Sherry Ficklin - Losing Logan

“Sorry.”

He shrugs it off, but I can still see traces of pain etched in the curve of his jaw.

His white and blue plaid shirt is open and exposing the grey t-shirt beneath. He’s wearing a pair of khaki shorts and sneakers.

“Are you cold?” I ask without really thinking. Autumn air has come early and with the rain, it’s probably below sixty degrees outside.

He looks down at his outfit. “Nope. I don’t really feel temperature at all.”

I tilt my head, “Why are you wearing clothes?”

His expression is surprised, then melts into a sly smile. “Why? Were you hoping for a naked haunting?”

I decide to take a page from Carlos’s playbook. “Oh, honey, you don’t have the figure for nudity.”

He grins widely. “Oh, I really do.”

I look him over and realize that he’s right. He’s not the skinny little boy who used to make mud castles in my back yard anymore. Even under his shirts, I can see the tell tale ribbons of muscle in his chest, shoulders, and arms, taught but defined. His jaw has squared in the last few years, filling out into a very masculine face. I look away when I see him staring at me as I appraise him. I try really hard not to look impressed.

“Well, I see your massive ego is still intact.”

He leans to the side, sprawling out across my bed.

I glare, “No offense, but would you not do that on my bed?”

“What? Be sexy.”

“No, be dead.”

His face falls and he stands up. I immediately feel bad, but this whole thing has me so weirded out that I have no idea what to say next.

“Oh, go ahead. I can practically see the hamster wheel in your brain smoking. Ask me whatever.”

“Do you eat?”

“No. Not hungry either. Which is good, since I can’t actually touch anything.”

“What are you standing on? If you can’t touch anything, what keeps your feet on the floor?”

He looks down at his sneakers and puckers his lips. “Good question. I don’t know.”

He squints and slips halfway down into my floor, only his upper half still visible. “Huh,” he says, then floats up so he’s hovering a few feet above the floor.

I wave my hands in front of my face. “No, no. Stop that. That’s too creepy to process.”

He shrugs and once again his feet are firmly on the ground.

“How do you get around? Do you just walk?”

“I can ride on things, in cars. I rode around with Kaylee for a few hours at first, in her Camero.”

Probably screaming at her too, hoping that she, that anyone, could hear him. Oh, lucky me.

“But,” he continues, “After I saw you leave the wake, I waited around to see everyone pay their respects.”

“That must have been strange.”

Uncomfortable, awful. Or, maybe in his case, a huge ego trip. The face he gives me tells me my first thoughts are closer to accurate.

“People wanted to say goodbye. I figured I should give them the chance.”

I nod. “I’m sorry.”

He frowns, “Why?”

“I dunno. For calling you a douche wrench at your own funeral.” For not caring that you died. I want to say the words, but I can’t get them out.

“Douche hammer. You called me a douche hammer.”

I shrug. “I knew it was some kind of tool.”

“Well, we weren’t exactly close.”

“And face it, you are a tool.”

I take a deep breath. The summer before middle school my parents took me on vacation to visit my uncle in Paris for the summer. It was amazing, but when I got back, Logan had a new group of friends. And I was the odd girl out. Then, a few months into school, my father got in a car accident and died. Mom pulled me out to home school for the rest of that year. I just couldn’t face anyone for a while. By the time 8th grade began, Logan and I were like total strangers. He was Mr. Popular. And I was nobody.

“I guess the million dollar question then Is - What exactly do you want from me?”

He squats near my feet, looking up at me. “When you saw me at the funeral, I was terrified. Because that meant that I was really dead, not just having some prolonged nightmare. But then I was relieved too because, I guess, I hoped that you could help me.”

“Help you what?”

He scratches his chin. “I dunno. Help me figure all this out. Help me just…not be so alone.”

I lean forward. “Why should I? Like you said, we aren’t friends.”

He rocks back on his heels. “We used to be.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Well, how about this. You’re going to have to pee some time. And when you do, I’ll be there.”

I make a face. “Fine. Where do we start?”

“Where all strange and possibly evil things begin. Wikipedia.”

I take a long gulp of my energy drink. My room is dark except for the blue glow provided by my computer screen. Sitting back in my desk chair, I stretch and roll my head to the sides and crack my neck.

“Anything?” Logan asks behind me.

I spin in my chair. “If I’d found something I would have said Hey. I found something .”

“You know, you’re really cranky for being the only person in the room who has a body.”I turn back to the screen and flip him off over my shoulder, “Keep flapping your lips and you’ll spend the rest of your afterlife haunting hipsters at Starbucks.”

“Oh, sure. Threaten the dead guy.”

I sigh and lower my head onto the keyboard. It’s after 4 a.m. and even after sleeping all day, I’m exhausted.

“Isn’t there someone else you can haunt for a few hours.”

He stands beside me, leaning over the desk. “Everyone is sleeping. Besides, it’s just depressing.”

I roll my face to the side to look at him. “Being dead?”

He frowns, not looking at me. “Watching everyone else be alive.”

I sit up, slapping my hands down on either side of the keyboard.

“Okay, I have a plan.”

I spin in my chair and accidently graze him. Well, graze is the wrong word. I move through him. A chill runs up my skin and goosebumps erupt across my arms like tiny volcanoes.

I pull back, rubbing my arms. “Well, that was disturbing.”

He shakes his head. “The plan?”

“Oh. Right. I think we should try going to the cemetery.”

He leans back, looking worried. “Why? You want me to try to climb back into my body?”

I think about that for a second. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, the goal isn’t to make you a zombie, right? Just to find your light or whatever.”

“My light?”

“Yeah, you know.” He stares at me like I’m an idiot. “When people die they see a light. Go into the light and all that.”

“I don’t remember a light.”

I fold my hands on my lap. “What do you remember?”

“About dying? Nothing. I remember opening my eyes and the police were dragging my body out of the water. I remember screaming and no one hearing me. Then I thought about my mom and suddenly I was in my house, standing beside her. She was on the floor, crying.”

That’s interesting. “How did you get into my room?”

He rubs his forehead. “I was thinking of you, how you saw me at the funeral. Then, I was just here.”

Convenient.

“Okay. I think we should go to the cemetery because, well, maybe there are other ghosts there who can help you. You can’t be the only person who ever took a wrong turn heading for the afterlife.”

He looks up, considering it. “And you think you could see them?”

“No, but maybe you can.”

He nods, “That makes sense.”

I stand up and head for my closet. “It’s a place to start, at least.”

Grabbing a pair of pants and a t-shirt off the hangars I turn to see him staring at me.