Ghost Memory

Ghost Memory - Part 1

Ghost Memory

by Maer Wilson

My misery wasn’t in the mood for company, especially the company of some old, dead guy. All I wanted was to get into my apartment, take a hot shower, curl up in a ball on the sofa and maybe cry for a while.

“This is a bad time, I know,” said the old man. “And I know you won’t believe me right now, but there will come a time when you’ll laugh about what happened earlier.”

I only glanced at him as I unlocked the door to our small apartment and slipped inside, directly into our living room. The furniture was solidly built in soft browns and tans. We didn’t have anything fancy, but it was a comfortable, uncluttered room. The late morning winter sun lit the room with a muted glow.

I set my backpack by the coat closet door. I wanted to gather my thoughts and figure out what to do next, alone with my humiliation and guilt. I did not want to deal with the dead right then.

I don’t have pity parties very often, but I not only needed one, I wanted to wallow in one. I felt I was due. I’d just done one of the most stupid things in my whole life. I’d not only made a fool of myself, I had embarrassed Thulu, my fiancé, in front of his entire dojo. That hurt worse than anything. Although I admit I was feeling pretty bad about the guy with the broken nose, too.

I pulled my bloody karate outfit out of my backpack. I stared at the white top and bottom with disgust and carried them into the kitchen where I wrapped them in a plastic bag and tossed them in the trash. I definitely wouldn’t need those anymore.

For years, Thulu had tried to get me to take Karate with him. I tended to prefer the more casual street-fighting style that was taught in self-defense classes. But I finally gave in during a weak moment and agreed to take a beginners’ class.

Thulu had been sitting on the sidelines, chatting with a friend, while our instructor slowly took us through the basics. They paired us up to do a couple of the simpler moves. I stood on the mat in my bare feet, determined to look good and a bit anxious with so many strangers around me. I’d followed the instructions easily and thought I was ready to go through a couple forms.

I never got that far. My partner was a tall, skinny guy with thinning brown hair and twinkling blue eyes. The moment he bowed, my instincts kicked in, and up came my knee with a sharp crack against his nose. Blood began to spray everywhere - all over me, all over him - as he held his nose. I backed away as the instructor rushed over with a towel. It wasn’t my proudest moment.

But the worst thing was the look on Thulu’s face. He’d never looked at me with such shock, embarrassment and disappointment before, and it simply broke my heart.

The heat rushed to my face, which I was sure was beet red, as I managed to stammer my apologies to the man, to our instructor, Thulu and the class. I assured the man that I would cover his medical expenses. In a fit of either inspiration or guilt, I also offered to pay for his classes for six months. I topped that by offering a scholarship to the dojo. I left for the changing room before guilt prompted me to give them everything in my trust fund. My poor dead parents would pitch a fit from beyond if I did that. Especially after all the arrangements they’d made to make sure I never needed to worry about money.

Thulu came in as I stood in front of the locker I’d been assigned, tears in my eyes. I watched him from the corner of my eye, not quite daring to look at him, yet. Thulu was one of the happiest, calmest people I knew, and the thought of causing him any kind of pain was distressing.

He gave me a long, searching look, his expression softening. He came over, pulled me close and dropped a kiss on the top of my head.

“It’ll be okay, love. I’m taking him to the clinic,” he said. He tucked a strand of my hair behind one ear before giving me the grin I love so much.