Forget-me-not

“Come here, come see this.”

Andre hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside.  The apartment was small, made smaller by the clutter that Jon never cleared away.  Against the window sat an easel, paints and brushes lined the sills and crowded the floor.

Jon pulled the tarp off his most recent work and held up his arms, a fresh wave of annoyance hitting him at seeing his work marred again.

Part of him was conducting a test – he wanted to see if anyone else could see it.

Andre reacted immediately.  His face went pale, his eyes grew wide.  He gaped at the painting as though it terrified him.  He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Jon watched him carefully, studying his response.

“Jean…d-did you do this?  Did you write that?” he finally managed.

“I sure as hell didn’t ruin my own painting.  This is what I’ve been talking about – someone keeps sneaking in here to write ‘Sophie’ on all my damn paintings!” He wasn’t half as sure as he tried to sound, but he wasn’t going to admit that he might be going crazy.

“Jean…” Andre sputtered.

“Who is Sophie?  Why do you look so freaked out?  Do you know her?”

Andre looked at the painting for what felt like a long time.  Finally, he turned to Jon.

“She…was someone I knew.  Someone I cared for.”

Jon waited for him to continue.

“She died, Jean.  She…I…” he looked back at the painting, unsettled.

“Are you telling me some…some ghost is ruining all my paintings?” Jon demanded, somewhere between disturbed and disbelieving.

Andre continued to stare at the name.

“I don’t know, Jean.”

Jon started pacing in aggravation, ignoring the pain in his left leg.

“Well, why is she haunting me, then?” he asked as he walked the room.  “Seems to me she’s your ghost.”

“My ghost?  I don’t have any ghosts.  Jean – this is ridiculous, there’s no such thing as –”

Jon pointed at the painting.  Andre sighed.

“Why is she haunting me, Andre?  Get her out of my apartment.  Doesn’t this ghost have any manners?”

“She used to live here,” Andre said softly.

Jon grumbled and returned to pacing.  He resented his body, and all its aches and pains.  Other men his age were at their physical peak.  He stumbled around like a weary old man.  Even Andre, who was probably ten years Jon’s senior, could move with much more ease.  And much less pain.

He sipped from his glass and nudged a few empty paint cans out of his path with his cane while he waited for Andre to do something.

At last, Andre turned to face his tenant.

“Well, what are you going to do about this?” Jon asked.  He sank into the sofa and lit a cigarette, his knee and calf burning from over-exertion.

“Jean, what am I to do?”

“I don’t know.  But I’m pretty sure haunted apartments are the landlord’s responsibility.  Maybe you should add that as an addendum to your lease agreements in the future.  Seeing as this is apparently a problem with you.”