Whoo! THE MEETING

I imagine there is a light tapping on my bedroom door.  There is a short pause and the tapping repeats itself. Fright makes my heart jump into my mouth. My lips are cemented together. Aiming for my cell phone on the table less than a foot away, I twist my shoulder, utter too loudly, ‘Ouch!’ The phone falls to the floor. Simultaneously the 60 watt reading lamp burns out. I will not be murdered, I won’t let it happen. As silently as possible, I slide off the bed and crawl under it as far as I can go. The plastic box I keep there to store an extra quilt blocks my way.

There is no more tapping. Did I imagine it twice? I ask myself. ‘No, you did hear it. Lay still, very still.’ The door opens slowly, silently, and closes again.  A whiff of sweat curls towards my nose. I try to lift my arm, smell myself, but can’t. A gentleness, slight warmth, begins to surround me, calm me. My fear eases and I lie there waiting, waiting for what?

When I finally wiggle my way out from under the bed, I get a mop from the storage closet to push the plastic box out of its summer sleep. The blanket goes on the closet shelf and the box I take to the basement. Being trapped is not what I ever want to happen again. Downstairs, I turn the Tov. to loud as I assess last night’s weirdness. No explanation comes to me. The day moves along normally.

Night does not. It is close to midnight when I get brave enough to go to bed alone again. I put a heavy iron door stop in front of the open door so nobody, no thing, will tap on it. Wearing only my usual birthday suit I crawl into bed. The day, the evening, had been extra long. Heavy
eyes begin to droop and close. Almost asleep, the same warmth I felt last nite, surrounds me. It touches my skin, runs up and down my spine, touches my breasts. It is wonderful. IF this is a ghost, I whisper, ‘Stay, stay with me.’ I know what is happening, feel slightly embarrassed, but go with it. A dim yellow light moves slowly to the door, stops, begins to form into a transparent body. My hand tries to feel it but I feel nothing except empty space. ‘Come back, come back,’ I plead. My body, all of it, is sweaty, warm outside and in.

Dawn comes and I writhe waiting for the spirit, the ghost, to come to me. Just as the first rays of the golden sun rise, so does my phantom ghost. I overcome my scruples and lie there waiting for him to touch me again.

He does not. I touch myself and smile.