I follow the Fictionistas Substack. This is their latest prompt from Nicole’s “Storymatic” box. It’s fall, and Halloween season, so what better time to write it as a paranormal romance mixed with forgiveness.
To you it’s a stretch of road in the middle of nowhere, but to me it’s where I died. I’m a ghost, you see. I’m Evelyn, and I died on my way home from a friend’s a wedding in a car accident after leaving my boyfriend to go for help with a flat tire.
I’d watched him looking at my friend the bride, and her new husband, and couldn’t help imagining us in their place. Both of us wanted to like to marry one day, and I couldn’t deny it looked as if it would be to each other. I think he’d started searching for rings.
The wedding was on a Saturday, and we planned to stay the weekend, see old friends. However he’d gotten an emergency call about one of his patients, and we rushed back as soon we’d eaten the main course.
I met him in med school; he’d gone into surgery, and I chose a specialty in gynecology. His compassion was one of the many reasons I fell for him. The plan was to build our practices together, and then marry. He’d been spending more time at the hospital, and my practice was larger than ever before. This weekend was supposed to be something of a reconnection; I hoped being surrounded by those we loved, would prompt us to focus on each other.
“I should never have stopped to change that flat tire,” Kyle whispered. His voice was full of emotion, the dimple on his left cheek, deeper than his right, as he knelt before the crash site.
We fought in the car; I couldn’t keep my mouth shut about suspicions. My work was still fulfilling; helping women become mothers was a privilege, and women’s health a passion of mine. It was us; the routine our lives had become full of hectic schedules, of work, and hospital board functions. We never took the time to work as hard on our relationship, as we did on our real jobs.
My hands went up in front of me warding off his anger. “I want to marry you. Just not yet. You’re the first guy I’ve ever been serious about, and I feel like I owe it to myself to see what’s out there. I really want to know myself a bit more,” While my parents didn’t exactly object to Kyle, they wanted me a bit more worldly before I married. I agreed to compromise, and at least think about taking a break.
“I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” I said. I watch my memories as a detached observer. Real Kyle was slowing down, his eye to a bike lane which appeared suddenly ahead. Real Evelyn, or Eve for short. Evie, if he’s being playful, Eve, if he’s in a more romantic mood. I’m a petite Five Foot five, with straight chin-length layered brown hair with flecks of red if the light strikes it in ‘just the right way.’ I’m wearing my party clothes; a v-neck purple dress with cap sleeves, and silver flats. It’s my ghost outfit; the clothes I died in, and am doomed to wear every year on this date.
I stand here, hidden by the thinnest veil that separates the worlds, as well as a strategically place pine tree, I realize it was the nerves talking. I loved him, and that’s what mattered; everything else we could talk through. His jaw shook in the same way it did as he talked about losing a patient in the operating room. Grey threaded its way through his hair, and smile lines embedded themselves in his forehead; that’s if he smiled anymore. I peeked at a few random moments, and found them full of grey clouds of tears threatening. He didn’t have much of a life.
“I should’ve listened,” he said. I saw no point in keeping my presence quiet any longer. And then he held both my hands in his, and swung me around, disbelieving I was solid. I heard stories from other ghosts of this happening. When he set me on my feet again I felt his knuckles brush my cheek; “Frozen in time. Same clothes, and same perfume,” he marveled.
“I’ll go for help,” memory Evelyn said. The shoes came off, and I chucked them in the backseat. He squeezed my hand.
"If you need time. I’ll give you time. If you need space, I’ll help find an apartment. Just don’t leave me,” Kyle leaned towards me as I walked away with transfering my surroundings. I’m not sure I made it all way town, but I know it was out of sight, and past a major intersection. I didn’t see the car for my tears, and I crossed, judging the driver to be far enough away for me to cross. I stopped at the middle rubbing the tears from my face. The car was erratic; crossing the middle line, and back. The maneuver that killed me in an instant.
“I want you to know that every year I question what I might have done differently. I curse myself for letting my career take over my life,” his forehead touched mine, and I felt, and saw the deep regret. A quick series of memories with a therapist flashed.
“I’m getting married next month. She knows about you; that you’re the reason I changed” he said squeezing my hand.
I blinked; what do you say to that? “Congratulations,” I kissed his forehead withdrawing from his embrace. I felt myself fading in, and out as if the memories didn't have quite the same hold. There was so much to say. “No.nonono” I cried until I heard a voice shushing me.
“I forgive you,” I shouted, relaxing my fingers, and feeling myself fade into the afterlife.
Lovely story. I loved how you used the prompts in this piece.