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“Hello?” A girl’s voice, young.
I said nothing.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“My name is Harrison James. Uh…”
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Adam Drake. Are you still there?”
“Did you know him?” She couldn’t see me wince.
“Kind of. Um. Yeah. We, uh… had a correspondence.”
“The service is tomorrow. Can you make it? Hello?”
“I’ll make it.”
I still had that motorcycle. There was at least a week or two before I had to give it back. The trip blurred into lines of bright tail lights and reflective overpass signs. My motel was cheap and tasteless, but it was there. I couldn’t remember the last time I watched cable or slept on sheets with a thread count of less than 800. In the morning, it was foggy and I slowly tightened my tie, making sure to get it perfect. He deserved that.
“You must be Harrison.” I recognized her voice from the phone call. She was short with peanut butter hair, tucked carefully behind her ears. “You’re the only one here I don’t know. I’m Natalie.” We shook hands halfheartedly, more for the sake of the custom than the pleasure of meeting each other.
I eyed the attendants.
“Not many people here.” She looked with me.
“He didn’t have many friends. He didn’t get out much.” A knowing smile crept onto my face, but I pushed it aside and nodded.
“I’m sure… The service was nice.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. Do you want to go for a walk? I live nearby and we could grab something to eat… or something.”
“I’d love to.” We walked for a bit, under a cherry tree and through the gates of the cemetery.
“Ok, I can’t help it, how did you know him?” I paused for a moment and she spoke again: “Don’t think about the right words, just say it. Nothing can hurt me anymore.”
“I guess you could say he was a tenant of mine. I never saw him, never even spoke directly to him. But we left little notes to each other, sometimes letters. I could tell he was a great guy. I learned a lot from him.” We walked in silence as she processed.
“You know,” she finally said, “I kind of thought something like this was happening. I mean, I thought he was dreaming every night, but I knew something was making him happy. Something new.” She stopped at a gate in a picket fence. “This is the house.”
It looked like home that people would dream about. A picket fence lined the yard, a set of two grassy rectangles separated only by a cement walkway down the middle. White lattice hid the underbelly of the porch and columns supported the roof that jutted out to protect it from the rain. The squat gray house was adorable, really, with its white-trimmed windows and flowery curtains. On the front porch was a bench-swing and the door was painted bright green. It was old, obviously, and somewhat out of shape, but it was beautiful in its own way. I was sure they didn’t have imported furniture or brushed-chrome appliances, they wouldn’t have expensive sheets or a flat-screen TV. But they’d have paintings lining the walls and a couch that had been loved for years, potted plants in the windowsills and a testy sink that worked only when you hit it just right. I may not have had all of those, but Adam had at least gotten me the paintings. I felt like my own home was just a shell. A place full of stuff where I was just waiting to die. It didn’t mean anything to me. It was a coffin with a nice view of the park.
“You live pretty close to the cemetery,” I said.
“I know, right?” She forced a laugh as though it’d always been a joke to laugh at, but today it just wasn’t funny. “Here” We sat on the porch, our feet on the top step. After a while, she spoke again: “Does it hurt?”
“A little,” I said. “They made room for him to stay and now he’s just gone. I kind of think that this is what ghost pains are like. Phantom limb or something.” She nodded, apparently approving of my supposition.
“It’s getting hot,” she said. The fog had started burning away by the end of the service. As we sat, there was no longer any trace of it; the sun was high and the sky was as blue as I imagined Adam’s eyes to be.
“Yeah,” I said. It was hot enough, now, that I didn’t need to be wearing my full suit anymore. The funeral was over, after all. I took off my jacket and started rolling up my sleeves.
“What’s that?” I’d uncovered Adam’s tattoo when I pulled up my left sleeve. I smiled and couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Adam got this.” She stared for a second.
“What even is it?”
“I think it’s a bird.” She considered, then nodded.
“Mm… I like it.”
“I do, too.” I looked at it for a minute, thinking about Adam. “I think I’ll get another one.”
“What of?” I explained it to her and she smiled. Her eyes got glossy and she cast her gaze downwards.
“That sounds really great.” She sniffed. “Man, I didn’t even cry at the service.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” I pulled her in to an embrace. “Don’t worry about it.” She sobbed into my shoulder for a while and I held her until she was through. When we pulled away, my shoulder was wet and we laughed.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“Do you have a place to stay tonight?” Before I could answer, “You could stay here, if you need.”
“I have work in the morning. Thank you, though.”
“So you’re leaving, then.”
“Yeah. I’ll be driving all night.” I checked my watch. “I should probably get going.” I slipped my jacket on and made my way to the front gate.
“Harrison.” I turned at my name and looked back at her.
“Send me a picture of your tattoo,” she said. I smiled.
“I will.”
It was maybe a month before I came back. I knocked on her front door and, when she appeared behind the screen, I could peer into her house and see that, indeed, she did have a couch that looked over-loved and potted plants in all the windowsills. She grinned.
“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
“You told me to send you a picture, but I wanted to show him, too. In person.”
“Let me grab my coat.” In half a second, we were walking together to the cemetery.
I rolled up my sleeve and tossed my jacket on the ground.
“I got a tattoo for you,” I said. My knees sunk a little into the soft dirt. I could see grass trying to grow. Green strands poked their heads out of the soil.
“I think he likes it,” she said.
“Yeah.” We sat for a while and she traced the lines on my forearm.
Adam Drake was here.



FIN