The Owls Are Not What They Seem

I didn’t know what I was doing then. I was young and didn’t have any money and the thought of working at the town’s only grocery, the Dairy Queen, the library, or wherever kids got a job, didn’t appeal to me. I never wanted to be so ordinary, I guess. I couldn’t mow grass because of my allergies. I couldn’t be a lifeguard because I couldn’t swim, though in all my times at the pool I never saw a lifeguard jump in to save anyone. I never saw a single one of them swim. So I thought about it. Risking it. It would be a good job. To sit out in the sun and suntan while making money. Eating snow-cones and hot dogs. Blow a whistle now and then. Watch girls in bikinis go by as I sit atop that stand like a hawk. That chair that’s like an umbrella throne. A dab of sun screen on my nose, wearing Ray-Bans and little red shorts. I could throw someone a flotation device, if needed. I could learn to swim if I had to.

I only needed a little money. Enough to go to the drive-in with friends on weekends where there were always girls. But even when there weren’t girls, the drive-in was fun. They had hula hoop contests and my friends and I threw a football or baseball in the large grass area in front of the giant block screen wall all the way up until twilight when they turned on the reel and played the national anthem. When the big American flag was on the screen and blowing in a wind we could not feel. And we ran to the car and got our chairs ready or went and ordered the snacks we would eat during the movie. I needed enough money to go on a date, if I ever got one. To go to a ballgame with my friends, or to King’s Island to ride roller-coasters, or to canoe. I never knew there was so much to do until I wrote it all out.

I thought about getting a job at the paperback bookstore on Broad Street, called Harry’s Books, where I spent a great deal of my time. But the owner, Mr. Ferguson, who seemed to hide meekly behind a bushy gray mustache and coke-bottle glasses, said they weren’t hiring about as kindly as you can tell someone they’re not wanted. If ever a mouse became a man, it was Mr. Ferguson. The one obvious peculiarity of Harry’s Books were the stuffed owls he had perched all throughout the bookstore. He said his brother was a taxidermist and every Christmas he gifted him a new owl because Harry loved owls. I meant to ask Harry if it bothered him that the owls were killed to be stuffed and gifted to him, but I never did. I always wanted to, but never did. He must have had a dozen of them and nearly around every corner you went, there was one, staring at you, perched on non-fiction or fantasy or romance. The one by the register was the largest and its wings were spread as though it were ready for flight. A flight it would never take. I felt so sorry for those owls and often they found their way to my dreams.

They didn’t need anyone right then, but if they did he would call me right away, Mr. Ferguson nervously promised when I asked if he was hiring. I knew he wouldn’t call. He never even took my number. I was his best customer, though. So I figured he thought if he hired me he would lose me as a customer because during my shift I would do what the few people who worked there did and sit on a stool and read all the books I wanted to read. So it was probably just a practical business decision on Mr. Ferguson’s part, if ever he was so shrewd.

I read a book about an exorcist which got me thinking it was a line of work I wanted to do. Something unique and different and something that would be good to conversate about on a date. Something to set me apart from the herd, which my dad said was important. So I read the book and took notes, then I read others like it until I read every book that Harry Ferguson had on exorcism. I saw every movie, too. Rented them at Blockbuster and rode my bike home and waited until my parents and little brother went to bed and watched. Studying the manner and method of the exorcists. I doubt the movies were really accurate. Hollywood always makes things dramatic because that makes the movie more interesting. There are special effects people who got to make a living somehow. And screenwriters and the director always go one step further than the author to set themselves apart and to put their stamp on their film. That is just how it is. So I took the movies with a grain of salt and focused on how I would get evil spirit out of houses.

I didn’t expect there would be much calling for an exorcist. Not in Little Town, Ohio, anyway. I don’t know why I thought that other places would be anymore haunted than here, but I did. I rode my bike to the Eagle-Gazette office and placed an ad which cost me $7.50. Lunch money I saved for baseball cards, but baseball cards would have to wait. The ad read as follows: 

Exorcist available. Scared and living in a house possessed? Why live with spooks? Get rid of them today! Young, smart, professional exorcist will come to your home and free it from any and all evil spirits! $50 a house obo. Inquire within. 614-654-9991. Alex Esquire.

I didn’t know what obo meant, but it was in all the other ads. Nor did I know what esquire meant, but it too was in some of the other ads. So rather than giving my real last name, I used it, which I thought was clever. I’d have to stay home for the next few weeks and answer the phone. If my mom answered and took the message, I’d be in trouble. She’d accuse me of playing with a Ouija board or something and make me go to church every week and on Wednesdays, when I then only had to go once a month, per our prior negotiated deal. The phone was in the living room by the TV, so I just hung out and watched TV and read until I got my first few calls. I hoped to afford to hire my little brother as a secretary of sorts and take messages for me, but that never came to pass.

Two weeks later, I had yet to get a call. But when I read everything there was to read, which pleased my mom, and watched everything there was to watch, which didn’t please my mom, finally I got my first call. It was a house on E. Allen Street. It looked old and decrepit from the outside because of the peeling paint, but it was still a beautiful Victorian home. There was a black iron gate around the yard with spears that would impale someone who slipped trying to climb it. I took a briefcase with me that I had bought at a yard sale the summer before, inside of which was a crucifix, an old Bible, and some water which I marked as Holy Water but which came from my kitchen faucet. I figured it was a power-of-suggestion-thing for demonic spirits. If they thought it was Holy Water, they wouldn’t know the difference.

An old lady named Irene met me at the door and welcomed me inside. She had a few Persian cats, one white, one gray, both who seemed not to like me being there, but they quickly lost interest in me and left me alone. Irene told me the story of the house and said she had lived there alone since her husband passed away in 1970. Although it was 16 years ago, she made it sound like it was last summer. She seemed to have dementia or something because she acted like my great Aunt Mabel did at the end of her life. Irene said she thought the ghost lived there long before her and her husband, and she suspected he had fought in the Civil War, but she didn’t say why. She said he was ornery.

I felt bad because it felt like I was taking advantage of her. She didn’t seem to mind how young I was and she called me Arthur over and over in such a way that it made me feel weird. But I did the exorcism and recited the verses I had written, which were a hodgepodge of lines from several movies and from books. The best of the best. I closed my eyes and stood on her coffee table with my arms outspread when I said them so that it was official looking. I told her I needed to be at one with the house and in tune with my environment in the center-most point of the home. Lo and behold, when it was all said and done and I sprinkled the Holy Water on every wall of the home with a water pistol, the old lady collapsed on a chair and said she felt the ornery spirit had been vanquished. I stuck around and did some yard work for her. Then she asked if I painted rooms and I agreed to do that, but I couldn’t paint her house. In the end, after a few days of work, I think I earned my fifty bucks.

There were several other calls that went about the same. No one complained of my age or that I showed up on a BMX bike, or that I shot Holy Water out of a water pistol. I never encountered any ghosts face-to-face, but they could have been hiding or sleeping when I was there. Or it could be one of those power-of-suggestion-things where they weren’t actually there at all but people thought they were there until I came then they thought they were gone and so they were as good as gone. I did an exorcism on a little girl on Maude Avenue and it worked. She was flailing in bed and right after I recited the exorcism rites and shot her in the face with a water pistol, she went back to normal, lickety-split. I told her mom to take her to the doctor and get her checked out because sometimes the devil hides in the body as a mystery illness and may come back. In her case, I suspected it to be some sort of mental illness because I had read a book about a kid that acted the same way.

I guess I was feeling kind of bad about taking people’s money when I didn’t know what I was doing, really. I don’t know that I was as advertised. I got several referrals and before I knew it, I was up to my ears in ghosts and paranormal activity and demonic possession. I had made almost $600 when I got a call from the Hively’s, who lived on N. Columbus Street in one of those old fancy houses that looked gorgeous in all seasons, especially around Christmas when it was lit up with lights, and on the Fourth of July when it was decorated with bunting and flags, and when all the colorful summer flowers were in bloom. It was close to the Fourth of July when I rode over on my bicycle. It was late, but they told me it didn’t matter, they’d prefer I did it at night anyway after the kids went to bed so I didn’t scare anyone.

I walked my bike up the long asphalt driveway and parked it beside the garage and fixed my hair. I was wearing a camel-colored corduroy suit-coat, tie, and dress pants, all of which I had got at the Salvation Army to make myself look more official in my duty. My hair was parted-over and I shaved what there was to shave and made a point not to chew gum or wear sneakers. And I had replaced the water pistol with a dozen little corked-top medicine bottles I found at an antique store for the Holy Water. I even went to the Catholic church on Gay Street and prayed a few times and found out that there was a supply of Holy Water in the sanctuary, which I took, figuring I was doing the Lord’s work with it. I put a few dollars in the collection plate so it wasn’t like I stole it. God would understand.

I was becoming a professional exorcist in a matter of only a few months. So I met Judge William Hively, a stern-faced but reportedly kind county judge, at the side door where he had told me to come. His wife was at the kitchen table having a drink. I could tell it wasn’t her first. 

“Thank you for coming so late,” he began.

“Not a problem,” I replied.

Mrs. Hively kept pouring drink after drink into a crystal glass and she smiled teary-eyed at me as I walked in. The home was immaculate. The kitchen floor was brick and everything was stainless-steel like in a restaurant. She asked me how old I was and when I told her I was 16, she laughed bitterly and looked at her husband who rubbed his weary face, not at me and my youth, I could tell, but at his wife’s cynicism. It seemed like a usual routine between them. I could tell he was embarrassed by her drinking and I felt badly for him.

“Well, Carol and I are going to bed. We have an early morning tomorrow. There are snacks in the refrigerator and you are welcome to stay to see what you see and – do whatever it is that you do. If you leave, just lock the door behind you, but again – you’re more than welcome to stay and sleep on the sofa. There is a blanket there and plenty of pillows. The kids are asleep and won’t bother you. It was fifty, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

He took out his wallet and handed me a fifty dollar bill. His wife kept saying, “Sober as the judge,” and laughing as she hung on him. I hadn’t ever been paid in advance. I hadn’t ever seen anyone drunk, either. He seemed to like me and gave me a look and a smile of confidence before he and his wife disappeared up the stairs. I opened my briefcase on the kitchen table and went to the living room which was about the size of my family’s house. I sat down with the Bible in my hand and a couple bottles of Holy Water in my coat pocket. I wore a rosary around my neck for protection and I sat there and looked at the black face of the TV and got lost in time for a while. There was a lamp on, but then I saw someone’s reflection move across the TV from behind me in the shadows of the room. 
 
“Hello?” I called out weakly, grabbing the crucifix and rubbing my eyes. I must have fallen asleep because my Casio said it was 1:08 am. I was sitting upright on the sofa and my neck was stiff. No one answered me, but I could feel that I was not alone in the room. I was too terrified to move and I called out again, trying to sound more confident than I was, less afraid, rather. Still, there was no answer, and I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched. Finally, I got up and went to the kitchen and grabbed my briefcase. The combination was scrambled and apparently changed. The usual 0-0-0 didn’t work. I didn’t know how else to get into it so I just left it there. I had two bottles of Holy Water, a crucifix, and a Bible. I also had the rites I rehearsed to myself as I prepared to exorcise the house. I peered back into the living room which felt like I was looking into a tomb. I thought of just taking my briefcase and going. Leaving Judge Hively’s fifty bucks on the table, but I couldn’t. It would ruin my reputation as an exorcist and I would be out of business.

“Hell,” I groaned putting the briefcase back down on the table and creeping back into the living room. Maybe I’d flip on the TV and watch. Maybe I would stand up on the coffee table and recite the rites, cleanse the walls I could cleanse, and get out. Leave the rest to God. I felt like an exterminator who put down traps. The bulk of the work was done after I left. So I got up on the coffee table and recited the rites with my eyes closed and my arms outstretched. And just as I did, I could hear someone giggling from the back of the room. Then the olive-colored drapes of the large picture window thrashed open and a girl, who appeared about my age, popped out and cried, “Booo!”

I must have jumped off the table a good ten feet. The girl stood behind me and laughed hysterically. She covered her mouth with her hand and apologized.

“Jesus!” I gasped. “Why would you do that?”

She laughed uncontrollably for nearly a minute before she composed herself, if only for fear of waking everyone else up. Her eyes were watery still when she said, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! So you are the exorcist?”

“Yes. I am. And – you are?”

“Hannah Hively. I’m the daughter of the house. I overheard Bill and Carol talking about getting an exorcist to get rid of our ghost, so I thought I’d have some fun and wait up and watch.”

“Oh, your mom and dad. Yeah, they – ”

“They’re just Bill and Carol to me, thank you. They’ve been Bill and Carol for a long time now. Since I was – about 12. You don’t look like an exorcist, you know? Though I don’t really know what I would expect an exorcist to look like, you’re certainly not it.”

She stepped into the light and she was beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and if I had to guess, she was 17 – maybe 18. But when you are looking at a beautiful girl you hardly stop to think of her age. Her eyes were large and her nose was small and her face looked like a porcelain doll’s, everything in perfect symmetry. She was thin and short and wore loose gray sweats, the sweatshirt of which plainly read, Ohio University, in green unimaginative font across the front. Her feet were bare and she didn’t appear to be wearing makeup, but she needn’t like some girls do. I couldn’t see how she could be helped as she was so naturally appealing to the eye. Her hair was a chestnut color and was pulled up atop her head but fell here and there about her face. 

“Well, I’m just me. I don’t know what to say,” I replied nervously.

“I don’t want to interrupt you. Go ahead and do what they’re paying you to do. But I think it’s a waste of time. It’s all in their heads, you know. I don’t think we have a ghost. Carol drinks a lot these days and hears things. She is delusional. And Bill, well, Bill, he just plays along with it. Doesn’t want to admit Carol’s got a screw loose. Daddy dearest doesn’t do anything to upset his darling Carol or he will get no honey. I don’t want to sound bitter but – that’s just how it is.”

“It’s okay. I don’t ever hear the stories of the families. Just of the ghosts.”

“And what did they tell you about our ghost?”

“Nothing, really. Judge Hively, your dad, just called me and said that – they have something in their house they want to get rid of and it would make his wife feel a lot better if I came over and did what I could do to get rid of it.”

“To get rid of it?” she repeated scornfully. “They make it sound as though they have a rat.”

I sat down on the couch and Hannah sat across from me on an elegant parlor chair by the lamp. One of those antique lamps with the sequins dangling from the bottom like from the twenties. My grandmother had one similar to it. Hannah played with the sequins with her fingers as we talked. “You have brothers and sisters upstairs?”

“Yeah. Two little brothers, Aaron and Andy. They’re good kids but, you know, annoying. What about you. Do you have brothers or sisters.”

“One little brother. He is 8. Josh.”

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be 17 in a month,” I replied. “In August. You?”

“18. It was my birthday last Wednesday.”

“Well, happy birthday!” I smiled. She thanked me and we talked about school and dreams and what we want to do with the rest of our lives. I realized talking to her that I had never talked to a girl like that ever before. Not about life in that kind of way. Not to get to know them. About school or classes or something at church, sure. But never about who we are and where we fit in with life and the universe. She asked me if I would like to have a drink and without waiting for my answer she went into the kitchen and grabbed two crystal glasses and her mom’s half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort and poured us each one.

“Oh, I – don’t know if I – ”

“One drink never hurt anyone. Live a little Alex Esquire.”

“You know my name?”

“Overheard Bill and Carol – remember?”

“Oh – yeah. Well, Esquire isn’t my actual last name. It’s actually O’Hara.”

“Oh? Like Scarlet!” she perked up taking a drink. “If we were to be married my name would be Hannah O’Hara. It has a wonderful ring to it! Don’t you think?”

I swallowed a big drink and nearly choked. It was my first taste of alcohol and it burned its way to my stomach the way they said Sherman burned his way to the sea. I suppose, if I had to, I could excuse it to an overdose of peer pressure. I have had plenty of chances to drink alcohol, but not until then was it ever so appealing. She was as forward as she was beautiful and I didn’t know how to respond other than to accept. It appeared suddenly to me that I wasn’t good with girls. Maybe it was due to no experience or because of my awkward nature, but for whatever reason my hands were clammy and the butterflies in my stomach felt more like owls. Like Harry’s Christmas owls in an aviary of me.

I didn’t drink any more after the first and was thankful she didn’t offer a second. She must have known I didn’t like it, or maybe she wanted to remember this as much as I did, or to not take a noticeable amount from Carol’s bottle. We stayed up all night talking about life and movies and she told me that her favorite song in the universe was In the Still on the Night, but she couldn’t remember who sung it, nor could I, though my mom was a fan of fifties music and I knew the song well. She sang it and I have never heard anything more beautiful. Nor do I ever expect to. She asked me if I wanted to dance and I said yes, my inhibitions exorcised by the alcohol, but my coordination and wits still very much in tact. One drink never hurt anyone. She was right. It didn’t hurt at all.

We danced most of the night to music she sang softly in my ear. We danced even when she didn’t sing. When one of us would choose a song and we would just hum it. The other would guess the song. But unfortunately for me, the windows too soon began to lighten from black to a softer and softer shade of purple and I knew soon the sun would be up and her parents with it. She knew it as well and it wasn’t without a certain feeling of sorrow that we let go of each other from our dancing on that oriental rug and I began to pack my things to go. I didn’t say a word. I guess we just both knew nothing lasts forever.

“Why do you suppose they call you?” she asked me as I packed to leave.

“Uh – I – I don’t know. To get rid of ghosts and demons, I suppose.”

“Why though?” she pressed, standing behind me in the kitchen. I looked down and noticed she had very beautiful feet and I smiled at her naked toes. 

“Well, I suppose they don’t want ghosts.”

“It’s because they’re afraid, you know,” she whispered in my ear, wrapping her arms around my waist from behind me. “They’re afraid of what they don’t know. It’s just stupid fear. That’s why my parents paid you to get rid of our ghost. They’re scared at the thought that there could even be one. But there’s no reason to be scared of anything, especially that which you don’t know, which you don’t have any cause at all to be afraid of. Like death, ghosts, and love. We are more afraid of the beautiful things we do not know than the ugly things that we know all too well.” 

In likely the boldest thing I’ve ever done in my entire lifetime, I turned to face her. My face was no more than an inch from hers. She kept her arms locked around my waist and looked up and smiled at me. And suddenly, a million things I before did not know, I knew. “Would you like to go to the drive-in with me this Saturday night?”

She smiled at me still, the expression seemingly stuck to her, and her eyes ablaze with hope and love and things I had never before seen until that moment. I should have kissed her, but I didn’t. Instead, I waited for her answer. But then her expression changed and she seemed suddenly lost. “I wish I had known you before. A year ago. I wish I would have met you last summer. Last June. Why couldn’t I have met you last summer?”

“Well, I – didn’t know that you even existed.”

“Neither did I,” she replied morosely. It kind of hung there a while before she went on. “I can’t go with you, Alex. To the drive-in next Saturday. I’m – sorry. I can’t.”

I was stunned. Everything before went so well I hadn’t expected her to say no. I didn’t know how to reply. But we heard her parents stirring upstairs and I didn’t want to see Judge Hively. I just wanted to go. I was conflicted. I was heartbroken she had said no, but I figured maybe she would change her mind because the night was amazing. I never asked anyone out before. Maybe I just did it all wrong, or I did it too soon. But I couldn’t think of it just then. The footsteps upstairs got louder and I didn’t want the Judge to smell the whiskey on my breath, or ask me how it went with the ghost. I couldn’t tell him I never got to it, that I was instead busy dancing with his daughter. I opened the door and looked back at Hannah who looked about as sad as anyone I’ve ever seen. She looked as though she wanted to say something but she didn’t have the words to say it. Our brains were not functioning so well so late or so early, depending on how you look at it.

“Hey, I can’t take your father’s money, Hannah!”

“Take it,” she insisted. “He doesn’t need it. Please! Alex, take it! Even just to remind you of the night we had. Please! For me.”

I couldn’t argue with her. Not with her eyes, those lips, or that perfect nose. I smiled back at her as she stood there and rubbed her pretty feet together. I stuffed the fifty dollar bill in my pant’s pocket and I took one of the little bottles of Holy Water from my coat and handed it to her.

“Here. If you see the ghost, just splash a generous dose of this on it, and – it will go away. That way I can say that I at least did something.”

She held the bottle and looked at it. She grinned. “Sure. But you did. You did plenty. Much more than you might ever know.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she retreated away from me before I could see their fate.

I stumbled out the door and gave her a last look as she shut off the light and faded back into the oblivion of the shadows of the living room. I gently closed the door behind me and quickly walked to my bike on the other side of the garage and rode home. I felt too old for a bike for the first time in my life. A little like a man in some ways, and less like a kid. I knew I had shed much of my childhood that night and all I could think of was the optimism of seeing her again. Maybe next time she would say yes. Or the time after that. The Fourth of July was in four days. I could go back with the excuse to check on how it went. The Hively’s had a great fourth party, everyone in town knew. Maybe she would be in a sundress and I would dress up, too. Like a real Yankee Doodle Dandy. Straw hat and white shoes and all.

My mom had no idea that I was an exorcist or she would have probably killed me. It would be worse to her than to catch me messing around on a Ouija board, though you’d think she might approve being that I was a demon and ghost killer, rather than someone conjuring them up courtesy Parker Brothers. I knew I had to hide my briefcase, but before I did, I tried the lock again. This time 0-0-0 worked and it popped right open with its usual flllit-flllit. I shut it back up, hid it and went to bed and slept until 2 pm when my brother Josh woke me up to play wiffle ball. All I could think of was Hannah and about what she said as to why people got rid of ghosts. Because they’re afraid of them. It wasn’t about anything more than that. The fear of the unknown. I decided to retire from the business of exorcism. What right had I to exorcise ghosts who had never done anything wrong to me?

I spent a pretty penny on that blue suit for the fourth and I looked good. I felt I looked good, anyway. Like Rod Stewart or Jimmy Cagney, or someone like that. I bought it at the mall and had it tailored to fit like rich people do. I had a red tie and slicked my hair back and wore red socks and white shoes. I couldn’t find a straw hat, but at the Fourth of July Parade, a nice lady gave me a fancy patriotic ribbon and a white rose meant to represent something or someone and she pinned it to my lapel. The parade was near the Hively’s house and I walked over feeling like Gatsby or someone of great importance. I even had a cane and twirled it and it was as though I belonged to the place I was going, though I hadn’t been invited. I wished I had brought flowers for Hannah, but I suppose that would have been rather precocious of me – a fancy word the meaning of which I didn’t exactly know.

I could hear guests out back on the patio talking and laughing and I must have been grinning ear to ear with excitement when I pressed the doorbell and Hannah’s kid brother answered, and not knowing who I was, yelled for his dad to come to the door. He said he thought it was the paper boy collecting for the paper, and I scratched an eyebrow and smiled at my shoes. It took the Judge a second or two to recognize me, but when he did he smiled warmly and shook my hand admitting he was a little surprised to see me. He invited me inside before inquiring of the nature of my visit.

“I just wanted to come by and see if it worked. The exorcism, I mean.”

The Judge looked over his shoulder and put his finger to his lips for me to not speak aloud of it. Then he showed me outside to the front yard where there was no one else to hear. We stood beneath a giant sycamore with molting white bark which lay like paper tickets on the green freshly-cut lawn that looked like a chessboard. He smiled again at me as we stood there. Then he said softly, “I just didn’t want my wife to hear us talk. She – doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Okay,” I said. “I understand.” I didn’t understand, but sometimes I am guilty of saying I do when I don’t. This was one of those times.

“But yes. It seems to have worked so far. We haven’t heard a thing since the night you were here and it was an every night thing for the past year before then. And Carol says she doesn’t feel anything like before, either.”

“Great,” I replied calmly. “I’m glad it worked.”

“And you left something we found in the living room. Hold on just a second.” The Judge dashed inside and came back out and in his palm was the little bottle I had given Hannah with the cork in it. It was empty.

“Yeah. I gave that to your daughter. Um – she woke up and I gave it to her in case she saw any sign of spirits after I left.”

“My daughter? Hannah?”

“Yeah. She is a really nice girl. I met her – only briefly.”

“What did she say to you?”

“Nothing really. We talked for a minute,” I lied. I was worried I had stepped in it and was going to get her in trouble. Maybe they knew about the whiskey. I got nervous and looked at my shoes and rubbed my forehead.

“Alex,” the Judge began wearily, “my daughter Hannah committed suicide last year. It was her that haunted us, driving my wife mad. She picked on my wife. Needled her. I had to do something.” Just then Mrs. Hively came out the front door and smiled at me, somehow recognizing me though she was obviously drunk when we met. My heart shattered and I felt as though a part of me suddenly burst and died.

“There he is!” Mrs. Hively made a fuss. “Alex, the ghostbuster! Come and join our party, honey. There are some very pretty girls here from some good families. Come! Come!” She put her arm around me and the Judge must have known the feeling of heartbreak I felt for I saw empathy and sadness in his eyes. We commiserated in a glance. But then he shook it off and smiled as he probably always smiled when his wife said so and we all went to the backyard that smelled of barbecued meat and cakes and fresh roses, where there were many people of considerable wealth, and as promised, many pretty girls that I did not care to see. 

I found a seat by a magnolia tree and what slither of a child I had left in me, what good and hopeful a part, burned and smoldered until there was nothing left of the me I had been for the past 16 years. And the curious optimism and hopefulness of finding a girl that was right for me was plucked from the branch of my desire and would never bloom that way again. I thought about everything she said to me, how I could feel her as real as anything in my arms, smell her, and how her breath tickled my neck as she sang softly to me so not to wake up her family. How she said she had wished she met me before and that I earned the fifty. I didn’t know what she meant then, but I knew now. I crashed head-on into it. I had exorcised her, not with Holy Water, or by reciting some mumbo-jumbo rites stolen from a dozen movies and books, but with the purity of love. Something that she may have before never felt. The only consolation I had was that we both felt the same way.

The Judge must have known by looking at me that such was the case. He came over to console me and plopped down next to me, but rather than saying something meaningless or meaningful, or asking me anything else of what she said, he put his big hand on my knee and exhaled a breath he must have been keeping in him for the past year. Then at last he said to me, “She was quite a girl. I miss her.”

“Yeah,” is all I could muster. I looked up to the back windows of the house, wondering if any of them was her room. If she had a view of this magnolia tree, the pool, or this yard from her room. A view like one of those owls has at Harry’s Books. Watching that ridiculous party year after year. Feeling as I felt. That she doesn’t belong. I wondered if she drank the Holy Water, or if she poured it on herself about the time I peddled away. I bet she drank it. But mostly I wondered if where she went is a place I could go. Or if it is a place from where she can come back because all I could think about was growing up, and going to college, and getting a good enough job to buy that house when the Judge and his wife died, or retired to Florida. Then I would put an old phonograph in the living room and put that record on and dance with her in the still of the night. I never spent that fifty dollars. I keep it in my pocket and someday they’ll bury me with it. And maybe we’ll make love.

I’m old now. Read a lot of books. Wrote some. I bought Harry’s Books when he died and kept the name and those owls where they were. Out of nowhere, he said something strange when I last saw him. The owls are not what they seem. I don’t know what he meant, but I know he meant something. Every once in a while I hear that song by The Five Satins. Every once in a while I can feel her breath in a draft, or a breeze. She was right. It is fear that makes us want to get rid of things we don’t understand and not feel a way we are afraid to feel. And we are more afraid of the beautiful things we do not know than the ugly things that we do.

I drive by that house now and then wondering if she’s in there. If she ever comes back. I don’t think that she does. But I sometimes park nearby and walk past and stop for a moment or two on the sidewalk as though I am waiting for my invisible dog to do what dog’s do. His invisible business. I smile, despite my heartbreak still, knowing I have never felt the way I felt dancing on that oriental rug with Hannah Hively, a year too late but not a moment too soon.