Some ideas get brainstormed with Fern and I, and sometimes she throws out some ideas which I might seem like I dismiss a little too quickly. But they register, and I roll the idea around until I come up with something. This is a case in point – she suggested the impetus for this story a few weeks ago and it’s taken some time to come to fruition, but the story came around and here it is! Here’s putting the “oo” in “Boo”!

I thought we really had a thing going. He was so sweet over the phone, and he sent me the nicest text messages throughout the day – I mean, not, like, so many that it was creepy or clingy? There’s a fine line there, and Eliot (even his name was cute!) stayed clear of it.

We met online, of course – that’s how everyone meets now, right? I responded to his ad and we messaged on the site for a few days before we transitioned to email, then texting. He never pushed it, which I appreciated because I’d had some serious creeps try to ratchet things up too fast. All, “hey, let’s talk on the phone!” or “What do you mean you don’t want to meet immediately after we exchanged our first messages? I’m a nice guy!”

“A nice guy.”

But not Eliot. He never said he was a nice guy because it was like he wanted to prove he was a nice guy, you know? But I wanted to hear his voice, so we started talking over the phone. And he emailed me a picture and he had this dopey grin that just melted my heart and eyes that just, well, let’s say our conversations didn’t stay PG-13 for long.

What?! I’m a grown ass woman! If I want to talk dirty to a guy I met online I’m entitled to that! Don’t judge me. I mean, you didn’t hear Eliot’s sexy voice. He had this accent I couldn’t place. It was foreign, but I couldn’t tell if it was English, or Australian, or Irish… I’m bad with accents, okay? But, my god, it was hawt.

And so, we agreed to meet.

Okay, in fairness, I pushed for the meet. Hard.

“Look, Gina, I’m all for meeting face to face but I know you’ve been hurt before and I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

And I’m like, “No, I’m totally ready for this. We totally have to meet because you’re driving me crazy and I really want to…” Okay, well, you get the point.

So, we agreed to meet. Over the phone we settled on the time and place. Eight PM. The Starbucks on Cleveland. I sent him an email reminder – which he confirmed. The day of our texts were full of things like, “Can’t wait to see you tonight at 8 at Starbucks on Cleveland,” to which he responded, “I can’t wait either.”

So, when I was at the Starbucks on Cleveland at 8pm and he wasn’t, I got really worried. I texted him. No response. I called him – straight to voicemail. I texted and called him every five minutes for the next hour. Nothing.

The MFer ghosted me.

No messages, no email responses, no nothing. Radio f’ing silence.

I gave him the benefit of the doubt for a day or two – maybe his distant grandmother in London or Sydney or, Dublin got sick and he rushed to her cottage where there’s no internet or cell service or… stupid right?

But that evaporated and I got angry. I sent him selfies flipping him off. I left long voicemails that were really just long strings of profanity strung together.

And of course, I poured through his emails and texts looking for the clues that he was gonna ghost me, right? Because there had to be a clue. I didn’t find any, but I did find he referenced his work – InterCorp.

The next day I called and got the receptionist. “Hi, may I speak to Eliot Day?”

“I’m sorry, who?” he responded.

“Eliot Day? I believe he works there.”

“Well…” the guy started, “He did…”

OMG, is this guy going to tell me Eliot was fired and lied about even working there??

“But he died a few years ago. What is this in regards to? I could put you through to his former manager…”

I hung up.

He died? What the hell?

I went to Google and I found a news article I came across when I googled him previously – don’t judge, you know you do the same damn thing to a guy you’re interested in! It was about a car accident that killed an Eliot Day three years ago, but I brushed that off as some other Eliot Day because my Eliot Day was super hawt and most certainly not dead.

Except… apparently… he was.

But…

I mean…

Move on, Gina, right? So, you were ghosted by a ghost. That’s a fun story to tell on reddit, but beyond that everyone’s gonna think you’re nuts, right?

I was in bed the other night and I had just turned off the light and settled in when I heard a voice in the darkness. “Gina? Don’t be scared.”

I shrieked, turned on the light, and grabbed for the baseball bat by my bed. “I don’t know how you got in here you pervert, but I’m gonna bash your nuts in!” I yelled, bat cocked at the empty room.

“Gina,” the voice came again. I recognized the way it said my name.

“Eliot?”

“It’s me, Gina,” and a figure materialized or is it apparated? Or is that some Harry Potter crap? Okay, materialized. I recognized the dopey grin and the eyes…

“What the hell, Eliot?! You couldn’t tell me you were all,” I gestured to him, “Dead?”

“I’m sorry, Gina, I… I didn’t know how to tell you…”

“But, you’re a ghost! How could you email and text and talk…”

“I admit I’ve gotten pretty good at manipulating electronic devices over the years.”

“I’ll say,” I said. “But why’d you agree to meet if you knew you couldn’t?”

“Because… I didn’t want to let you down.”

“Well, you did.”

“Well, I did.”

“Big time.”

“Yes, big time.”

We stood there staring at each other. Finally, I said, “So… now what?”

“We could keep talking. I really like you, Gina…”

“But you’re dead. You’re a ghost. What kind of relationship can I have with a ghost?”

“I thought we really connected.”

“We did. But, I mean, what if I want, you know, more than just talking,” I realized that sounded bad and quickly added, “I mean, hanging out or something.”

“I don’t have to be this visible ghost,” he disappeared and his voice came velvety behind my right ear. “I can just be near you.” Part of me wanted to call him a perv ghost, but if I’m honest, I got chills – and not the scary kind. The weak-in-the-knees kind.

“Is…” I stammered, “Is that… all you can do?”

The voice came into my other ear now, just as velvety, just as softly, “Why don’t you put down that bat and I’ll show you.”

I put the bat down. I got into bed. I’m not telling you anymore. Okay, okay, we’re still, uh, seeing each other or whatever. It’s fun. It’s no pressure. It’s fantastic. Yeah, sure, it’s a little weird, but it’s also hella hawt.

Don’t judge me!