibility that she hadn’t inherited from either of her parents. Her memories of Jane’s home are calm and safe, making her wonder why she chose to dive back into the abyss of her dysfunctional mother. Teen angst was the conclusion she quickly came to, in her mind. Jane had left the large, cracked, green door opened, for Ann to walk in.

“Hey Jane.” Ann said, walking into the kitchen from the hallway. Jane turned and smiled while she poured three cups of espresso from her stove top, cast iron espresso maker. The kitchen was filled with the smell of dark coffee.

“Espresso, cappuccino or latte?” Jane asked, standing over the three mugs. She took a small metal carafe from her freezer and poured almond milk in it. She took the hand held frother and started to froth the milk.

“Could I have a cappuccino?” Ann asked.

“Me too, please!” Nick said.

“Three cappuccinos. Coming right up. Please sit down.” Jane replied, pouring the cold foam on top of the espresso in each mug. “The milk is already kind of sweet so I recommend not using sugar.”

“I don't think I’ve ever seen you use sugar.” Ann recalls.

“I don’t usually put milk in either, but I felt like something a little decadent today. So. What’s up?” Jane asks sipping coffee through the foam.

“This is Nick. We are seeing each other. And today, he asked me if I believe in ghosts.” Ann spoke in a matter of fact tone, knowing it’s preferable to Jane. She doesn’t appreciate soft language and dancing around an issue. Jane doesn't have time for nonsense. She knows that life is short and would rather it not be wasted with the time it takes to listen to insincere words.

“Ah. That’s why you're here.” Jane replied.

“That and the coffee.” Ann said with joking sincerity. Jane laughed. The childish giggle gave way to a middle aged sigh and smile. Jane looked at Nick. HIs handsome face was dulled by his unkempt hair and lose athletic clothes. She thought for a moment if he would let her dress him, that he would be just a bit dangerous. She amused herself by making him nervous with her glances. Jane understood Ann’s attraction, but knew it would end with adolescence.

“So. Did you answer him?” Jane asked Ann.

“I brought him here.” Ann answered.

“Was that meant to be an answer?” Jane asks, slight judgement in her voice. Ann was used to advocates answering her questions for her. A bad habit acquired from a foster care system that constantly ignored better ideas. Jane knew that once a child learns to depend on others to think for them, they would never try to think for themselves. No matter how hard she worked to change that fact, Ann was a product of pandering.

“I knew you could answer better than I could.” Ann said, flippantly.

“How can I answer a question about what you believe? No one but yourself should ever be able to determine your beliefs. And they should never be so rigidly structured that someone else feels confident in making that determination. The time we perceive is as fluid as a dream to creatures without clocks. Cats don’t limit their minds to the waking world, and neither should you. The question is yours to answer. Ask her again, Nick.” Jane was sure in her lecture and waited for Nick to take responsibility for Ann’s deflection. He did not disappoint.

“I think she was just freaked out by the dream you had and thought that it would be more fun to have you tell me about what you believe.” Nick said in true, smitten fashion.

“Now NIck, the human race would never have gotten anywhere if everyone waited for someone else to answer their questions. I will not answer someone else’s question.” Jane was stern, but not off putting. Nick was curiously attracted to her sense of self. Over 20 years his senior, he wondered what it might be like to be intimate with Jane. Not just sex, but all aspects of intimacy. Suddenly, Ann looked immature to him.

“I think I believe in ghosts.” Ann answers to break Nick’s gaze. Her jealousy propelled her. Jane smiled while drinking her coffee, satisfied with what she had accomplished. Pulling truth through competition is as easy as it is amusing to a middle aged woman.

“I don’t know if I do. I’d like to. But it just seems kind of stupid.” Nick replies. He’s afraid he insulted Jane. He didn’t.

“That’s because you have a Hollywood idea of things you cannot see. All this tarted up garbage about possessions, and narcissistic hauntings has been burned into the brains of three generations. Taking fun fiction and trying to turn it into fact from years of urban legend musings and illiteracy. Dickens, Einstein, Jung and other erudite minds all believed that energy cannot die. It must change form. That energy transfers and exists in other forms eternally and only imprints of its ancestry remain. And in that remnant of what once was, the human living world finds familiarity, and gets a glimpse behind that veil but never quite enough to understand. To the unseen, we might be ghosts. A memory of what they once were. A recognized perception of their late, fleshy suffocation. If their energy is ignited with memory and yours with fear, it may cause that veil to move for just enough time to question everything you thought true. Now that is a real haunting.” Jane can feel Nick is wooed by her soliloquy, and Ann too immature to understand. In Ann’s mind, Jane’s age and lack of concern for physical appearance made her no competition. A fallacious belief of the limited. Those things are masks that work only to soften the agony of uninteresting company. Buts as Ann has yet to learn, intrigue and sensuality isn’t stifled by socially imposed exclusivity. It is supernatural and not restricted to the confines of the physical world. It is energy, and it works best when in unexpected settings. Jane knows that eventually Nick will visit her, without Ann.

I

If Death would only tickle

Our fears could ease a little

When he comes to your bed

Would it cause you more dread

If he carried a feather or sickle?

II

And if Death could give us a smile

Spread some cheer once in a while

He needn’t bring gifts

Though he could fill the wish

Of the poor man whose pain is a trial.

III

And finally, if Death would just vary

And sometimes be temporary

If he’d let us come back

Or send signs through the black

We’d find him more complimentiary.

I felt my heart beat slow today

At ninety one I need to pray

“Will my guilty soul be free

Will forgiveness surround me

Will I get my eyesight back

Will you give me joints intact

Can I have my memories

The names and places I did see

Will you give me lungs to breathe

And all the beauty You conceived

I asked the Lord and he replied

"Yes my child, welcome inside"

Then my burdened heart relaxed

Now there was no going back

I am sharper than a knife

No more worries no more strife

Young strong and looking good

I love this awesome neighborhood!

So much more that can't be said

It is all right when you are 'dead.'

We will understand one day

And some already know His way

That we don't even have to try

In our own ways we all will die

Dying by the bitter cold

Murdered, starved or just plain old

Will you die behind the wheel

Or overdose to ‘just not feel’

Darwin Awards are never fun

Be ready when your death time comes

I wasn’t sure about this “describe sex in a library setting” challenge, so I put the wife in the car and went to find out first hand. I have to say, she wasn’t impressed... said it was not much different than sex any other place, but with a lot more, “shushing.”

I disagree. I couldn’t help feeling that I had acquired some ancient, mysterious knowledge afterwards. Of course, it was “Greek Week”.

I love you,

but words

are

h o

l l

o w

t o m b s;

if love,

with words,

is planted

but the seed,

sewn,

f

a

i

l

s

to bloom.