my shoulders. I had no answer about what happens to us. But if she had asked me if I had liked her, I would have stuttered, "Baby, I'm for real." Or some other silly come-on line.
In turn, I was sure that she liked me, a little bit at least. But what good was this now? Beyond her I could see the night sky and the stars giving off their icy energy. I felt like crying. How could I explain to her that I was disappearing, and that it was going to happen to her? I figured that she had died that evening, and by tomorrow, midday, maybe later, her hands would be gone along with the feet that brought her all those first-place ribbons in track. That is, if she was telling the truth and ran track. I had heard that the girl runners of Selma were better than goodâgreat, as our coach hollered at our sorry-ass team.
"Yeah, I'm disappearing," I admitted, with a shrug of my shoulders. "It's just the way it is."
Her eyes lost their innocent luster. She frowned and examined her own hands. She was wondering whether she was going to disappear in time.
"It just happens," I explained lamely. My sorrow for myself and Crystal was as deep as any river. We were ghosts, and what happened later when we lost our ghostly bodies was a big mystery.
I told her how I had been killed at a nightclub all because I stupidly commented that I liked this guy's shoes. The shoes were yellow, really different. I told her that he killed me with a knife and lied when I said it hardly hurt at all. I bit my lower lip and hesitated about asking again how she had died.
Crystal pulled her hair behind her ear. She jumped down from the branch, and I got a sense that she didn't want to discuss her death. There was something she didn't want to share.
I jumped down, too. "Follow me," I said.
I took long strides, and she followed, almost skipping. She liked how her hair lifted, and how she could stay in the air churning her legs. She was feeling beautiful, I'm sure, and looked beautiful at that hour of night when barking dogs had shut up and were bedding down on army blankets. When the wind pushed against us, I told her to tighten her stomach muscles.
She rubbed her stomach, giggling. She blew off course for a second, actually flew up to tree level, but soon descended.
"Tighten up," she sang as she remembered what I had explained about anchoring yourself against the wind. "I got to tighten up." She laughed with a hand over her mouth, and I liked that gesture a lot. I could tell that she wasn't scared of being a ghost.
I led her down the street and in the direction of Fausto's house. I wanted to see if I could do something about his bike-stealing scam.
The lights inside his house were off.
Crystal made a face that revealed her snobbery. She didn't like the neighborhood, with its junky cars and houses leaning crookedly on their foundations. The apartment buildings were hideous. Laundry the color of defeated nations hung on lines. The screens on the windows were torn.
"It ain't that bad here," I said, though I had to admit the neighborhood was dilapidated. I climbed the steps and walked through the wall and then back out.
Wow,
Crystal said through her expression. Her snobbery disappeared.
I held up the stump of my arm, beckoning her to follow.
She floated up the steps and, by my side, entered the den of nickel-and-dime thieves.
Chapter Six
F AUSTO WASN'T home, and neither was my punk killer in yellow shoes. I could live without either of them, and so could all of Fresno. Truth is, I had the suspicion that Fausto didn't really live in there, but considered the run-down place a warehouse for the stuff he ripped off. Perfectâan export business that would leave the neighborhood children crying. I could change that.
I had learned a thing or two about my body. When I touched the hinges of the front door with the stubs of my arms, the coldness of death made the hinges snap. I was providing the bikes with an escape route, though I knew they were not going to
In turn, I was sure that she liked me, a little bit at least. But what good was this now? Beyond her I could see the night sky and the stars giving off their icy energy. I felt like crying. How could I explain to her that I was disappearing, and that it was going to happen to her? I figured that she had died that evening, and by tomorrow, midday, maybe later, her hands would be gone along with the feet that brought her all those first-place ribbons in track. That is, if she was telling the truth and ran track. I had heard that the girl runners of Selma were better than goodâgreat, as our coach hollered at our sorry-ass team.
"Yeah, I'm disappearing," I admitted, with a shrug of my shoulders. "It's just the way it is."
Her eyes lost their innocent luster. She frowned and examined her own hands. She was wondering whether she was going to disappear in time.
"It just happens," I explained lamely. My sorrow for myself and Crystal was as deep as any river. We were ghosts, and what happened later when we lost our ghostly bodies was a big mystery.
I told her how I had been killed at a nightclub all because I stupidly commented that I liked this guy's shoes. The shoes were yellow, really different. I told her that he killed me with a knife and lied when I said it hardly hurt at all. I bit my lower lip and hesitated about asking again how she had died.
Crystal pulled her hair behind her ear. She jumped down from the branch, and I got a sense that she didn't want to discuss her death. There was something she didn't want to share.
I jumped down, too. "Follow me," I said.
I took long strides, and she followed, almost skipping. She liked how her hair lifted, and how she could stay in the air churning her legs. She was feeling beautiful, I'm sure, and looked beautiful at that hour of night when barking dogs had shut up and were bedding down on army blankets. When the wind pushed against us, I told her to tighten her stomach muscles.
She rubbed her stomach, giggling. She blew off course for a second, actually flew up to tree level, but soon descended.
"Tighten up," she sang as she remembered what I had explained about anchoring yourself against the wind. "I got to tighten up." She laughed with a hand over her mouth, and I liked that gesture a lot. I could tell that she wasn't scared of being a ghost.
I led her down the street and in the direction of Fausto's house. I wanted to see if I could do something about his bike-stealing scam.
The lights inside his house were off.
Crystal made a face that revealed her snobbery. She didn't like the neighborhood, with its junky cars and houses leaning crookedly on their foundations. The apartment buildings were hideous. Laundry the color of defeated nations hung on lines. The screens on the windows were torn.
"It ain't that bad here," I said, though I had to admit the neighborhood was dilapidated. I climbed the steps and walked through the wall and then back out.
Wow,
Crystal said through her expression. Her snobbery disappeared.
I held up the stump of my arm, beckoning her to follow.
She floated up the steps and, by my side, entered the den of nickel-and-dime thieves.
Chapter Six
F AUSTO WASN'T home, and neither was my punk killer in yellow shoes. I could live without either of them, and so could all of Fresno. Truth is, I had the suspicion that Fausto didn't really live in there, but considered the run-down place a warehouse for the stuff he ripped off. Perfectâan export business that would leave the neighborhood children crying. I could change that.
I had learned a thing or two about my body. When I touched the hinges of the front door with the stubs of my arms, the coldness of death made the hinges snap. I was providing the bikes with an escape route, though I knew they were not going to
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