Ghost. Just the word gives me chills. I have always believed in paranormal activity.
     My first ghostly experience happened when I was four. I remember it as if it happened yesterday.
     My grandfather died on the doctor’s examining table during a routine check-up. My grandmother didn’t want children at the burial, but we were allowed to attend the viewing the day before.
     Dressed in a black velvet knee-length dress, I chewed on my long, dark braids as I made my way towards Grandfather’s casket. His powdery face frightened me at first, but as I listened to and watched all the grown-ups around me cry, the frightened feeling was immediately replaced by serenity. His stern stare was no longer a threat, and that made me feel at ease. Granted, I didn’t fully understand death and why Grandfather looked and felt the way he did, but somehow I knew that he was in a better place.
     On the day they buried Grandfather I had to stay at a friend’s house. Even though I hadn’t known him that well, I cried. Being I was only four years old, I can’t honestly give a reason why I cried, but I do remember that it was the strangest family event I had ever attended.
     That night as I slept my grandfather visited me. His face appeared much kinder than when he’d been alive. His harsh chiseled features were softer, and his muddled salt-and-pepper hair was now neat in appearance. I smiled, welcoming him.
     My vision of him was clear, and a pure white glow surrounded by a bright purplish-white light shone around his tall, slim figure. Grandfather’s clothing was such a brilliant white that it looked almost blue.
     With his arms outstretched, he floated towards me, a smile on his face. Although I could not hear his voice, his mouth moved as though he were speaking. He stopped when about four feet in front of me. Slowly, his head turned to the side. He never took his kind sea-green eyes off me.
     Then I heard him say, “Take care of your mother, Jordan. You’ll have some very difficult moments in your lifetime, but I’m here to tell you that I will be here for you. I love you.” Then he vanished.
     I’ve never forgotten his words, the look in his eyes as he said them and the warm tone expressed with each word. They are now forever embedded in my mind.
     After my grandfather visited me in a dream, I experienced several other visits from family members and friends who passed away. All were within a few years of each other, and all in dreams. Not all of them spoke, but those who did told me that they were fine, and that they were in a better place and they would look out for me. The odd thing was…all of them said what my grandfather had said: “You will have some very difficult moments in your lifetime.”

The beginning of a new life is always a dramatic and experimental time for us humans. Accepting one’s destiny can be a major struggle; but in the end, when it’s all over and done with and we reflect on the valuable life lessons we learned from it, then and only then are we able to sit back, take a deep breath and smile.

Faint sounds of footsteps in the hallway woke me. With the blinds drawn, rays of moonlight peered through the sheer white curtains, casting dancing shadows throughout the small room. My heart thumped. I sat up, rubbed my eyes and scanned the room. At first, I thought it was Sharon or Jason, but in glancing at the clock, I realized that they wouldn’t be up yet.
     When the footsteps grew louder, I faced the bedroom door. My eyes were wide open as I waited for signs of someone. Still nothing.
     Everything was now quiet, and when no one appeared, I fluffed my feather pillow and collapsed on the bed. As I lay with my legs curled in a fetal position, the sound of the distant footsteps echoed in my head. Was there someone there? Did I dream it? I listened again for a few minutes longer then brushed it off as just a dream. Within a few seconds, sleep fell over me.

Martin stood within arm’s length, but he was just out of my grasp. As he stood a few feet in front of me the feeling of being overwhelmed was replaced by a feeling of loneliness. When Martin smiled, cold shivers ran through my trembling body. He moved slowly towards me with his arms stretched out in front of him. I looked down—there was no floor…no walls…nothing surrounding me except pure white. Now that Martin was closer, I noticed that his legs weren’t moving. His body was gliding. The air around me began to cloud with the scent of musk, one of his favorite colognes. The welcoming scent brought a smile to my face. My mind raced. Looking up again, I saw that his heavenly figure stood directly in front of me, staring at me with those warm, loving green eyes of his. Smiling, he reached up and placed his hand on my shoulder.
As our eyes connected, dizziness overwhelmed me and the room started to spin. Without words, he spoke to me with his mind. What did he say? Would I remember it when I woke up? Was I dreaming? He turned his head slightly to the right, blinked slowly then disappeared. I held my arms out and reached for him; I screamed for him, but he didn’t return.

I watched as Martin crossed the busy intersection. He waved frantically when he spotted me, and I laughed. I looked away for an instant, and when I looked back, I screamed in horror.
     “Martin!” I stood. “No!”

     Watching that white pick-up truck hit Martin, flipping him into the air to land on the sidewalk with a sickening thud is an image I’ll never forget. Was there something I could have done to help him? He never knew what hit him—that’s what the doctors kept telling me, but they weren’t there. They didn’t see the look of fear that filled his beautiful green eyes when he read the horror in mine.
     I didn’t want to experience that horrible memory again, so I sat up, shook my head and, running the warm washcloth over my face, wiped the tears from my eyes. I thought of something that I knew would make me smile—the first time I met Martin.

I met Martin Corbette during my freshman year of college. He was a nineteen-year-old college sophomore. He had the most gorgeous long-lashed eyes that I had ever seen on a man. He stood out among the rest of the guys there.
The first time I looked into his bright eyes I remember thinking how confident and unguarded they were. It’s almost as if I could tell what he was thinking.
     I’ve often heard that the eyes are the windows of the soul. At first, the emerald green color of his grabbed my attention; then I immediately noticed how friendly they were. Martin stood six feet or more. His broad shoulders gave the impression of confidence and strength.
     Just about every morning we arrived in the college parking lot around the same time. Martin always parked in the same spot under one of the huge light poles. I’d stand beside my car and watch as he gathered his books from the back seat of his little green car. He’d look over at me, as if he knew I was there, watching him. He’d smile and then run off with his friends.
     Martin’s smile mesmerized me the most. Maybe it had to do with his dark crimson lips—I’m not sure exactly. Even from a distance, I sensed that when he smiled it was a full-heart smile and not one just to be nice.
     I don’t really know what it was about him that enthralled me so much that I’d stand there and watch him get out of his car. I usually wasn’t attracted to the clean-cut, preppy-type guys, but there was something about Martin that stopped me in my tracks. I wouldn’t say that watching him was obsessive behavior. It was more my way of bringing a smile to my face every morning—to start my day on a happy note.
     I really hadn’t dated that much, but the men I had gone out with were usually average-looking, ones that you really couldn’t put into a category like preppy, model-material, jock or brain. Martin was definitely a guy I categorized as preppy, and that was solely based on his outside appearance. He didn’t act like many of the preps I had seen on campus—stuck-up. His hair, naturally parted on the side, was always neat and appeared recently brushed. When I was in college, baggy-yet-dressy clothes were trendy among the preps and Martin often wore the collared shirts with the little alligator on them.
     I even found myself looking for him in the hallways. When I did see him I’d lower my head shyly and rush by him, clutching my books.
     Then one beautiful morning in May he came up to me in the parking lot.      “Hi,” he said.
     His eyes sparkled, and now that we were much closer, I saw that they had tiny brown specks in them. His dark-brown hair shimmered in the warm morning sun. My cheeks gradually filled with color.
     “Hi.”
     “I was wondering—I mean, would you like to go out with me sometime?” he asked, biting his lower lip. He tucked his math book under his arm and leaned up against my car as he waited for an answer.
I was shocked, ecstatic and scared all at the same time. Did I hear that correctly? Did Martin Corbette, the most sought-after guy on campus, just ask me out?
     A warm breeze rushed from behind me and blew my long hair up and over my shoulders. I pushed one side back and switched my two heavy books from one arm to the other.
     I felt his eyes on me, I looked up, and our eyes met. I thought he would break the contact instantly, but he didn’t; he kept his eyes locked on mine as his strong lips parted slightly.
     “Yes, I’d love to,” I said, my voice on the verge of cracking. The sweet smell of his cologne intoxicated me.
     I’d heard several rumors about Martin—some extreme, none bad—but they were no different from normal for any other guy his age. They were mainly about his friends, but since Martin was usually with them when whatever it was happened, he was included. What it came down to was that he liked to party, but who didn’t? He showed self-assurance in his posture, and I stared hard to find a glimpse of I’m-just-kidding in his eyes. Thankfully, I didn’t witness such a look.
     His gaze left mine, but not to look away. He slowly studied each of my facial features, moving to my throat, lingering at my bosom, and then traveling down my waist, hips, legs, and then back up again, even more slowly. When our eyes met again his looked satisfied and filled with curiosity.
     I had to admit I, too, was very curious about Martin Corbette. He wasn’t a guy who dated much, from what I knew and saw of him, but he sure could turn the heads of the girls in this school without putting on a front. Most of the boys here walked with their heads high, snobbish, and it seemed to me that they always bragged about this thing and that.
     Martin was different. I never heard him talk of his car or boast about the girl he went out with the weekend before, which many of the guys at Cambridge did. He had several wild friends, but I guess they respected that Martin wasn’t one to share his intimacies openly. I appreciated that, and that’s why I wasn’t offended when he stared at me so intently.
     “How about tonight?” he said. “Slingers is having a live band—I think they’re called The Triggers.”
     I wasn’t much on the bar scene, but I really hadn’t had that much of an opportunity to go since I started school, either.
     “Okay.”
     His smile deepened and he seemed beside himself, as if he’d just won a trophy or something. “Is seven okay?”
     “Sure, seven is fine.”
     “Great.” He smiled. His handsome face brightened.
     When he started to leave, I said, “Do you know where I live?” I half-expected him to say no, but he turned with a huge smile on his face and said yes.
     “Oh, you do?”
     I guess he saw the trepidation in my face because he shot out the reason for how he knew my address before I could say anything else.
     “We live near each other; I see you often,” he said.
     That makes sense, I thought. Even though I wasn’t nervous about going out with him, I was always cautious when it came to dating and men.
     “Really? I don’t remember ever seeing you around.” I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth.
     “Okay, okay, I don’t live all that close to you,” he admitted, blushing. “I saw you get out of your car one day. I just assumed you lived there.”
     I laughed, and then I told him the exact address just to make sure.
     “See, I was right,” he said, winking.
     I couldn’t help being cautious. My mother hadn’t had many dates since my father left, but the ones she had been on were with horrible guys who promised her everything just to get her to go out with them. Even at the young, innocent age of ten I knew that they wanted her for more than just dinner. She always assured me that everything was okay, and that she’d never do anything she didn’t want to do. I could tell by the way Mama spoke about her dates that she wasn’t telling me everything. Of course, I never expected to hear about every little detail, but now I am older I believe she left out some important information purposely.
     Two of Martin’s friends walked by. They laughed aloud and glanced our way several times.
     “Hey, wait up,” he called to them.
     They stopped, and each one held up their hands for him to high-five them when they spotted me. I started to lock my car door when I heard Martin yell “Just a sec, guys.” Then he ran back to me. My hands started to shake.
     Martin’s face softened as he neared me. The disgruntled look on his face concerned me. Was he coming to cancel our date? Was it all just a joke?
     He tucked his books farther back on his side, leaned toward me and quickly kissed me on the right cheek.
     “See you tonight,” he yelled as he ran off with his friends.
     I stood there for a few minutes shocked.
     “Hey, girl,” I heard someone yell from behind me.
     I turned and saw my best friend, Sharon Tess, walking toward me with a load of books in her arms. She glanced over at Martin, then back at me.
     “Well?” Her brown eyes glowed red with jealousy.
     “Well, what?” I laughed at her failed attempt to compose herself.
     She dropped her armload onto the curb.
     “He’s a doll. What did he want? A date, I hope.”
     I started to walk away.
     “Hey,” she yelled as she scrambled to pick up her books. “Tell me.”
     I laughed. “Yes, he asked me to go out with him.”
     She jumped up and down. “Oh, I’m so happy for you.”
     Sharon had quickly become my best friend. We met on the first day of college and have two classes together—one in the morning and our last class for the day. She was also studying to become a psychologist.
     “We work well together,” She had said one day at my apartment. “With your long, wavy brown hair and green eyes and my long blond hair and brown eyes, we’re what some of the boys here call ‘babes with brains.’”
     We had both laughed.

Remembering the good times with Martin always made me feel a lot better. Of course, it brought mixed and affecting feelings with it, but that will remain with me forever.
     Just as I stepped out of the bath, Sharon knocked on the bathroom door. “Jorie, the phone is for you,” she said.
     I wrapped my robe around myself and quickly tied it. “Okay, thanks, Sharon.” I stepped out of the bathroom, and ran to the guestroom, plopped on the bed and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
     “Hi, Jordan,” Whit said. “I’m sorry I had to call you at Sharon’s house, but it’s urgent that I speak with you.”
     My hands shook.
     “Oh, that’s okay, Whit. What’s up? Is Mama there?” I asked, wringing the water from the ends of my hair.
     “Actually, Jordan, that’s why I’ve called.” His voice grew more distressed with each word.
     “What do you mean? Why? Is Mama okay?”
It seemed like forever before he answered.
     “Your mama’s in the hospital.”
     “What? Why?”
     “It seems that your mama has been sick for quite some time, but hasn’t told you or me about it,” he said.
     “Sick? What do you mean sick? Mama never gets sick.”
     “I’m afraid this isn’t a cold, Jordan. She has cancer.”
     I dropped the towel onto the floor. Seconds raced by before I could say anything. Everything around me stopped. The clock on the wall lost its tick, the gentle breeze coming through the open window beside me stopped blowing and, most importantly, my heart seemed to have stopped beating.
     In tears, I said, “I’m on my way.”
     “I hoped you say that.” His voice cracked. “I’ll be waiting.”
     After I hung up, I fell backwards on the bed, not caring that the ties on my robe had come completely undone and I was lying on the bed fully exposed. I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. Almost half an hour went by before I realized just how long I’d actually lain there.
     “Jordan,” I thought I heard Mama whisper. Her voice sounded so close, as if she stood right beside me. I turned my head to the side, half-expecting to see her, but there was nothing.
     I hopped off the bed, tightened my robe and ran to tell Sharon that I had to shorten my visit with her and Jason, and that I’d call her when I found out anything.
     I threw my clothes back into my suitcase; I didn’t care what I put in it. I hollered for Daisy, and we went out the door.
     “Come on, girl, let’s go.” She hopped up in the passenger seat, panting and anxiously wagging her tail. She didn’t care where we were going, just that we were going for a ride in the car.
     As I drove to Mama, I thought of my first date with Martin and all the wonderful and heartbreaking events that led me to where I am now. Our porch talks, our trips to the zoo, our picnics, cookouts in the backyard, and our camp-outs under a homemade tent made of white sheets suspended from the ceiling over my bed, and our walks through the park ran through my mind repeatedly.

Zumaya Publications
ISBN: 1-894869-61-3
GENRE: Paranormal Romance

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