It’s strange to see actors in two different shows.
Did you know Ellen Pompeo was in an episode of Friends?
No I didn’t. Can we do that one next time?
Sorry, but that’s not how this works.
Okay, how about another episode of Grey’s Anatomy?
No, I want to tell you a real story this time. Is that okay?
Of course. She smiled.
His story ended with the line: He wished he could keep her forever, hold her close and warm and whisper to her his fear of being left all alone.
He spoke this way sometimes. Heartsick.
So, do you think she should have left him?
That’s your question? It’s not even a good one. You could have come up with something much better for a story like that.
She looked across the bridge every night while they were coming back. She saw the points of yellow light across the black. She banished from her mind the wrongness of him. The idea of a ghost, or a demon did not disturb her. However, he was not an idea. His head slumped down. Though his body did not decay, his skin seemed as though it was not glued on properly. There were red-blood patches on his cheeks. His voice rose from the body, almost without his mouth moving. Still he was good. She was good too. Bad was her favorite professor, the genius, the necromancer. He had offered her extra credit to pick up this guy, and she wanted him to like her so she had decided to find nothing strange in his request. It was not difficult for her to play by unfamiliar rules.
Every morning she went to go get him in her Corolla. He told her a story, then asked her a question. She was not allowed to speak. If she knew the answer to the question, but did not tell him, she would become like him. Her Corolla would drive off the bridge into the water. They would exist there together, bloated bodies.
She knew she would never see him again. In this life her name was Maya, for mirage. She was fond of him. Wanted to write him a letter ending with the phrase Miss you, darling. She composed this letter as she drove. He wouldn’t make fun of her for sending him snail mail. She thought back, She could hear him speaking in the background to her thoughts. She had not given up on this because she did not give up on anything. She wore blue cardigans, high ponytails, she took Organic Chemistry. She knew the answer to every one of the ghost-man’s questions. She could do anything, within reason. She could leave him by the side of the road here, they would think he was homeless. The longer she drove him around she could feel a cavity growing inside her body, though she knew many stories. In her thoughts she could see a sky with two moons, a man whose face was all cut up and stitched back together with dark scars.
They will get out of the car, one of them will come back to the car and drive away.
Miss you darling.
Maybe I won’t come back this time.
You always come back.