Ghosts

By James Veeds

There have been moments in my life where thoughts, feelings, and experiences connect and culminate in something I don’t have a word for. Almost always, I only ever recognise them after they’ve already passed. Thankfully, these wordless culminations that have mostly left me changed for the better. They’re truly spectral things, felt only after moving through them. Or maybe, it’s that I’ve felt them move through me. 

That night, as I moved through the hospital, I felt that something was different. The ward my friend was kept in was noticeably quieter than usual. Of course, I knew that hospitals are generally quieter come the night, especially at the hour I was visiting. Most people would have made their post-work visits already. In all likelihood, parents would be home, shouting for kids to come downstairs for dinner. Maybe they’d all be gathered together already, the commotion of overly energetic kids filling the air. But here I was, taking in the quiet as I made my way.

Coughs from neighbouring patient rooms sounded more hushed, the usual pained groans were replaced by steady breathing, and the distress some patients expressed loudly seemed to have been replaced by a blanketing calm. Even the beeps of machines, the shuffle of nurses’ feet and flapping of paperwork seemed slower, more muffled. 

It was an ethereal quiet. 

I looked up at the sign above the door to my friend’s room, “6-G,” and gently pushed it open. The cold, white lights on the ceiling were off, along with the faint, incandescent lights above the hospital bed. The only light offered came from the dim glow of machine lights and the twilight sky outside. Reds, greens, and the occasional yellow of little machine bulbs mixed with the gradient of twilight as it seeped through the window. It left the room washed in a silvery blue hue that somehow matched the ethereal quality of the quietness all around. 

The dim light barely illuminated the visage of my friend, who lay still in her bed. Shadows claimed the edges and underside of the bed itself, with just enough light left to highlight her features. Part of me was used to the sight. But part of me was always struck by the pain of seeing my friend like that. She lay gaunt, pale, and slow-moving. Looking at her was like looking at the echo of a human. A fading cry of what was familiar. The darkening blue light of the encroaching night only furthered the idea in my head. 

Alice was already watching the door as I stepped through. She always was. A sixth sense solely for the approach of visitors must have formed over the course of her stay. When she spotted me, the same brave smile would always creep onto her face. I could see how tired she was, the slowness of her smile and the heavy lids that half eclipsed her grey eyes making it painfully clear. Even still, what was visible of those eyes gleamed like silver in the low light. 

A lot of visits were a fight to stay awake for Alice. She fought hard against tiredness and even harder to look me in the eyes. She was too polite not to. But her stay in the hospital seemed to have emphasised her attentiveness. Every moment mattered more to her, and she must have wanted to show her appreciation of company even as she lay dying. 

“Quit staring, I’m not dead yet.” Her weakened voice broke the silence with a defiant sarcasm. Though I couldn’t help but grit my teeth at the sound of it. A raspiness had infected the smoothness it once held and I wondered for a moment, if Alice losing her voice entirely would have been better. It might have made things easier, having the fond memories of something be replaced entirely, instead of having to face its degradation.  

“Hey Alice…” My own voice was low and gentle, careful to match the ethereal quality of the night’s unique quiet. My feet barely lifted with each step as I approached Alice, gliding just above the tiled floor. It felt like steps echoing would somehow ruin the atmosphere. I sat beside Alice.

“I was beginning to wonder if you would show up tonight.” 

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you.” 

“Or maybe greedy.” Alice chuckled a bit before breathing in sharply after getting the words out, either from pain or a lack of breath. She winced. I winced too. But she continued. “I made a bet with some of the nurses that you would show up. Thanks for proving me right.” 

Alice adjusted herself in her bed, making several movements just to be able to lay on her side as she faced her whole body towards me. She seemed to study me for a bit. I noticed her eyes darting around slightly while she squinted. 

“It’s getting pretty dark in here.” Alice smiled at my remark. 

“Well, the lights always go out eventually anyway.” Her words made me flinch, but Alice just kept smiling. I think Alice knew exactly what she said. 

Alice and I took time to talk in voices barely above a whisper. Mine, out of respect for the quiet. Hers, because it was about all she could manage. We talked mostly about me, my job, what I’d been doing, who I’d been interacting with. I felt awkward and guilty, taking up all the space in our conversation and with little to show. But no matter the subject, or how taxing speaking seemed to be, Alice always seemed eager to continue. Her attentive eyes followed me all throughout, boring right into me as I sat on more than just the chair.

“I can see there’s something on your mind. Tell me.” Alice’s voice was so soft, so gentle. Even with the coarseness brought on by her illness, it kept a soothing quality. She was so perceptive too, able to see right through me. 

I felt a flash of frustration within and a voice far less soothing hissed in my mind. What kind of friend was I, that my bedridden friend would seek to comfort me while she lay dying? What frustrated me even more was the truth she was digging for. 

Shame and guilt haunted me before I even stepped through the door. In that moment, they forced my head down and face away from Alice. The only view I took in was the floor. The thoughts I’d had about her, about this situation, were something I just couldn’t ignore. I felt vile, repulsed by the workings of my own mind. The thoughts it had formed made it feel like a foreign entity; one I wanted to strangle for its audacity. Nevertheless, I knew there were some things outside my control. Believe me, I’d tried. 

Overwhelming emotion coursed through me in a way that made it feel like a physical thing pumped throughout my body. When I looked back at Alice’s concerned face, my hairs stood on end, my muscles tensed as my whole body shuddered, and my lip quivered. But she just patiently waited for my answer, one I thought might be too brutal to share. But keeping it inside was tearing me up. It wouldn’t be fair to keep it from Alice either, after seeing me like that. So, I did my best to dress up the thoughts eating away at me in a way that might hurt less. 

“Have you ever had the certainty that you should pursue the promise of something that feels abstract at the expense of something tangible? For a long time, I’ve held onto something… comfortable… and familiar. But I know it’s hurting me. Hell, it feels like it’s killing me.” I paused for a moment, waiting for the right words before continuing. “Still, it’s something hard to let go of in favour of just a promise, an abstract promise that requiring faith.” An exasperated breath I didn’t expect rushed out of me, along with a tension I didn’t know was there.

Guilt still hung over me. Even my answer was vague and strange. In thinking about what I’d say if Alice had spotted what was stirring within, I’d always imagined myself giving some eloquent, poetic answer. Instead, I just sounded like some rambling lunatic. But I could see her pondering. 

Silence hung in the air for what felt like a millennium. The lingering gave way to shame that cast my gaze to the floor again. Even the simple beeping of machines felt accusatory. I could feel Alice’s eyes watching me, searching me. That feeling of knowing you’re being watched allowed her to steal back my gaze. Alice’s eyes were far more stoic than I could have anticipated. The way her brow furrowed slightly seemed to convey a firm understanding too. “You think I haven’t thought about abstract promises in this state? I’ve got doctors saying recovery is technically possible, and chaplains telling me all about the next life.” I went to look away again, but a hand cupped my cheek and held my face in place. Alice’s eyes pierced through mine, staring right into my soul with an understanding I felt foolish for overlooking. She was my friend after all; one I’d known for a long time. When she knew my eyes would stay fixed on her, that bony hand drifted slowly back to her side. 

“Let me ask you a weird question; have you ever felt so nauseous that you crave the relief of throwing up but remain still in the vague hope that the nausea might wash over?” The way Alice asked the question hinted at fresh experiences around it. I winced again, struggling to come to terms even after all this time with all the things my friend had endured.

 Alice stopped to cough. They were dry coughs that sounded like they cut up her throat, followed by rough wheezing as she caught her breath. “Part of you knows that the sick feeling is just going to keep building and you can either bite the bullet straight away or suffer until it eventually hits anyway.” With no response in mind, I just nodded. “Well then I think we’re on the same page.” 

Alice moved to prop herself up, her face scrunched up and contorted and stayed that way as she used the last dregs of her strength to sit upright. I tensed and reached out to support her, but she swatted my arms away. For once, she let her attention drift away from me and towards the bed she was in. It was hard to tell what exactly her expression was pained by. “I’m holding onto this life, this body. Even when it hurts. Even among abstract promises of potential recovery or another life after this one.” Hunched over and breathing heavily, Alice steeled herself and lifted her head to face me again. “Whatever you’re holding onto, you can tell me.” 

I had fought back tears the whole time. But as soon as she said that I couldn’t anymore. They welled up in my eyes, and a courage affirmed by her words welled up in my heart. “I miss who we were, what we had before. Holding onto that when I face you each time I walk in here… is killing me. I know it’s not your fault and I hate myself for feeling this way, but… you feel like a stranger at times.” 

A flash of images assaulted my mind’s eye as I reminisced on our lives before. The youthful innocence of kids laughing and screaming while chasing each other through a field; preteens huddled together, trying not to wake up sleeping parents while watching scary movies past midnight; graduates tossing notebooks in the sky as we tasted what felt like true freedom for the first time. I remembered how things were, before encountering the true corruption this world could unleash. 

My friend was hollowed out by a sickness with no name. For years it confined her. For years it ate away at her. It changed her, transformed her into a pale imitation of the vibrant life that once was. Even if she got better, I wondered if she’d still be the same. She put on a brave face, always, but so long, in such a state… No one would leave the same. Yet here I was, selfishly making things all about me and my feelings. But I just couldn’t help it. I missed how things were. 

I couldn’t believe my own audacity, to describe my feelings as ‘killing me’ to a friend clinging to life. And yet, Alice still smiled at me, a strange mixture of pain and relief on her face. “There it is.” She whispered. “Brutally honest.” I crushed my own eyelids shut and clenched my teeth ‘til I thought they might crack.  “As you should be.” She just said. 

In one fluid motion, I heard Alice roll over and flopped onto her back. When I opened my eyes again, she was staring at the ceiling. She exhaled steadily through her mouth, her chest falling to a great depth, stilling for a few moments, before slowly rising again as she inhaled just as deeply through her nose. Alice’s body relaxed, like some invisible weight had been pulled from her very being. “I wish more people knew what it meant to be honest, with yourself, and with others. I don’t have time for dancing around things.” Alice sighed contemplatively. “You’re not the only one to see me like this and miss what once was. I experience the same thing every day at the same time, just as the sun is getting ready to set. The way its rays shine through the window at just the right angle… I’m forced to face everything that’s come to be; all reflected in the image on the glass of a dying girl stuck lying there.” Alice bit her lip for a moment, before another smile appeared. Alice looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “That’s why I always watch the door instead.” 

Unworthy was not how I expected to feel when visiting Alice. I told my friend that seeing her sick was, in a way, making me sick. Yet that statement, which should have just made her even more sick, was something she somehow understood. In fact, she admitted to not just understanding, but seeing it herself. Though I felt unworthy of such a friend, I was also in awe. 

“Comfort is overrated anyway. I’m a big girl; I can handle it. Tell things to me straight, I say. Even if I can’t handle it right now, I’ll figure out how.” Alice looked up, as if she was looking past the roof and into the sky. “That leap of faith… Maybe that’s what’s really worth something. I’m guessing that’s how you feel? That the promise is worth the leap?” Truthfully, it was all I could think about. 

“I know it is.” My answer was quick and certain. As I opened my mouth to continue speaking, to explain the promise that I felt I owed her, Alice swiftly reached her arm across the bed and put a finger up to my lips. She shook her head at me.  

“You don’t need to tell me. Some things are worth keeping to yourself.” She withdrew her finger before it curled into a fist she coughed into. Alice carefully rolled onto her back again. She gave me a nod, signalling for me to continue. 

“I know it in my head that the promise is worth it, but not in my heart. My heart is so attached still…” I hung my head again, listening to us both breathe softly, trying to find the right words. “But I heard from someone recently, that sometimes the feelings catch up later, with whatever you choose to believe.” Alice added another sombre smile to the nights’ collection as she stared at the roof. 

“So, which are you going to trust? The head that knows better? Or the heart that won’t listen?” As Alice’s body lay still, just her head turned to look at me. She coughed lightly, training her eyes on me as she awaited my response. 

“I already made a promise, to go with the truth. I’ll go with truth, as many times as it takes before my heart finally listens.” My volume increased alongside my conviction, catching Alice off guard. Her eyes widened slightly, a look of surprise painting her face. 

“Wow. You might not be as brave as me, but yours is definitely inspiring.” Alice jested, letting out a light chuckle. “Fighting for truth instead of comfort… Maybe I’ve also got promises to make…” Her words trailed off as she seemed to get lost in her own thoughts. After a pause, she continued. 

“If we’re going on making promises, promise me this: promise that you won’t wait for your heart to catch up with your head. Promise me that you’ll stick by your word and chase truth over comfort. If truth really is worth the pain sometimes, show me and everyone else.” I noticed Alice fighting her own tears then as she tried to remain stoic. A million thoughts must’ve swirled through her mind in that moment. 

Seeing my friend start get emotional in that moment made me want to say and do everything for her. I wanted to praise every quality she had, find a way to promise she would be alright, plan a bright future ahead, sing and dance with her as we once had, and assure her with things beyond words that I hadn’t yet figured out. In the end, all I could manage to say was,

“I promise.”

Alice sat up again, shuffling across the bed until her face filled my entire view. Her misty eyes stared right into mine. I also felt the freshly familiar sting of tears welling up in my eyes. Each of us tried to outlast the other before Alice spoke again. 

“One more promise, Waylon? Promise me you won’t hold onto ghosts. Not even mine. Especially not mine.”  

“I promise you.” I clenched my teeth. 

“Say it back to me.” Alice’s voice faltered. 

“I promise you I won’t hold onto ghosts. I promise you I’ll chase truth over comfort. I promise I’ll choose living over lingering.” The floodgates opened and tears flowed freely as I succumbed to the overwhelming emotions rushing through me. My hands resting helplessly limp and open on my lap, I hung my head and wept. I felt Alice’s tender and frail touch on my cheeks as she lifted my face to look at her. 

“Thank you.” 

In that instance, my friend also broke. All that bravery couldn’t hold anymore. Her face scrunched up before she too began sobbing. Despite all my feelings of helplessness, guilt, and shame, my limp arms rushed to action. I just couldn’t see my friend like that.

Alice and I embraced one another, our chins resting on each other’s’ shoulders as we cried. It was loud, messy crying that shattered the ethereal quiet. Others must’ve heard us too, our crying kicking off a chorus of wailing. We were like that for some time, both leaning forward and holding on tight as we let our emotions flow freely. 

“I’m so scared.” Alice confessed. I could feel moisture from her breath and tears on my neck. “Not just of dying, but of being forgotten.” 

“I won’t ever forget you.” I tried to reassure her. 

“You have to though. You’ll never move on if you just hold onto my memory forever. Just… remember me a little bit, okay? Remember me just enough.” 

“I will.” I squeezed Alice, holding her tight in my arms. 

There are moments, like that one spent embracing Alice, when you realise that words are pointless. There’s either nothing to be said, or that can be said, that will ever convey the fullness or the depth of feeling. The weight of some things just cannot be measured. So, I simply held my friend. I held her until our breathing steadied and our bodies loosened. As we calmed, so too did everything around us, it seemed. 

The embrace I shared with Alice felt like it matched the time we’d known each other. But, knowing it couldn’t last forever, we eventually parted from each other’s arms. Alice had a satisfied look. I must’ve had the same. “Thank you, again, for trusting me and being open.” She said gently. The emotion that had been rife in both our voices had settled. 

“And thank you for not judging me.” Alice chuckled in response.

“You know, for a long time, I’ve been torn between two perceptions of myself. Am I just one, ever-evolving and ever-changing person? Or is my life just the same stretch of time shared by different people that are all called ‘me?’ Is who I am now just the evolved version of my younger self? Or is my younger self a different person to who I am now?” Alice’s question was profound and stunned me. It was something it made sense for her to think about, but something I lacked an immediate answer to. 

“That’s a good question.” I tried to formulate an answer, or any sort of response. But as an uncomfortable silence lingered between us, I could only think of one reply. “Do you have an answer?” I asked her. 

 “No.” There was hardly any waiting before Alice responded. “The best answer I came up with was to stop thinking about the question.” Alice huffed an amused hum. She grabbed my hand and held it gently. “Thank you for staying.” 

“Thank you for not telling me to ‘get out’ with some of the things I said.” Alice laughed out loud this time. It seemed like we’d thanked each other a hundred times. But it felt good. It felt good to be grateful. 

“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but that’s exactly what I’m about to say.” Concern spread across my face as I heard Alice’s words. But she squeezed my hand, reassuring me. “No point sticking around now, right? All’s been said. It’s dark out too.” Alice nodded at the window, the dazzling lights of the city sparkling against a black backdrop. She was right. Night was here. All that was left to see of my friend were a few highlights.“Time to let me sleep.” 

Some final tears began to form as Alice squeezed my hand again, this time matched by a stern expression and slow shake of her head as if to say, ‘don’t.’ I dutifully wiped my eyes in response to her silent instruction before standing to my feet. “Alright then, you rest well my friend. I’ll see you when I’m looking at you.” It was a goodbye we’d often used in the past. It carried a very different meaning now. 

The most content smile I’d ever seen made its way onto the face of my friend. She looked up at me with an expression of gratitude mixed with that earlier satisfaction. Then, she closed her eyes. Peace was the last thing I saw highlighted on her face. 

“Goodbye, Waylon. I’ll see you when I see you.” 

I walked out of the room, careful not to look back. I knew that even after closing them, she’d open her eyes again just to watch for that. Looking back now would be a disservice to everything the night had brought into light. Instead, I looked ahead. I lost count of the sets of doors I set my eyes on before stepping through and before I knew it, I was back out in the world. 

I couldn’t have known it, but after I’d disappeared from her view, Alice turned to the window. She didn’t need to watch the door anymore. Admiring the twinkling of both the city on the ground and the stars in the heavens, my friend reminisced one last time. A life of fond memories played out even in the closing of her eyes.

“I release you.” She breathed into the stillness. “I release us both.” 

By James Veeds