The Other Side of the Attic Window II

The twins stopped by with a question.

“How’d you become a ghost?”

“It was my turn,” I said.

Halloween being over, I thought I’d have more me time. But once you unleash a new thing to a child, it becomes theirs. Until they tire of it. Or it moves. But moving is not an option I’ve been given.

“You may as well know it now, girls. We all get a chance at being the ghost. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. Just make sure you live a full life. Especially if that means doing what you really want to do, and not what’s expected. The expected is boring. You’re own imagination is far more interesting.”

Then they ran off in search of something more interesting than me.

I didn’t tell them the part where they don’t make any money being interesting.

***

I’m pastoral by nature and had hoped to come back as a cud chewing cow. Grazing in the grass, wagging my tail at a pesky fly, the occasional tug on my udders. But, as the sailor man once said, I am what I am. And here I am. Udderless and alone. Until now.

For decades I had haunted an empty house. Entertaining the rats and bats with my furious weather. I was the resident ghost in a home that nobody wanted.

Not wanted as a result of my mischievousness.

My sudden display of black clouds and booming thunder sent potential buyers scurrying out the front door and into the arms of a blazing sun.

My anxieties brought out the weather in me.

And the fun was had by me alone. The way I liked it.

The house was empty of furnishings, but the attic was brimming with other people’s memories. Memories I’ve come to call my own.

Storing things in the attic takes some effort. A letting go of things you’d rather not, but must. I felt it my duty to stand guard.

Over the years there were attempts to erase the memories in the attic, but I kept the intruders at bay with lightning cracks so fierce it scared even me.

Then I’d lay on my bed of old movie posters and compose myself.

This continued for several decades until this particular family showed up who found indoor weather a pleasant quirk.

“Freaky,” said the wife.

“Sure to keep pesky neighbors at bay,” said the husband.

“How come the rain isn’t wet?” said the twins.

 

The dust clouds created by this infernal bunch as they swept their way to a proper home, distressed me. The stirring up of things meant change. I don’t like change. Its always made me feel left behind.

Then there was the plopping down of furniture. I was happy to see that the basics hadn’t changed: sofa; coffee table; telelvision; beds, and dressers.

Except for the television, which was bigger than your average bear (to paraphrase a favorite television bear of my youth), the coziness of it all gave me some unexpected comfort.

The settling in had begun.

***

After Halloween and Thanksgiving had been scratched off the calendar I received an invitation, hand delivered by the twins. It read:

A Magical Twins Song and Dance Party

Where: the basement tent

Time: 3PM Sharp

Menu: Hot chocolate and ice cream for the twins and a favorite song and dance for our honored guest.

Favorite song? Dance? How could they know such things?

“Come into the tent!” I heard the girls yell. “Come be surprised!”

When I appeared in the tent a tune started playing on the tiny speaker they had brought along.  It was The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze.”

“How do you know this song?” I asked.

“You sing it when you think no one is listening,” said Emmie.

“And we always dance to it,” said Ollie.

And dance they did.

 

He’d fly through the air with greatest of ease

The daring young man on the flying trapeze

His movements were graceful, all girls he could please

And my love he has stolen away

 

The thing I liked about the circus was the trapeze artists. It was a dream of mine when I was ten; to be up there soaring new heights. I’d be Burt Lancaster. My best friend John would cut a daring figure as Tony Curtis. Rose from the neighborhood would be Gina Lollobrigida—our love interest. I would teach Tony to perform the triple axleI and walk away with Gina Lollobrigida at the end. Tony Curtis would never speak to me again. Can’t say as I blame him; Rose cut quite a figure in overalls and sneakers.

But my anxieties always won out—even in my dreams—and there I’d stand; looking up, instead of looking down and waving at the crowd. ‘Bravo, Ricardo!’ They would have shouted. ‘Bravo!’

As the twins danced I swayed along to the rhythm and embraced them symbolically. It was a lovely moment, and a lovely dance. I was pleased.

***

Another day. Another question.

“Maybe you’re really an angel,” said Ollie

“Who only thinks he’s a ghost,” said Emmie. “because he hasn’t got wings. You’re much too nice to be a ghost.”

“You both bring out the good weather in me,” I said. “I’m really not that scary.”

“We know,” said Ollie. “You’re not fooling anyone here.”

“Except the dogs,” said Emmie. “But they're afraid of dust bunnies too.”

After decades without sprouting wings I gave into the ghostly logic of it all: I died; did not go to heaven, and would come to haunt a home that was unfamiliar to me when I arrived. That was a surprise. I had assumed all ghosts haunted a dwelling where they met their fate.

It’s not so unfamiliar to me now.

It’s been several weeks since I’d first met the twins. And after many invitations to tea parties and dance recitals—and many attempts to hug me—which, instead, sent them into a warm embrace of each other—I finally reasoned that my placement here was a gift; not a punishment. I was given a home.

It is my heaven.

***

The Flying Trapeze - 1867

Lyrics by George Leybourne and music by Gaston Lyle. Arrangement by Alfred Lee.

***

Photo courtesy of Wiki Commons:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mus%C3%A9e_du_Vieux_Toulouse_-_C...