Laurel King - The Matchmaker's Medium

I stopped taking notes and put my pen down. Hmm. I wonder if she really can see ghosts?

Looking over at Jamal by the TV, I asked her, “Victoria, do you see your grandmamma in here right now?”

She sat up a little on the poor couch, looking around the room, really slowly. I watched as her eyes went to—and then past—Jamal.

“Nope,” she said, settling back into the cushions with a muffled squeak .

So, maybe she can see her grandmother’s spirit, but not all ghosts in general.

“Or she’s crazy as a loony bird,” Jamal offered, from his spot by the TV.

Ignoring him, I asked, “Victoria, have you ever seen any other spirits? Or just your grandmamma?”

“Lemme think,” she said, looking up to the ceiling while she tapped her chin with a forefinger. “No, I guess not. I thought I did once, but it was just a dream.”

“A dream?”

“Yep. I was small, and it was just after granddaddy died, he was a mean ol’ bugger. I thought I saw him starin’ at me while I slept, but that was just a dream. Well, more like a nightmare, I guess.”

Jamal got up and walked over to Victoria, stood the side of her, leaning over to see her better. For such a tall guy to get that low was almost comical, like he was folding himself in half.

He squinted his eyes, pulled his head back a little, and lifted his nose in the air like he was smelling her. I watched him go through this strange ritual, fascinated and horrified at the same time.

Does he do that to me? I wondered. He glanced over at me and shook his head: No.

Finally, he stood up, unfolding himself back to full height. He walked over to me and whispered in my ear, “She’s got it.”

It. She’s got it. What I have. What only a few other people I’ve been around have . The Spirit Mark. At least, that’s what I call it. There’s no real name for it, and there’s certainly no diagnosis or cure for it. I only call it that, because those of us who have it seemed to be singled out; special, in a way. Usually, we get ‘marked’ when we’re very young, and it stays with us throughout our lives, either constantly or only popping up now and then. She seemed to have the latter. Too bad she didn’t know how lucky she really was.

“Were you scared when you had the—nightmare about your grandfather?”

“Scared?” she seemed to contemplate this for a time, chewing on her bottom lip. “I guess I was a little scared. That’s why I say it was a nightmare, instead of a dream. But he was mean in reg’lar life, too, so maybe I was just scared that he came back and would start cursin’ and yellin’ things at me again. He had the old-timer’s disease, always forgettin’ who everybody was. Most of the time, I just felt bad for him, but when he got to hollerin’, it was hard to feel anything for him but mad.”

I knew, firsthand, how bad Alzheimer’s could be. My own great uncle had it when I was a teenager. Even during that rebellious, you-can’t-make-me phase of my life, I was instantly brought to tears by his raging, senseless rantings. The few times I saw him, I wished with every fiber of my soul that he would die so I would only have to see him in his ‘muted’ version—motions and actions, with no sounds. I shuddered at the memory, a physical response I wasn’t expecting.

Jamal bent toward my line of vision, his head sideways, trying to make me laugh. It didn’t work.

“Okay, so…you’re in the kitchen, it’s 10:31 a.m. and your grandmother’s just standing there. Is she trying to tell—I mean, show—you anything?”

“Not at first. She was just standin’ there. That’s why I thought she was just doing her normal thing, checkin’ in on me or what have you.”

“Is that what she usually did?”

“Yeah. Just lookin’ at me, smilin’ a little, like she was glad I was doin’ all right.”

“Is that what she did while she was still alive?”

“Pretty much. She was a quiet lady, real nice and all. Granddaddy was the one who talked a lot, tellin’ all these stories all the time. I don’t think I take after granddaddy’s side of the family at all. They never know when to shut up.”

Jamal suddenly plopped down into one of the chairs, he was laughing so hard. I couldn’t help but smile a little, with his deep laughter echoing in my ears. Victoria wasn’t as amused, though.

“Is something funny ?” she asked, her giant face turning an interesting shade of maroon.

“What? Oh, no, no. Sorry. I was thinking about my great uncle, who talked all the time.”

She seemed to calm a little, her face slowly returning to its original, splotchy white-and-pink color.

“Well, that’s about it for the first day, I guess,” she said, dabbing at her forehead again.

“She didn’t come back that night?”

“Nope. Just stood there for a few minutes while I was puttin’ the groceries away, then she was gone the next time I looked up. I didn’t see her again till the next night.”

“And then she—”

“That’s when she started the whole ridiculous charades game.”

“What does she do when she ‘plays charades’?”

“Like I said before, she acted like she had the steerin’ wheel in her hands, then a big crash thing.”

“I thought you said she only did that last night?”

“Did I?” she asked, looking genuinely confused. “Well, maybe I was wrong. Could be, she maybe started doin’ it that second night after the accident. I’m not rightly sure, now.”

This is like digging for treasure in swampland, I thought. How do I always end up in these situations?

“Does she ever come to you anywhere else? Or just the kitchen?”

“Oh, lord, yes. She comes to me in my room, or out on the porch, even in the laundry room, one time. She ain’t shy about where she shows up. Just shy about sayin’ anything. Or maybe she can’t say anything? I never thought of that before. Whatta you think, Amber?” She started to get off the couch, but couldn’t quite seem to get the energy or momentum. After a few tries, flailing her arms a little in the process, she finally gave up and leaned back into the cushions. I am really going to the gym tonight, now. No matter what else happens. Ugh.

“I think you’re right. She probably can’t talk or make any noise. Most of the spirits I see can’t, either. Only a few special spirits can be heard.”

Of course, Jamal picked this moment in time to wander closer, excitedly pointing to himself, as if to say, Me! Me! I’m special!

“You can actually hear them? ” Victoria asked, totally amazed by the concept.

“Yep.”

“Well, what do they say to you?”

I shrugged, “It’s different every time. Some of them want me to help them, but others are trying to help me . It just depends, I guess.”

“Are there any spirits… here? ” she asked, motioning to the room, her eyes wide with anticipation.

I looked over at Jamal, who was suddenly very adamant that he was not in the room. Now you want to be invisible? I asked him silently. He nodded, big up-and-down bobbing movements, almost cartoonish. Oh, fine, I thought. He sighed in relief.

“No, not right now.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment was palpable, and almost a little funny, in a sad-funny kind of way. Not ‘haha’ funny, but ‘aww’ funny.

“So what’s next?” she asked.

“For what?”

“Like, do we hold a séance or something? Ask my grandmamma to come and talk to you?”

“No, I don’t need to do a séance. If she were here, I could just talk to her like you and I are talking right now.”