Almost done with my crazy work schedule!

“Hey,” I started the conversation casually. “If you hang around cemeteries as much as you are people are going to start thinking you’re a ghost!” I gave a mock laugh at the end.

The woman stared at me as if I had a second head. Then she said slowly, as if I were a child, “Yes… that’s because I am a ghost…”

I sighed. “Yeah, I know. I am too… ghost to ghost…. Kinda obvious… that was the joke – get it? I know you’re a ghost and I’m joking about you being… you know, nevermind,” I gave a dismissive wave of my hand. “They say explaining a joke is like dissecting a frog – you can learn parts and label them but you still have a dead frog. Or two dead women…” The woman just gaped at me, so I just plowed on.  “Seriously, though, why are you hanging around here so much? It’s depressing…”

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “Who are you?”

“Sam. Well, Samantha, but everyone calls me Sam.”

“There’s others?”

“Ghosts? Oh yeah, but most of them don’t actually say anything. Mostly just,” I let my face go slack and held my arms out in front of me and took several stiff steps. “You know, they’re not all there.”

“I don’t know. You’re the first ghost I’ve talked to.”

“I can tell,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because – and this brings us back around to the beginning of our conversation – all you do is hang around a cemetery!”

“But…” she started, “This is where I’m buried.” She pointed to the headstone that read “Melissa Taylor” and listed her birth and death dates.

“Uh huh,” I nodded in agreement, then looked up at her and said, “So?”

“So… I should be here.”

“Why?”

“To… bear witness to my life? To see my loved ones come visit?” she said more in question than statement.

“Look, Mel – can I call you Mel?”

“No, no one calls me Mel….”

“Okay, Mel, first you’re dead. What’s the point of the dead bearing witness to life? And to your second point… honey, we need to get you out of here – you don’t want to hang around for the living to visit…”

“But my husband and family were all here just the other day. It was beautiful!”

I looked at the headstone again. Died October 5. “Mel, you just died. They’re going to come out here for your funeral and because, I don’t know, it’s new and all. But they’re going to realize that they’re visiting a piece of marble and manicured lawn and what’s the point of that?”

“I’m below that manicured grass!” She yelled.

“Uh huh,” I said. “Below. As in ‘not visible’. They put you in the ground, what? A week ago?”

“Ten days.”

“Yeah,” I said, “It’s still new – I’m sure they told themselves they’d come every day or every other day or once a week – whatever it is, I’m sure they said it with the best of intentions. But they’re going to stop coming regularly. They all do. And they should – they’re alive!”

“But…” she countered, “I see an old man visiting his wife’s grave every day. It’s really sweet!”

“No, it’s pathetic. What kind of life is he living now?”

“One where he remembers his wife!” She emphasized.

“And what of it? She’s still dead. He’s alive – he can go out and live!”

Melissa rolled her eyes exasperated. “What do you even want?!”

“I want to help you, Mel. I want to take you on a proper outing outside the cemetery gates!”

“Can… can we do that?”

“Nothing stopping us!” I said. “Want to see what’s in the big dead world out there?” I asked.

She seemed dubious, looking from me to her headstone, then to me again. “Okay,” she said with a nervous smile. “Let’s go.”

“That’s the spirit, Mel! Get it, spirit… we’re ghosts?”

“Yeah, I get it…” she said as we started walking to the cemetery gates.

“But you didn’t laugh.”

“That’s because it wasn’t funny.”

“I like you, Mel!”

“Stop calling me Mel,” she said.

“We’re going to have a great time, Mel!”