didn't suffer through a car wreck or a gunshot. She was whole andâI had to gulpâbeautiful. Her face had the shape of a valentine heart.
You little wimp,
I scolded myself,
are you falling in love or what?
Truth is, that's how I am, or
was.
I was known for falling in love at the sight of both good-looking and not-so-good-looking girls. I wasn't very choosy. Once, when I was ten or so, I fell in love with a track star on the back of a Wheaties cereal box. She was my dream girl. I even cut her out and taped her to my bedroom wall.
"My name is Chuy," I said again. I was suddenly embarrassed because I had no visible hands, and my feet were gone. However, she didn't appear frightened.
"Mine's Crystal," she said, then asked, "Did you hear me? Crystal, my name is Crystal."
"Yeah, I heard," I said. "I understand." It appeared that we ghosts could talk to each other.
We stood in the middle of the street, shy as ponies. When a car turned down the corner and headed our way, weaving because the driver was drunk on whatever, Crystal hurried to the sidewalk. But I stood my ground, chest slightly pushed out, in fact, and let the car go through me like I was fog. Yeah, I was showing off. I admit it, me all macho as I stuck out my chest at the approaching headlights. But I also wanted to show her what we ghosts could do. The whole world could smash through us and nothing would happen. A jet could fall on our heads and we would just walk away singing "Cielito Lindo."
"You're not hurt?" Crystal asked as she approached me.
Hurt? Me? I had already seen the worst in my life. A car traveling through me was painless.
"Nah," I said.
Show-off me! I leaped into the lower branches of a tree. Crystal, giggling, bent her knees and shot upward and past the tree. She smiled, formed the word "oops" on her lips, and slowly descended, holding her dress to her sides so that it didn't parachute out and reveal what was underneath. Devilish me, I considered taking a peek up her dress, but I liked her too much. Why be like that?
In the tree, her legs swinging, she told me that she was from Selma, a town outside of Fresno. I had once picked grapes thereâmy dad wanted me to know what it meant to labor under the sun surrounded by the wasps that buzzed through the vines. She was seventeen, a senior in high school, and vice president of the school. She was even a cheerleader.
Dang, I thought.
Vice president of a high, school! A cheerleader!
"What about you?" she asked I couldn't say that I was cheerleader. But I could have easily been elected vice president of the lonely boys on campus. I told her that I was in high school, too. I told her that I ran track. I swallowed before I lied about the blue ribbons hung on my bedpost at home.
She gave me a squint as if she didn't believe me.
I shrugged my shoulders and giggled into my arm. I confessed that I wasn't that good at long-distance running, that I ran because it was something to do and was the only sport that I could letter in. I was too small for football and basketball. And wrestling? I had a gap-toothed girl cousin who once pinned me in seventeen seconds.
"I run track, too," Crystal said.
"No way," I argued. "You can't do everything!"
She nodded her head. "I'm good," she declared. She wasn't bragging but telling me how it was.
Mouth open, she gazed openly at where my hands should have been.
"They're gone," I said. "So are my feet."
"We're dead, huh?" she asked innocently.
"Yeah," I answered. This was weird. The two of us talking about being dead and neither of us caring, really.
"Are we going to be like this?" she asked.
I knew what she meant. She meant whether we were going to be ghosts for a long time orâshe was inspecting the stumps of my armsâor if we were just going to vanish.
"I don't know," I lied. How could I tell her right away that we were slowly going to disappear?
"You're not telling me the truth!" She smiled at me because I was such a bad liar.
I shrugged
You little wimp,
I scolded myself,
are you falling in love or what?
Truth is, that's how I am, or
was.
I was known for falling in love at the sight of both good-looking and not-so-good-looking girls. I wasn't very choosy. Once, when I was ten or so, I fell in love with a track star on the back of a Wheaties cereal box. She was my dream girl. I even cut her out and taped her to my bedroom wall.
"My name is Chuy," I said again. I was suddenly embarrassed because I had no visible hands, and my feet were gone. However, she didn't appear frightened.
"Mine's Crystal," she said, then asked, "Did you hear me? Crystal, my name is Crystal."
"Yeah, I heard," I said. "I understand." It appeared that we ghosts could talk to each other.
We stood in the middle of the street, shy as ponies. When a car turned down the corner and headed our way, weaving because the driver was drunk on whatever, Crystal hurried to the sidewalk. But I stood my ground, chest slightly pushed out, in fact, and let the car go through me like I was fog. Yeah, I was showing off. I admit it, me all macho as I stuck out my chest at the approaching headlights. But I also wanted to show her what we ghosts could do. The whole world could smash through us and nothing would happen. A jet could fall on our heads and we would just walk away singing "Cielito Lindo."
"You're not hurt?" Crystal asked as she approached me.
Hurt? Me? I had already seen the worst in my life. A car traveling through me was painless.
"Nah," I said.
Show-off me! I leaped into the lower branches of a tree. Crystal, giggling, bent her knees and shot upward and past the tree. She smiled, formed the word "oops" on her lips, and slowly descended, holding her dress to her sides so that it didn't parachute out and reveal what was underneath. Devilish me, I considered taking a peek up her dress, but I liked her too much. Why be like that?
In the tree, her legs swinging, she told me that she was from Selma, a town outside of Fresno. I had once picked grapes thereâmy dad wanted me to know what it meant to labor under the sun surrounded by the wasps that buzzed through the vines. She was seventeen, a senior in high school, and vice president of the school. She was even a cheerleader.
Dang, I thought.
Vice president of a high, school! A cheerleader!
"What about you?" she asked I couldn't say that I was cheerleader. But I could have easily been elected vice president of the lonely boys on campus. I told her that I was in high school, too. I told her that I ran track. I swallowed before I lied about the blue ribbons hung on my bedpost at home.
She gave me a squint as if she didn't believe me.
I shrugged my shoulders and giggled into my arm. I confessed that I wasn't that good at long-distance running, that I ran because it was something to do and was the only sport that I could letter in. I was too small for football and basketball. And wrestling? I had a gap-toothed girl cousin who once pinned me in seventeen seconds.
"I run track, too," Crystal said.
"No way," I argued. "You can't do everything!"
She nodded her head. "I'm good," she declared. She wasn't bragging but telling me how it was.
Mouth open, she gazed openly at where my hands should have been.
"They're gone," I said. "So are my feet."
"We're dead, huh?" she asked innocently.
"Yeah," I answered. This was weird. The two of us talking about being dead and neither of us caring, really.
"Are we going to be like this?" she asked.
I knew what she meant. She meant whether we were going to be ghosts for a long time orâshe was inspecting the stumps of my armsâor if we were just going to vanish.
"I don't know," I lied. How could I tell her right away that we were slowly going to disappear?
"You're not telling me the truth!" She smiled at me because I was such a bad liar.
I shrugged
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