The Desire to Disappear

Julia sipped on her coffee, sifting through the images in a bridal magazine. As usual, she arrived an hour before the morning rush. Her job was to man the small coffee shop, but it was always nice to get there early and look through the dresses. The routine was new; she’d only worked at the place for two weeks now, but it felt like home. Her boss loved the way she handled every customer with polite interest, and that ensured her happy stay even through the rest of her graduate classes.

The fact that she was back in classes again, back in New York at all was amazing. After she first merged with water, after trying her best to fall out of love with her professor, she managed to come into her own again. She learned to embrace her powers instead of fear them, and the ability to control her time being one with the water increased with daily practice. Gradually, she experimented. Sometimes she managed to put her arm in water and manipulate the entire mass. Once, she created a water castle out of her bath water, only her  upper body still corporeal, but it only held form for a few minutes. Somehow there was a way to make some good of this. She knew it.

These things were what she pondered usually, happy that the small college town was slow around seven. But on that particular morning, one person came in ahead of the crowd.

“Welcome to The Coffee Nook, I’ll be right with you.” She rushed to put up the magazine, tucked her coffee in a small corner out of customer sight, and flashed her best smile.

It faded in an instant as Karl Norton blinked. He seemed sincerely upset and forlorn at the sight of her, but he walked up to the counter anyway, staring at the menu behind her with excessive intensity. “I’ll have a mocha Frappuccino with three shots of espresso.”

“Why the third one? Having a rough day already?” She closed her eyes and mentally kicked herself. He was just another customer. Nothing more. He wasn’t hers — he was never really hers.

I’m Still Dead, Promise

Kyle,

Did you know emails can be scheduled to send on a certain day? It’s a very handy feature, especially for us dead folk, and to take advantage of it and tell you all the things I wasn’t able to before I went back to the earth. Consider this my confession, though you, of all people, are a pretty screwed up pastor.

Remember to breathe, okay?

When we were in first grade I saw your penis when I snuck into the guy’s bathroom. Call it morbid curiosity, but I had to find out why boys peed standing up. I never told you because I didn’t want you to feel bad about your, um, lack of change from then to now. Sex was never important to me. Okay, okay. Not too important. You were still great though. The best lay ever. (I’m winking, just so you know).

By third grade I was seriously crushing on your brother, but my cooties persuaded him I was the devil. Still, I managed to sneak a kiss on his cheek that year. Ask him if he remembers that. And tell him I’m proud of his new business — yes, I even like his new wife, despite her attitude. I predict a divorce in about two years. That, you can’t tell him. I may be dead, but I have a heart. Somewhere.

Also, can you tell my dad I don’t blame him for my death? It’s not his fault our insurance wouldn’t cover the chemo, and it’s not his fault that I refused to do anything that would put him in debt to. He doesn’t need to carry that burden around. And tell him I love him.

I never forgave my mom for leaving, but I want you to track her down and tell her I passed. Why? Because a woman like that deserves to know the unwanted thing is gone. At least I won’t be around to hear your speech about forgiveness this time. Death officially has one perk.

And I don’t want you to marry again, okay? Screw moving on and having a new life, you promised me we’d be together for as long as welived. You’re not off the hook just because I can’t see you anymore. But hey, at least you won’t have to hear my nag in the mornings to get your ass up. Sleep in for a week, it’ll be on me.

Fine, fine. Joking aside, I really do love you — and I loved you with all my soul, from first grade to high school, high school to college, college to grad school, and grad school to that piece-of-shit apartment I died in.

I want you to be happy, and if that means another woman (or a man, if you decided to change preferences), fine. I suppose I’ll have to be understanding, seeing as how I can’t be around to keep your needs met. Oh, damn, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry while writing this.

Breathe while you still can, baby. When you stop, I’ll be there to kiss you good morning. Promise.

Love,
Hannah

P.S.: It’s not your fault I died, either. It’s no one’s fault; these things happen. Don’t beat yourself up. That piece-of-shit apartment and that piece-of-shit job are going to change like we knew they would. And I’ll be proud of you. I was always proud of you.

P.P.S: There won’t be any more emails. This isn’t P.S. I Love You. I’m not smart enough to give you that much direction, but I am smart enough to give you all my love.

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Author’s Note: This was my most popular story on my other blog. It is the sole reason that blog got around 130,000 pageviews and its sudden popularity still continues to amaze me.