It could've been an airport. A station.
Anywhere, in a city - in any country.
Doesn't really matter because they're always there. The Ghosts.
Maybe its because of the shee-crush of humanity that passes through hour by hour.
Better company than the rest of the departed. Who knows ?
On this day, in this city a woman ( her name makes no difference, but we'll call her Rachel, yes ?) - this Rachel was on the yearly-journey from where she called home back to where she lived & worked.
Nobody really likes these journeys & from the anticipation of being reunited with loved-ones, perhaps family the old resentments have made their visit ( also yearly ) so the return is usually part-relief, part hell. But you just do it, because to just stay put would solve little.
Today is different. As Rachel fights her way, half politely & half with an appropriate expleteive forever on the verge of being voiced the crowds of the faceless parts and a few metres away is someone she recognises. A face from many years ago. From another life, another her. He has aged, as has she but the face is unmistakable. Same slightly hooded eyes, often mistaken for a frown. Same cheekbones, maybe more sallow around the jaw - the lines & scars of battles lost, struggles won. The hieroglyphs etched upon every face that has faced day after day, year after year in the apparently endless conflict rather inadequately called 'living'.
Then there are no rushing masses, no clammour - just a flood of half pefect memories, moments, fleeting action-replays of that time, that place when she & this man had been friends. This brings a certain joy, but joy tainted by ... by what?
She shrugs the feeling aside - we were close, we had some great days, greater nights - happy to be in this impossible ( why ? what was it ? ... its ) but very welcome chance encounter she walks up to him & feeling a little stupid and more than nervous says to him,
" Excuse me ? Hey, you're [ ] right ? Its me ! Rachel, I'm so happy to see you. Its been years, how are you ?" Giggles like a nervous girl & thinks " Oh, yeah - real cool, girl !".
He turns towards her, looks down and fixes his eyes straight upon hers sending a cold shock of ice-water through her. Grey eys with flecks of lapis, very very black pupils as cold as the void pin her to the moment as if she were little more than an insect, impaling her on a slide ready for the scalpel.
" I'm sorry. I'm not [ ]." Doesn't turn away. Just maintains the stare.
Briefly she remembers the fairy tales of the Basilisk, & stupidly thinks this is just how being rendered a statue by the mythical beast must feel. Can't look away, though. Trapped in this moment so much longer than years yet less than a heartbeat.
" You see, [ ] is dead. He died on an operating table, a surgeons hands trying to stem the tide of life. Not long, maybe a few years after you last saw him."
This makes no sense. Its a cruel joke, surely ? Somebody's idea of a joke, it IS [ ] & in a second he'll laugh, become human again, smile that oddly dry smile she remembered so clearly. And she'll tell him he's an asshole before letting that anger vanish so they can go for a coffee. Catch up. Maybe exchange phone numbers. You know, what you do when past friends meet again. Numbers unlikely to be used but the litttle salves to the soul that such meaningless exchanges provide.
The heartbeat still hasn't even begun.
" The last time [ ] saw you, do you remember ? No ? It was outside this very station. He said hello to you, then. Just as you did now. "
What ? Oh ...
" He'd fallen some way, by then if you recall. His looks were ravaged by poor living & drugs. No longer the well-dressed, well-heeled rakish man who would make you laugh, buy you drinks, get you past any entry queue. And you, you were with someone far more important right then, correct ? Didn't want to be thought of as knowing such as he. Somebody you once told anybody who'd listen how much you loved him, how he would always be there as you would for him.
So what did you do, Rachel ?"
Oh fuck ...
" You walked on, right ? As if [ ] was invisible. And as you did, one more light went out in him. We all have many of those lights inside us, and together they brighten & light our way. Even if all but one go out, that one is still enough. All you really need is the one. Maybe when you passed [ ] that day & your light went out - maybe it was the last one.
I can't say. But it doesn't really matter which light went out first or last. What matters is you let the one you were responsible for go.
If you had given just a few seconds of your recognition. A smile, even. Certainly a minute fraction of the time [ ] put into you, well maybe it would've been enough to keep the path lit. It matters not, not now."
And then that paralysis was past. The cacophony & crush of people were around her once again. The heart beat.
She drew breath, as she watched the man turn and with the ghost of a wry smile at the edge of his lips walk away.
Like the sea parting for Moses the awful crush gave him no trouble, as she watched him carry his shouldered bag through the barriers towards the train, plane ... or whatever. Was gone.
Still, every hour, every day millions of souls pass through a place on their way somewhere else. None of them really ever pay their fellow-travellers much heed except to wish that they weren't in the way. ElseWhere.
Which begs the question; Who are the living there, & who are the Ghosts ?
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