Member-only story
The Magic of the Season
I keep waiting for the miracle of you.
My friends don’t understand why I don’t go out for holidays.
“Come on,” one might say, a plea in their voice. “You need to get out and live a little, Lil. Stop waiting around for a guy who won’t call.”
But they don’t know the half of it. I’ve told them there’s someone I can’t let go, an old flame from my past that won’t sputter out into the memory of sparks. I spare them all the details, though — like that last Christmas, like the kiss under the fake mistletoe, like the fire in the apartment building that left me without you.
No one else can see your ghost, but for me? You’ve been there all along.
We don’t acknowledge each other. I tried to speak to you once, but then I had a headache for days afterward. All the mediums I’ve spoken to have told me that you’re stuck in between this world and the afterlife. Something’s tying you here, but you’re removed enough that you don’t even realize I’m there. You just stare ahead with blank eyes, and I watch you drift from room to room as if your soul’s restless state can only communicate through motion.
But this year I actually go back to our hometown. I haven’t even seen the old apartment building in years. When I drive down the street, lit up with the remnants of cheerful…
