Once Upon Another Time by Rosary McQuestion Page A

be
honest.  You have underwear with the days of the week spelled out on them.  You’re
particular to the point that even the trash in your office wastebasket appears
artfully arranged.  And don’t think I haven’t seen the canned goods in your
kitchen cupboard lined up like little tin soldiers with labels faced forward.  I
could go on but I won’t.”
    I gave a
ruminative pause and folded my arms across my chest.
    A therapist once
told me my OCD for perfection was overcompensation for something that was
affecting my life that I felt was totally out of my control.  I knew it had to
do with that missing piece in my life, the trauma that occurred that blocked
out my memory of why Matt would have gone jogging in fog, thick as pea soup, not
giving mind to the fact that the edges of the bluffs corrode over time leaving
them soft and dangerous. 
    “And your point
is?” I said.
    “My point is I
just want you to be happy, and be the person you were before Matt died.”
    “With the
exception of my gloominess, as you put it, that kind of thing only happens once
a year.  I happen to think I’m a pretty upbeat person.”
    “I’m not talking
about that.  Something up here,” she said tapping her index finger to her
temple, “is off kilter.  I want you to be able to fall in love again.  That’s
what I meant.” 
    “Yeah, like that’s
not going to take a miracle.”
    “Miracle,” Laura
said, seizing on the word.  “There’s always Jack,” she said in a singsong
voice.
    I felt my face
take on a pained look, the furrows between my eyes were practically cramping. 
“I’ll think about it,” I said, just to get her off my back.
    “Now that’s what
I’m talking about,” she said.  Her lips transformed into the smile of a
Cheshire cat, as she twisted the band of her Rolex to see the face.  “I have to
go,” she said and sprung to her feet.  “Fendworth has me on a short leash
today.  She reached the door and dramatically whirled around to look back at me,
like she was doing an outtake for Scarlett O’Hara.
    “You have to
admit, Jack is cute ,” she said with a giggle, and slipped out the door.
    Laura was right.  I
had allowed Matt's death to define me and my life.  I never looked at losing
Matt as a difficult challenge in my life to overcome, but as the obstacle in my
life that was forever holding me back from being the person I used to be.  It
had made me broken, which separated my life into “before Matt died” and “after
Matt died.”  But seeing Matt’s ghost was majorly messing with my mind.  I knew
if I could figure out a way to talk to him, it could solve everything. 
     

Five
     
    “Aubrey, goodnight, see you
tomorrow,” Laura said, as she poked her head in the doorway of my office.
    “Yes, tomorrow,” I
said as I glanced up at her. 
    With the exception
of a luncheon engagement and an hour in court that afternoon, I had spent a
good part of the day thinking about Matt.  Periodically, I had wandered back to
the boardroom feeling as if I’d misplaced an appendage.  Each time I entered
the boardroom I’d whisper into the air, “Matt if you’re here, give me a sign.”
    I had wondered if
Matt was as desperate for communication as I was.  I opened my desk drawer,
pulled out a book I’d recently purchased and placed it on my desk.  It was a
research book on ghosts.  I opened it to read the paragraph I’d bookmarked.
    Ghosts want
what everybody wants--to be heard.  Everybody wants to tell their side of the
story.  Ghosts stay, or get stuck because of this powerful need.  Listen to me,
they say.  This is what really happened.  Listen to me.  This is my house. 
Listen to me.  I mattered to somebody, once.  Listen to me.  I'm frightened. 
Listen to me.  I am so sorry.
    That got me
wondering.  How does a spirit manage to manifest itself in the first place?  Do
some spirits have more oomph or skill it takes to appear as a full apparition
as opposed to a ball of