Page 12 of Almost You

“I’m tagging along as you look for this client’s father.”

Christopher groaned. “If I agree, no kissing.”

“All right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Jesus, fine.” I held up a hand like in court. “No kissing unless you kiss me. I’m happy to just hang out and talk.” I shot him a sly smile. “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been a few days.”

“Not to me.”

“I know.”

As we looked for the ghost-father of his client, I had no idea how much time passed in his human world, but here the pretty sunsets came and went, and the weather changed as we encountered different ghosts who manifested snow or rain.

As Christopher stopped to inquire about the one he sought, we would talk about art or music in between. He loved music. Christopher could really have been a roadie, the way he dissected the different genres within rock.

Lots of our conversation was what I’d call friendly bickering. We’d argue over dog types (Labs won for sure), and the better pet, or what the best sound in the world was (Christopher picked trains; I picked babies laughing). Despite my lack of memories to share, we never ran out of things to say.

It made me think about how my essence was still me. Slowly, I came to agree with that idea.

Who I was (or had been) weren’t my only experiences. I still possessed certain opinions and tastes. I supposed this might bethe result of experiences that I simply couldn’t recall, but it could also be just me—my core self.

In any case, I liked our banter. I liked talking, apparently. I got off on it. And Christopher was sharp and engaging to talk with. I felt less restless with him. I had the feeling I’d been a restless type of person even on Earth. Still, I honored his request and put any attraction aside.

One day, Christopher found his client’s father.

“That’s him.” He tugged at my arm. “Over there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Come on.” We raced to the ghost, who was sitting in a giant leather chair, reading a book. He wasn’t as pale, as cadaverous, as some of the others also reading. The books intrigued me, and my heart fluttered as I spied some familiar titles. Apparently, I liked reading.

“I’m a friend of your daughter, Maggie. Do you have any memories of her?” Christopher asked the older ghost. He wore glasses on the edge of his nose, though he wasn’t more than fifty, judging by his thick hair. I’d been here long enough to know he might have given himself more hair, though. Altering your features was a popular pastime. I’d yet to try it, but some more muscles might be nice.

“Who? No.”

“Well, she’s your kid and she’d love to see you once more. I’m doing a séance with her, and I can channel you through.”

“She’ll see me? Hear me?”

“Through me. A little, maybe.”

“Meh, why would I want to go through you to chat with some girl I don’t know?”

“You once loved her.” Christopher handed him the picture of the ghost and Maggie. He took it smoothly from Christopher’s hand.

All ghosts moved this way, like we were skating across surfaces.

“She’s what, twenty? Old enough to live her own life.” He shrugged, unmoved by the evidence of his same face hugging the woman. He smiled in the picture, and they both had significant gaps in their front teeth.

I wondered if he’d fixed that here, because he lacked the tooth gap. It made me decide not to change myself.

If Christopher ever found my people, I wanted to remain me.

“Not interested,” the old ghost repeated. “Now get lost.”

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