7/15/17
I couldn’t type yesterday, my arm hurt too much. I didn’t do much of anything but try avoid August. His moods were swinging like an axe. They raised, high overhead, soaring to cheery heights, and then dropped, cleaving anything in their path. Usually me. I resorted to putting a ring of salt around my bed and around the sofa, then sprinting between the two. He caught me once and dug a cold thumb into the wound in my arm, like a blade of ice popping through the stitches. I’m considering having some kind of jewelry made out of iron…
Anyway, I woke up this morning to find him staring out the window, his greenish hair falling in tendrils over his face. The sunlight faded him, washing out his features where its rays touched.
“Good morning,” he muttered.
“Good morning.”
“You can put it away,” he nodded toward the box of salt in my hands. “I’ll be nice today. I promise.”
I set the box down on a tea table.
“I got your card already.” I held it up to him, but didn’t show him what it was.
“Writer, I have a problem.”
“OK?”
“I have loved Evelyn for so many years. I see her face in my dreams every night. Her sweet, smiling face and her sky blue eyes. Every night, I kiss those eyes and brush my fingers over her red, plump lips. And every night she screams and runs away.”
“I had no idea a ghost could dream…”
“I don’t. I mean I don’t sleep so how could I? I think it’s just a habit of my brain to show me horrid pictures in the dark.”
“So that’s your problem, that she runs away?”
“No.” He turned to me finally, the sun streaming through the window dissolved half his face. His brown eyes glistened. “My problem is that when she runs, in her place is you.”
“Oh.” I fought the urge to pick the salt up again. August sighed and turned back to the window.
“So what was my card?”
“Nine of Swords, reversed.”
“Nightmares, anguish. All my own fault.” He shook his head. I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. So I went to make breakfast.