Laurel King - The Matchmaker's Medium

He gathered his things, and stood to leave. But, instead of walking to the huge front door, he walked right through a whole crowd of people—and the wall they were standing in front of—without the slightest hesitation.

“Holy crap,” I whispered, “what a show off .”

He poked his head back through the wall, and mouthed the words I heard in my head: What are you, jealous?

With that, he winked, and walked back through the wall all over again.

“Is it okay if I come in?” asked a muffled voice, through the inner office door.

“Yeah! Just push the door open!” I yelled, trying to be heard over the sound of the TV. Jamal was watching another one of his reality TV shows, at full volume. This time, it was Hell’s Kitchen , with Chef Gordon Ramsay yelling at some ‘stupid cow’ who had made the tragic mistake of handing him barely-cooked pork.

Grabbing the remote, I pushed the volume down button at least 10 times, until Chef Ramsay’s screaming was only a small roar, “Aw, come on , you bleep muppets! Do you really expect me to serve this bleep garbage?” The guy cussed so much, I was starting to wonder why they even bothered putting the show on regular network TV, if you missed half of it from all the bleeping.

“Hi, Amber! I’m Victoria!”

A very chunky woman came barging into the room, hips swinging back and forth in a dizzying wave, as she crossed the room with her hand out. I shook it.

“You’re welcome. Have a seat.”

She turned and looked at the two rickety, second-hand chairs next to her. Immediately dismissing them as choices, she looked over at the lopsided thrift store couch against the wall. Bingo . Hefting her jiggling body on short legs that looked like they might collapse at any second, she huffed and puffed and finally dumped her colossal self onto the threadbare fabric with a resounding thud! I watched her for a few seconds, mostly to make sure the couch didn’t cave in, then sat back down.

“What can I do for you, Victoria?”

She was messing with an inhaler. Shake-shake, cap off, into her mouth, push it down, and swish . Inhale quickly, hold he breath for a few seconds. She held up a pudgy, sausage-fat index finger, waiting. At least a hundred hours went ticking by, as we both sat there doing and saying nothing, Chef Ramsay’s yell-bleeping in the background.

A huge hooooo as she let the air back out.

“Sorry ‘bout that, doggone az-mer makes me crazy.”

Az-mer. Nice, I thought. Just one more thing to add to the list of “Carolin-isms” I need to learn.

“My grandmamma came to me again last night, just like I thought she would.”

“Yeah? What did she have to say?”

“Nothin’. It’s the darndest thing. Even when I was younger, she never said a word. Always usin’ her hands and mouthin’ words, trying to get me to do this or do that. I could hardly figure it out.”

Being quite familiar with the fact most ghosts don’t make any noise, I could empathize.

“Well, what did it seem like she was trying to tell you?”

“Y’know, I’m not sure this time. She made her hands like she was drivin’ a steering wheel, and then a big crash thing, so I think she was talking about the car accident. But, besides that, I couldn’t make head nor tails of what she wanted me to do.”

“Maybe it would help if you tell me the whole story of the car accident. That’s when she started coming to you every night, right? After the accident?”

“Yep.”

“Well, let’s start there, okay?”

“All right, well, I guess the best thing to do is start from the beginning.”

“Good, I’ll just turn on my digital recorder and take a few notes while we talk.”

“Fine by me,” she said, readjusting herself and finally settling in.

I pushed start on my handheld digital recorder, grabbed a pen and flipped to a new page in my notebook.

“All right, go ahead,” I told her.

“It all started about 30 years ago, when I was just a little thing.”

Lord help me.

“I’m sorry, I meant for you to just start with the accident, Victoria.”

“Oh. Well, why didn’t you just say so, then?”

I groaned internally, saw Jamal chuckling in my peripheral vision. Jerk, I thought, making sure to glare at him with my hateful, evil face on. He stopped laughing, smoothed his ‘fro, and tried to act serious.

“Go ahead, Victoria.”

“So, the other day I was coming out of the Food Lion, I had just done my shopping for Mother’s Day. I got some ribs, some barbecue sauce, some ‘taters for the ‘tater salad, a big jug of sweet tea—”

“Got all your food for a Mother’s Day cookout, I got it.”

“Yeah. So, I have all the food in the trunk, and I’m trying to drive slow, so’s not to smash the cake or anything. I’m bein’ real careful, obeyin’ the speed signs and all, when all of a sudden, this big ol’ truck comes up outta nowhere and just plows right into me!”

Starting to sweat already, she pulls a small handkerchief from a secret spot just under her shirt, probably in her bra. Watching as she dabs at her forehead and upper lip, and wipes underneath her double chins, I remember I need to get back to the gym tonight.

“Which direction?

“What?”

“Which direction did the truck hit you from?”

“From the passenger side. ‘Bout scared me to death !” she said, starting to get herself all worked up.

“Did you stop and get out?”

“Well, I was already stopped , after getting’ smashed by a truck.”

“Fair enough.”

“I just pullt my car over to th’ side, and put her in park. Then I got my cellular out, and got the police on the horn. Officer James came right on over, he knows me real good, been friends since we were kids. That terrible man didn’t even have in-shurnse.”

I looked up from my notes, confused.

“What?”

“Which part, what?”

“Who didn’t have the—“

“The other driver, that terrible man. Didn’t even have the common decency to have in-shurnse on his car. Now I have to put it all through mine. Hope it doesn’t make my rates go up.”

Oh. In-sur-ance. Gotta love the south.

“Did the police—did Officer James—give you a ticket?”

“’Course not! It wasn’t my fault!” Victoria yelled, sitting forward on the obviously-sagging couch. I actually felt kind of sorry for the couch, now. Poor thing; never hurt anyone, just wanted me to bring it home from the thrift store.

“Who was the other driver?”

“I don’t know. Richard somethin’ or other. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Only to the in-shurnse company, I thought. Jamal started chuckling again, in my peripheral vision. When I turned and looked, though, he quit.

“So you went home after that?”

“After the tow truck come, I had to get Officer James to carry me home with my groceries. By then, the cake wasn’t lookin’ too good, but I didn’t feel like messin’ with returning it and all that nonsense. So I got the groceries put away and right when I picked up my kitchen phone to call Ruby—she’s my best friend since kindy-garden—my grandmamma showed up. Right there, next to the old stove she used to cook at.”

Finally, we get to the point, only five hours later. I drew a line under my other scratchings, and wrote: Grandma’s ghost in kitchen.

“So, that was about what time?”

“It was exactly 10:31 a.m. on my stove clock. I know, cause I was lookin’ right at it, when her ghost sort of blurred it out.”