the wild youth. | stanley uris |

chapter five: a ghost with a beating heart

'Tell me now, how is it fair?
Our lives are just a gasp of air.'

__________

Stan held onto Maggie's waist as they lay upon the hard ground. For a few seconds, which seemed like hours, they stared into each others eyes. Maggie saw that the light that once filled his eyes had gone out, and all that was left was a blank stare. They were strangers, once more.

Maggie wanted to say something. Anything. But no words could come out of her aching throat.

She felt a tickle in her throat and abruptly rolled over off of Stan, onto her arms, and started coughing, which caused her to wince in pain.

Stan immediately got onto his knees and helped Maggie to her feet, his hands around her small waist. He took a look at her tiresome face, then to her neck where plum purple bruises started to form. "Th-thanks," Maggie said hoarsely, not making eye contact. She couldn't look at him. She was suddenly ashamed of all that she'd done.

Her eyes darted down at her ghostly hands and saw that there was no trace of blood. She glanced over to her mailbox and the balloon had disappeared, too. Had she imagined it?

Maggie looked around to see if there was any clue, any explanation as to what had just happened. The only person there was Stan, still holding her, still staring at her, but she didn't notice.

Her breathing picked up as visions of her encounter with the demonic clown flooded her mind. She closed her eyes hoping they would go away, only to find that it made it worse. Her chest became heavy, and it was hard for her to breathe. Maggie was starting to have an panic attack.

She used to get them a lot but after some medication and therapy, they died down. Until now.

Stanley had grown up with Maggie's anxiety issues and knew exactly what to do.

"Hey, hey! Mags look. Look at me," Stanley spoke in a calm tone.

Maggie shook her head, eyes closed, heart racing, breathing unsteady. She was shaking and afraid.

"Maggie, open your eyes. Open your eyes and look at me. Look into my eyes, Maggie." Stanley had now cupped her small face in his hands, speaking in a more stern tone.

Maggie closed her mouth, steadied her breathing, and opened her eyes. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and Stanley wiped it away with his thumb.

She couldn't tell if the tear was from the near death experience or the fact that she had failed her old friend once again.

There was a long pause and silence enveloped the two in a thick fog.

"You should go home, Mags," Stanley said, taking his hands off of her pale face.

Maggie didn't want to go. She wanted to stay with Stan and the comfort of his warm skin. He always gave the best hugs. Maggie longed for one right now, but knew that that point in their relationship is long gone.

She opened her mouth to say something, but then immediately closed it, knowing that it wasn't worth the pain. Maggie gave one last look to the boy with the curly brown hair, then headed home.

Stan waited for her to enter her house, then went back into his. He climbed up his stairs into his bedroom, and then carefully looked through the curtains to view Maggie's bedroom to see if she got there safely. Despite being a ghost to her the past few years, he still cared.

Stanley saw her open her door and shakingly close it behind her. For a moment she just stared blankly at the painted wood. Then she collapsed to the floor and held herself tightly. She didn't even notice she left her window open since her hands were already buried in her sobbing face.

It still killed Stan to see her like this. They may have grown apart, but the grudge he had once held against her was suddenly gone. How could he have dropped it so quick? He never knew.

He still didn't know what had happened, but he knew that something that affected her this badly would scar Maggie forever. All Stan wanted to do was hold her. Hold her till she fell asleep in his arms, but he just sat there staring, quiet and still. A ghost with a beating heart.

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