“I can see, hear, and talk to ghosts.” I finally look up to meet her eyes, and just as I feared, she’s looking at me like I’m crazy. I may be misinterpreting what I’m seeing, but I’m sure she thinks I’m a lunatic.
The color immediately drained from her face, and I swore she’d never blink again. The stone-cold silence wrenched my stomach, making me immediately wish I could suck the words back into my mouth and swallow them back into secrecy. I could feel a full-blown panic attack coming on as I waited for her to say something.
“Are these dreams? These are dreams, right? You think you’re doing this, but you’re just remembering dreams or nightmares. Right?” Her hands start waving in a dismissive fashion, almost like she’s trying to wave the words out of the air and into the mist.
“No.” I shake my head back and forth as I answer. The urge to cry is there again. I want her to accept me for who I am no matter what, but I know this isn’t always possible. I mean, really, how would I react if she came to me with something that sounded so unbelievable? Would I accept her?
“So, let me get this straight,” she leans forward a bit more, like she needs to be closer in case she misses something I might say or do, “you’re seeing and hearing ghosts. Okay, that’s one thing. What does that have to do with your writing?” I didn’t expect her to jump right on to the subject of writing so quickly. I thought for sure she’d want to ponder my madness a bit more first.