ODD STORY

I was standing there talking to these two girls when that old Chevy drove by. At first I really took no notice of it. The second time it passed, I watched as it stopped at the corner. One guy got out of the front passenger door. Another stuck the upper half of his body out of the rear driver’s side window and sat on the frame. Both of them were looking at me and both had guns.
The girls I had been talking to noticed I was not paying attention and started to turn around as the two guys at the Chevy were aiming their guns. I was looking at the one sticking out of the rear drivers side window, when I saw the white puff of smoke come out of the barrel of his gun. I remember thinking how odd it was that someone would want to shoot me. Well, that thought went through my head and embedded itself in the telephone pole behind me. By the time I hit the ground, the girls were screaming and the Chevy was burning rubber to get away. To say I never knew what hit me would be wrong. I knew what hit me. I just didn’t know why.
I picked myself off the ground and looked down at me lying there. Judging by that hole in my head I was not going anywhere, except maybe the morgue. I was dead all right. I could tell by that funny look I didn’t have in my eyes. Great, now how am I going to pick up on those two girls? I stood there for another minute or two wondering why they had shot me. I didn’t know them and I certainly didn’t owe them any money. Seeing as I was dead anyway, I figured this was as good a time as any to investigate the matter of why I was, dead, that is.
Walking around without people seeing or hearing you is really weird. As I walked through them (I can do that now) they would get the strangest expressions on their faces. I still to this day wonder why that is or what it is they feel. Oh well, on with my investigation. I have plenty of time (now) to think on that later.
I walked on as if my body knew where to go. Where the hel . . heck was I going. Looking around, I knew I had never been on this side of town when I was alive. So why was I here? I was passing a woman’s clothing store and had an amusing thought when I saw a very pretty woman go in. Seeing as I was dead and no one could see me anyway, what could it hurt if I just took a short detour through the store? Maybe this being dead stuff could be kind of fun after all.
I looked around and saw a lot of nice looking girls in the store. As I walked through the store a smile came across my face from the thoughts in my head. I saw where I wanted to go and headed that way. The air seemed to be getting thicker the closer I got to the dressing rooms. The pretty girl I saw come in passed in front of me with a couple of outfits to try on. Oh boy, this is going to be great. Wait a minute, why is my body moving so slowly? About ten feet from the dressing rooms I could go no further. No matter how hard I tried, I could move any direction but toward the dressing rooms. I couldn’t believe it. I was almost ready to cry as girl after pretty girl went in and then left the dressing rooms. This just was not fair. You would think since I was already dead I could at least have a little fun. Looking up I shouted, to who I don't know, "That's not too much to ask,is it?"
I finally gave up on that idea after pouting a while (hoping that would help, it didn’t) and resumed my search for why I was dead. I wonder if maybe I can learn to haunt people and make scary noises like those ghosts on television? That would be a blast I said laughing to myself. Of course, not as much fun as the women's dressing room would have been (hint). I walked back out of the store. It looked like a brand new day. According to the newspaper, it was. I noticed it was already the next day. Time flies when your having fun and when you're dead too, I guess. I wondered what page the story of my shooting was on. Maybe somebody figured out why I had been shot. I saw and old man sitting on a bench waiting for a bus reading the newspaper. I leaned over his shoulder to see if I could spot a story about me. As I was reading the old man kept swatting at the air by my head. He leaned forward and turned around to look for whatever it was he was swatting at. A strange look came over his face. He got up off that bench and walked hurriedly away. Hmmm, I guess he wasn’t waiting for a bus.
I started walking down the street again. The direction I was headed in was leading me to a part of town known for it’s warm hospitality. You know warm lead, hot guns, hot stereos, and those warm greetings of “give me your wallet or I’ll blow your head off.” There were welcome signs everywhere. Most of them were hard to read because they were done in spray paint. Well, at least I didn’t have much to worry about anymore. Who is going to rob a ghost? I think I just made a joke.
In front of an old dilapidated brown two-story I stopped and watched as a young Hispanic boy came down the steps. He stopped right in front of me. He looked familiar. His hair was long, not in the style of his peers. The baggy clothes were there, but didn’t seem to belong to him. Even with his dark complexion I could see a scar running from his chin almost to his ear. His expression was one of a very unhappy, troubled young man. He also had that strange look on his face even before he walked through me. It was after he passed through me that it struck me. Wait a minute, now I remember, this is the guy that shot me.
I started to run after him, yelling obscenities. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I tried to hit him, kick him, and wanted to kill him. He couldn’t hear me. I threw punch after punch, but my fists just went through him. After all, I am dead. This is starting to get frustrating. O.K. I’ve had enough of this, you can bring me back to life now. Hey, can anybody hear me? Just give me a chance to get even, please. "Okay, how about just a kick in the knee?"
I followed him as he walked with what seemed like no particular destination in mind. Speaking of minds, I sure am glad that bullet didn’t effect mine, affect mine, affect mine. Just kidding. At least I’ve still got a sense of humor. From across the street, a woman yelled “Arturo” and she waved to him. He looked up, gave a slight smile, and waved back. Now at least I know the name of the person that killed me. I don't think it meant much now, for me that is.
That old Chevy I first saw him in pulled up to the curb just ahead of Arturo. Three very large, very tough looking men got out. Why was I getting scared? Not only could they not see me, they couldn’t hurt a dead person and I am definitely dead, I think. Arturo didn’t seem bothered by their appearance. He looked up and shook hands with them, said what I guess were their usual pleasantries. One of them handed him a wad of money and said something about his momma. It was the only word I understood. I was hoping maybe I would understand any language spoken since I was dead and all. I guess it doesn’t work that way either though. I think someone, whoever it is that makes the rules, should make it mandatory that every person born comes with an instruction book. They should also get one when they die so they know where to go and what they can and can't do. I mean I haven’t even run into anyone I could ask questions as to what I’m supposed to do or for that matter, why I'm here.
After a few minutes of small talk there a short heated discussion. The large men seemed to be giving Arturo a hard time. This went on for a little while, mostly in hushed tones. Whatever they were arguing about, the young hispanic boy didn’t like it. He seemed to be disagreeing with everything they said to him. After that, Arturo walked away slowly and muttering something under his breath. I wondered what was wrong.
I did an about face as this very pretty Hispanic girl passed by us. I waved but either she thought I was lost or I was flirting because she walked by as if I was some kind of invisible dead guy. Oh, that’s right, I am an invisible dead guy. After staring back and reminiscing about “back when I was alive,” why I could have . . . Nevermind, it’s a guy thing. I hurried and caught up with Arturo. This dead body I’ve got must have come with all the options because I caught up with Arturo in a heartbeat, not that I have one, anymore. The funny thing is I don’t even know the neighborhood and still I can find him instantly without even trying. I just sort of think of what I should be doing or where I want to be and bingo, I’m there. I’ll have to remember that. Ha!, Who needs a dumb ol' dead person's handbook.
When we arrived back at where we started, I watched as Arturo climbed the steps to his apartment. He still carried that troubled look on his face. I wondered what was bothering him. It had to be something serious because it wore on his young face like he was grandfather to the world. I guess after I find out why I got killed, maybe I can help him in some way. Wait a minute, he’s the one that killed me, why would I want to help him? Maybe my brain was affected in some way. It was something else for me to think about later.
Just as I was thinking about what Arturo was doing in his apartment, I was there. He was standing in front of a mirror, combing his hair. Looking around his apartment I saw very little furniture. I don’t think he entertained very often. Other than the scar on his face he was not a bad looking kid. I’m sure he wouldn’t have much trouble getting a girlfriend. Then again, that look on his face would probably pose an obstacle to having a relationship. He put on his coat and headed toward the door. I was right behind him as we walked down the steps. Wow! Another day had passed! It was the evening of the next day. Where was he headed now? Just as we reached the sidewalk, that same old Chevy pulled up to the curb. So much for feeling sorry for him. He was probably off to kill another innocent person.
Just before the old Chevy pulled away I formed a thought in my head. As they drove down the street I laughed, sitting there on the roof of their car, wind in my hair. This was great and I was finally getting this dead thing down. They pulled onto the highway and I braced myself for a windy ride. I didn’t think I would be able to hold on, but then, I was dead wasn’t I. Sitting there on the roof of the car as it sped away, the wind was no greater than when we were walking on the street. “And we’ll have fun, fun, fun ‘til her daddy takes the T-bird awayyyyy” I sang as we went flying down the highway.
Something was bothering me suddenly. Next thing I knew I was sitting in the car with the others. They were all talking loudly. Only now I understood every word they said. One of the big guys was telling Arturo the last shooting didn’t count because it was the wrong person. What! Oh, now I’m the wrong person. Hey!, don’t you guys know I've always been the same person and nobody ever told me I was the wrong one. I was screaming at them and then I heard one of them tell Arturo that they could have let his mother and sister starve when they came across the border. Or they could have let those border bandits have their way with his sister, but they didn’t. He owed them. They told him his mother and sister would be here tomorrow and that he better pay up before they got here. He just bowed his head and agreed with them. So that ‘s what was going on. I (somehow) knew these guys and the border bandits were part of the same gang. I wonder how I knew that? They had set Arturo up. They tricked him. His mother and sister were never in any kind of trouble.
Soon they pulled off the highway. Five minutes later they began circling different blocks until they spotted their next victim. He was sitting on a picnic table talking to a girl much the same as I was the night I was killed. I had to save this guy. There had to be a way. I thought and I was right next to him. Arturo was getting ready to kill again. From the back this guy sure looked a lot like me. I started screaming at him. I threw punches that just went right through him. He just got that funny look like when I walk through people. He had the same color hair and a ponytail like me. What could I do to save him? Arturo aimed his rifle again. I thought about something that happened earlier and I hoped would work. I blew in his ear. He bent his head and swatted at the air just as Arturo fired his rifle. The bullet missed him. Both he and the girl jumped. From the side I would almost swear it was me. This crumb knocked the girl down and out of his way as he started to run away. He didn’t care if she was hurt or killed. He was only concerned for his own welfare. I almost felt like killing him myself, the bum. Arturo got one more shot off before the guy disappeared in the bushes. The girl was on the ground screaming as the old Chevy, squealing it’s tires, sped off.
Back in his neighborhood, Arturo was getting out of the Chevy. He said some things to the guys in the car and then they drove away. Arturo started walking. He was walking the wrong way. His apartment was the other way. He sat down at a bus stop. After a while, a bus pulled up and he climbed on board. I thought and was sitting right beside him on that bus. No more bus fares for me. Another benefit of the dead. Wow, I wonder if a dead person ever sat next to me when I rode the bus? Where were we going? After a couple of miles he pulled on the bus signal line and got off. He seemed to know where he was going as he walked away from the bus stop.
Arturo stopped. Looking up I saw we were at a cemetery. He walked in and was headed to somebody’s grave. I walked behind him and thought I would give him some respect with the distance. After all, he was visiting someone in the same condition as I was. Well, maybe not the same, I was still walking around and haven’t seen anybody else. I sure wish I had someone to talk to sometimes. Arturo stopped at a grave and knelt down before it. He started to talk to the person buried there. I walked around him to see what name was on the headstone.
Even though I couldn’t hear what he was saying, it felt as though I was reading his mind. I knew he was apologizing to the person buried in that grave. The tears falling from his eyes were a dead give away. I again felt sorry for him and knew why he always had that sad look on his face. He didn't want to kill. They had saddled him with a debt for bringing his family across the border. He just wanted to live and help his family to a better life. Those guys had picked out the wrong person and he had killed the wrong man. The grave he was talking to had a headstone with a name on it. The name was mine.
Arturo stopped talking and slowly pulled a gun from his pocket. He put the barrel in his mouth. I couldn’t let him kill himself. “Don’t do this,” I shouted. I can’t let this happen. I had to do something. What? This time I blew in Arturo’s ear and just before he pulled the trigger he swatted the air instead. He paused and looked around. Pulling the gun from his mouth, he looked down at my grave. He looked around again and a strange look came across his face. He could not hear or see any flies around or anything else that would make him swat the air. Then for the first time his face took on a different look. He didn’t look so troubled now. He stood and started walking away from my grave and out of the cemetery. As he was passing a small pond he gave the gun a toss. He raised his head a little higher and his step became a little faster. I think he knew why he missed his target now and what made him swat the air when there was nothing there. All of a sudden he stopped walking. He turned around and with a smile whispered, thanks in my direction. At that moment I swear I thought he could see me. I felt a light in my heart. He turned and continued on his way home.
Never again will I take another’s life he thought.

I left the cemetary also. There were crowds of people walking around. Hey! I can read minds now! Anybody care . . to have . . their . . I forgot you can’t see or hear me. . . Aw, the hell with it. Maybe I should say, the heck with it. I mean, I still don’t know all the rules and you never know who’s listening.
Here I turn and slowly walk away

Written and copyrighted by : Christopher T 1998-2007 .