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I dreamt about a different ghost. This one was named Greg, someone I haven’t thought about in a very long time.
***
Eighteen.
It was February, the way it gets in this part of Texas, misty and gray, but never quite freezing. No snow, just continual damp and cold.
I’d forgotten to ask off of work, so as soon as my shift ended I rushed to the employee bathroom to change. My dress was simple - shimmery, pale gold, a-line skirt, with a corseted black velvet bodice. I bought champagne colored heels to match. My hair was twisted into a loose knot at the nape of my neck and I kept my makeup minimal.
Before leaving I popped into the employee break room to grab my coat. He was sitting there, reading.
He didn’t even look up from his book. “Have fun.”
There was something about this tone of voice that suddenly made me feel very silly in my dress. I mumbled a thanks in response and made a hasty exit.
I was out the back doors before he caught up with me. He didn’t say anything, just walked with me in silence to my car. Street lights glittered in reflections of pooling water, scattered across the parking lot.
“You look beautiful tonight.”
My breath caught, for a moment, before I slipped into my standard default response of deflection. I laughed and gestured down the coat, which now covered half of my dress. It was the same dark wash denim pea coat he saw me in every day.
He understood the gesture and laughed with me. “You know I saw you before you put the coat on.” And then he reiterated, “You look beautiful tonight.”
I’m not sure if I blushed. I’m not sure if he blushed, or if his cheeks were just ruddy from the cold. My response was almost a whisper. “Thank you.”
He looked like he wanted to say something else, but faltered. Instead, silence hung between us, along with the cold of our breath.
“Good night,” he said softly.
“Good night,” I replied. I wasn’t ready for the moment to end, but he had already turned to go back into the store.
It was the first time John told me I was beautiful. It might have been the first time any boy had told me I was beautiful. Later, after we started dating, he told me about how badly he had wanted to kiss me in that moment, and how jealous he was of my date.
***
Greg took me to the dance, the brother of a friend, and the date was meant to be completely platonic. He gave me a corsage of tiny, pale pink rosebuds and baby’s breath. It was itchy and cumbersome.
I hated school dances. I hated pretty much all school activities, with the exception of pep rallies when my friends would sneak in warm beer. I never drank the beer - I was not yet a fan of beer, and their beer was skunky - but I enjoyed watching their antics. The only reason I had agreed to go to this particular dance was due to ‘class superlatives’ being announced. I set aside my antisocial ways to support friends that had been nominated. I had carved out a small space, found people who were dear to me, and those friends had made life at school tolerable.
I really don’t remember much about the evening. I don’t recall dancing with Greg, though I must have, because I remember the feeling of his hands on my hips. For the most part, my thoughts were still in that parking lot with John.
***
Greg, at some point in time, developed a massive crush on me. I’m not sure if it was that night, or after. He was annoyingly persistent, even through the year and a half I was dating John. I went out with him once, after John, but I never really saw him as more than the brother of a friend. When it finally became clear that I wasn’t interested he got weird and passive-aggressive.
Everything after that point felt like being in a competition that I never signed up for, against a competitor hell-bent on winning, when I didn’t even know the rules. Every new girlfriend was rubbed in my face, as if to say this is what you are missing out on. And he wasn’t easily avoided because our families were close.
His final strike was to book the same wedding venue Cory and I were using for the week before our wedding. Like “Ha! I got married first!” I still can’t quite wrap my head around the audacity of that choice or that level of spite. Seven years had passed!
***
Maybe I should be more gracious. I always considered his infatuation to be somewhat superficial, but maybe it was more. I certainly have firsthand knowledge of how unresolved feelings can fester over time.
But also, what a dick. Ha!
9:02 a.m. - 2023-06-19