My wealth tended to precede me, although that was to be expected from a town the size of Hansville, Washington. It was hard to be bothered by the town talk in a place so beautiful; adorned with dense, lush forest accompanied by a coast plagued by biting winds that made you realize a new appreciation for warmth.
I suppose my name is of importance to my story, I am Clarissa. I grew up on the East Coast with a non-existent family and an inheritance only accessible to me when I became of age. So I fled west on my 18th birthday with a rather large sum of money in tow. The details are of no importance, but I ended up in Washington which I quickly fell in love with. I built a home in the middle of the woods, thick with Douglas Firs and fireflies that made up for the lack of stars at night, the canopy above me tended to block the view from my skylight. I also loved hearing the train horn every hour, letting the people of Hansville know that there was a world beyond that was within our reach. I’ve remained in this home since I was eighteen, and I am now approaching thirty. With my birthday at the end of the month it has pushed me to wonder what my life may have ahead.
30 scared me, and it was no secret why. I had been alone all my life and for some reason, I believed that this next birthday would mark the closing of that window. The window of relationship opportunities. I suppose all I needed to finish my story was some lowly farm boy who was leathery from his hard work, and tanned by the hot sun. But this affair seemed too cliché, nevertheless it remained in the back of my mind. I needed to find someone to share this life with. I might as well.
As mentioned earlier, my wealth was no secret to the town. You would imagine that this made the hunt for an affair rather quick and easy, but you’d be wrong. My dating life in Hansville had been minimal, but not nonexistent. There was Jeremy, my first fling when I got here. He was sweet and genuine, and he really did care for me in a deeper way than I had expected from an 18 year old boy. He had his issues like any other person, but I had no substantial complaints. Ultimately we weren’t ready for forever. Looking back, that was a mistake. When I was 23 I dated a man named James who was 35; another mistake. Need I spell it out? Since then I’d remained on my own, but it became clear it was time to begin searching again.
I decided to go out the night before my birthday, with the hopes of raising my spirits and also my blood’s alcohol content. Nothing says “I’m 30!” quite like getting wasted on two beers. That’s exactly what I intended to do. I grabbed my bike and headed to Patsy’s, the main Irish pub in town. The bike ride was unpleasant, as it began to rain the moment I started. But I trudged on, with a set goal in mind. When I got to the bar, all eyes turned to me. The whispering ensued, but I shrugged it off knowing they would quickly become bored by my net worth. They always did.
“Isa? No way!”
I stopped dead in my tracks. I knew that voice. I knew that nickname. It couldn’t have been- I knew this town was small, but it couldn’t have been that small.
“James, what a surprise” I said, with a wry smile and an awkward chuckle.
“Don”t suppose you still got all that cash lying around, do ya? Bet you wouldn’t mind covering my tab for the night.”
I knew he would do that. Even with our age gap, he always held my money against me when we dated. Hence the briefness of our time together. Get it now?
“Not tonight James, I’m here to celebrate. I turn thirty tomorrow.”
“Wow, finally catching up to me I see. Well here, let me get you a beer then, seeing how there’s an occasion and all. Who knows, maybe I could keep you company later tonight too.”
I think I visibly winced when the last sentence stumbled from his mouth. I turned him down on the latter but took his beer offer. It was a big occasion, and I deserved it.
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“Shit,” I gasped, and reached to turn my alarm off. Only when I went to switch it to silent, I froze. My bed was covered in blood, and I was not alone. Next to me was James in a towel freshly showered. He did not hear me, and if he did he ignored it because he did not turn my way. I began to panic and swivel my head around the room, searching for answers to the crimson stains covering my bed. Suddenly, it clicked. A shocking image allowed me to piece it all together. On my left, a 42 year old man with his heads in his hands. And on my right, me. My body, that is. Mutilated beyond recognition.
“I’m dead?” I asked, with no response of course. No wonder he could not hear me.
James was too busy getting dressed and searching my room for any extra money I may have hidden. He was right, I had bundles stored away for “just in case”, and it wasn’t long before he found them. I realized that with no will to my name and no known relatives, it would be easy for someone like him to lie his way into my post-mortem bank account. How he intended to cover up my murder, I had no intention of finding out. I didn’t know what life after death was meant to be like, but I didn’t plan to stick around Hansville to figure it out. And so I left the scene, James still counting stacks of money worth more to him than my soul, and my poor body laying lifeless on the bed. This was no longer home, it was time to leave.
Something about being dead felt rather freeing to me. I’m not sure what I expected, as I never grew up knowing any religion. But I wasn’t in pain, nothing of the physical kind. I also had no errands to run, bills to pay, or people to impress. I walked the narrow paths in the forest surrounding my home, only ever noticed by the wildlife that surrounded me. Bikers that passed payed me no attention, and I quickly realized my invisibility to people.
I soon reached town, and walked through the center. People never looked my way, and it was peaceful and calm. I roamed the streets for hours, just absorbing my new state of being and the world around me. I could get used to this, I thought.
It was now two in the morning, and a gentle fog had settled over the streets. I wasn’t tired and I had nothing to go back to, and that’s when the train horn caught my attention. Of course, the train. I could go anywhere, and with no recognition. My money didn’t matter anymore, for it no longer existed. I was inconsequentially free, and for the first time I felt like I could breath. So I got on the train. I didn’t quite care where it took me, all I knew was that I wanted to, no, needed, to leave.
When I stepped off of the platform and into the observation car at the end of the train, I was shocked to see one man look up at me. Impossible, I thought. There was no way this striking man had any way of seeing my ghost. And yet, he very clearly knew of my presence. Just to test it, I decided to sit next to him in hopes of proving my thought incorrect. But when I lowered myself beside him, he kept eye contact with me. I smiled, he smiled back. He was beautiful, I thought. He had dark brown eyes and a deep complexion, with black curls creating a sort of halo around his face. I suppose he’d caught me staring, because he winked. He did not speak, but instead scribbled a note and passed it my way.
“Me too:)” read the shakily written sticky-note. The train was not the smoothest ride.
I looked up at him in confusion, and he went to put a hand on my shoulder. I could feel him and it startled me, for I was unable to feel everyone else in the 12 hours of my being dead.
“You’re dead too?” I exclaimed, causing him to remove his hand out of alarm.
“Yes, yes I am dead but please do keep quiet! I am not looking to attract others.”
“We can’t ‘attract others’, they cannot hear us. I’ve tested it over and over, no one alive can hear us anymore.”
He looked a little sad as I said this, making me assume his death was similarly recent. I tried to change the subject.
“I am Clarissa- or, I was Clarissa. I am not so sure how this works, I’ve been this way for less than a day.”
“I’m Derrick, nice to meet you. I was trying to catch a train to California when I fell onto the platform. I heard a train horn and the next thing I knew, I was back on the train except no one could see me or acknowledge me.”
He had a tenderness to him that made me want to hug him despite barely knowing him. I was relieved to know I was not alone here, but also that I did not need to be who I was in my life before.
I shared my story with Derrick, carefully leaving out my affluence from my past life. It didn’t feel important, it only ever made people look at me a little differently. We talked on that train for hours, and we never did reach California. It was our world now, and we made stops anywhere we so desired, doing anything we wanted. I found a lot of happiness in spending my afterlife with him, more love than I ever experienced while my heart still had a beat. He was the best thing to ever happen to me, and we had nothing to offer each other but ourselves. And for the first time ever, that was enough. Nothing else mattered, and it never would.
