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| Photo by Steven Depolo |
This particular can of beans was only unusual in that it had
been in the gutter for a day or so. It
had fallen to its current location after being thrown through a window about
thirty feet up during a domestic situation.
The domestic situation had resolved itself when one party had told the
other to go and piss up a rope and left.
No one had come to claim the can of beans however, and it
had basically resigned itself to spending its remaining days in the
gutter. Which, for a can of beans, isn’t
really that much worse than being kept in a cupboard until finally being
opened, having its contents scooped out, and then being discarded.
It was, therefore, quite surprised to find itself the object
of so much attention all of a sudden, and wasn’t sure if it was enjoying itself
or not.
Death and Andi had recently collected someone in the same
building the can had been thrown from (no relation to the can thrower, or its
intended target), and had a few minutes to spare before the next
collection.
As such, they had sat down
so Andi could keep trying to learn how to pick something up. And, conveniently, the can had been in the
gutter right there.
“This should be perfect,” Death said, scooping it up out of
the street and setting it on the trunk of a nearby Buick.
“Now, try to think your hand real,” Death said to Andi.
“Focus all of your energy and attention on having a solid hand, and pick up the
can.”
Andi looked at the can of beans. Just an ordinary can of Bush’s baked
beans. Nothing to be intimidated
by. She thought about her hand, becoming
solid, becoming strong. She thought she
could actually feel it becoming more real.
She reached for the can, and although her hand slipped
through it again, this time it moved, slipping a little bit as her hand pushed
through it. It left a little scratch on
the trunk of the Buick.
Andi pulled her hand back, quickly, surprised.
“Good!” Death said.
“You’re doing way better already.
Now try it again.”
Andi focused as hard as she could on her hand. It really did feel as though it were solid
again. She reached for the can again,
and this time, grabbed it. She felt it,
cold and surprisingly heavy in her hand, squeezed and picked it up.
Andi laughed with delight, and the can promptly slipped
through her hand, which was now insubstantial again, and left a little dent in
the Buick.
“Shit,” Andi said.
“That was fantastic,” Death said. “You’re totally getting the hang of it. A little more practice and you’ll be carrying
bowling balls.”
Andi gave Death a half smile, and said, “Are we going
bowling sometime soon?”
Death smiled back and said, “Well, probably not. Try it again.”
This time, Andi picked up the can with ease, and she managed
to hang on to it for almost five seconds before it dropped and left another
dent to match the first on the Buick.
Death’s phone rang then.
“Time to roll,” she said.
Andi left the can of beans where it hand landed on the
Buick. This was, for the time being, a
relief for the can of beans. It wasn’t a
particularly big fan of being dropped over and over by a ghost girl.
Andi and Death sped away just as the owner of the Buick came
out and found the can of beans and new dents in the trunk of her car. She cursed, and swept the can off the trunk
and back into the gutter.
After they’d collected the next soul, Death saw that they
had eight minutes before the next collection.
The two of them rode to a nearby Taco Bell. Death shut down her bike and told Andi to get
off.
“OK, well, since you can pick stuff up now, I think it’s
about time for you to try and pick us up some lunch,” Death said.
“Well, OK,” Andi said, “but I don’t know how to make people
see me.”
“You don’t. You’re a
ghost. You can’t make them see you, but
you can make yourself visible. It’s just
like picking things up, only it’s all of you.
And the only way you’re going to figure it out is by trying to make
yourself visible to someone who can’t see you otherwise. Hop to it, I’ll be back in a few. Get thirty tacos, half soft, half crunchy,
and a couple of sodas,” Death said. She
fished around in her cloak, and produced two twenty dollar bills. “This should cover it.”
She handed the money to Andi, who found herself focusing
very intently on not letting go of something that had been extremely easy to
hold very recently.
“See you in a bit,” Death said. She started her motorcycle again, and rode
away, vanishing about half a block away.
“Great,” Andi said.
If anyone had been paying attention, they would have seen
two twenty dollar bills making their way across the parking lot of the Taco
Bell. When Andi reached the entrance to
the restaurant, she paused in order to figure out how to focus on both hands at
the same time, so she could open the door and not let go of the cash Death had
given to her.
When she thought she was calm and focused enough, she
reached for the handle of the door. Her
hand passed right through it again.
“Damn it,” she muttered.
She tried again, and this time she was able to catch the handle, but
just couldn’t seem to muster the strength to actually pull the door open.
“This is ridiculous,” Andi said. She stretched her neck, tilting her head from
side to side (kind of a pointless gesture, but it helped her feel a little more
confident, at least), then reached for the door handle again.
She’d just gotten ahold of it when a man in faded blue
overalls pushed the door open and promptly walked through her.
She did not enjoy the experience.
Without thinking about it, she stepped through the door
before it had closed. Then she realized
that although she was inside, she still couldn’t do much of anything if no one
could see her, or if she couldn’t open the door again to get out, or, for that
matter, carry a bag of thirty tacos and two sodas.
But, she was there, so she was going to have to try
now. She focused as hard as she could on
being visible. She got in line, and kept thinking visible, solid, obvious.
Two more people walked through her, which she found
disagreeable both times, before the third person stopped just short and said,
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you, somehow.”
Andi blinked in surprise, and said, “It’s cool.”
When she got up to the front of the line, and it was her
turn, the cashier said, “Can I help the next guest please?”
Andi stepped forward and said, “Hi, I’d like…” before being
interrupted as the cashier asked to help the next customer again.
The person who had been in line behind Andi looked around at
the cashier, and said, “Oh, there had been someone ahead of me a second ago.”
Then Andi was stepped through again.
“Damn it!” Andi said.
Death came in to the Taco Bell then. She found Andi pretty quickly.
“So, are the tacos on their way?” she said.
“Not yet, I haven’t been able to order,” Andi said. “I almost did, but then apparently I stopped
being visible again.”
Death nodded a few times, “Well, try again, you’ll get it.”
She looked at the time.
“And I’ve got to run again. I’ll
be back to see how you’re doing.”
Andi was tempted to ask Death to just take care of the
ordering, since she was there and capable of doing so, but then thought better
of it. The reason she was flitting
around with Death rather than enjoying
whatever was waiting for her in the afterlife was because she had offered to
help Death out. She suspected Death
wouldn’t forget that bit if she had to keep helping Andi out instead.
Andi went to the end of the line and tried again. This time she was able to make herself
visible right away, and no one walked through her, which was a relief. Having someone step through her felt oddly
intimate, in addition to the unpleasantness of having her personal space well
and truly invaded.
This time, when Andi got to the front of the line, the
cashier asked her what she’d like, rather than asking the next person to please
step forward in a rather annoyed manner.
“I’d like fifteen crunchy tacos, fifteen soft tacos and two
large soft drinks, please,” Andi said.
The cashier was looking at her register, entering the order,
and said, “Fifteen crunchy tacos, OK, anything else?”
Andi said, “Um, yeah.
Also fifteen soft tacos and two large sodas. Please.”
The cashier looked up, then looked around and said, to no
one in particular, “Where did she go?”
Then, under her breath, “damned flakes.” She cleared the order and asked the next
person in line what he’d like.
Andi may have had a little bit of a tantrum then. She was getting just a touch frustrated. She got in line again. Outside, she heard a
motorcycle pull up, and wait, idling. After a few minutes, she heard it rumble away
again.
When she got up to the register, the cashier recognized her,
of course, and said, “I thought you’d walked out. Did you have an emergency?”
“Something like that,” Andi said.
“What would you like?” the cashier said.
“Can I please get fifteen crunchy tacos, fifteen soft tacos,
and two soft drinks,” Andi said.
“Fifteen crunchy tacos. What else would you like?” the
cashier said.
“Damn it!” Andi said.
She assumed she’d turned invisible again.
“I’m sorry, if you wish to use that kind of language, I’m
going to have to ask you to leave.
Otherwise, please continue with your order,” the cashier said.
“Sorry, I’m having a rough day. Can I get fifteen soft tacos and two large
sodas as well, please? And that’s to
go.” Andi said.
She managed to complete her order without too much further
difficulty
A few minutes later one of the employees brought two bags
full of tacos to the counter, and called Andi’s order number. Andi asked for a carrier for the soft drinks,
and once she had everything in hand, made her way to the restaurant’s exit.
When she got to the door, she realized she didn’t have a
hand free to actually open the door. She
thought about what she would have done prior to becoming a ghost, and remember
that she could just push the door open with her butt.
It turns out, pushing the door open with your butt is a lot
more difficult when you’re a ghost. She
was able to get the door partway open, but then, unexpectedly, the door swung
itself shut, through her.
Her arms holding the tacos and soft drinks were still inside
the restaurant, while most of the rest of her was now outside the door. She very nearly tried to just pull her arms
the rest of the way through the door, but remembered at the last possible
second that the tacos and drinks were still very much solid, and would probably
not slip through the door unharmed.
Andi stepped back into the restaurant, and pondered what to
do. Should she make two trips, leaving
something outside and coming back in for the rest so she could have a hand free
to work the door? Should she try kicking
the door open and running through it before it could shut?
Luckily, just then, another customer entering the restaurant
opened the door, and even better, he saw her, and held the door open for her.
“Thank you,” she said and she walked quickly through the
door. Problem solved.
She saw Death parked nearby, and walked over without
incident.
Well, almost. An
impatient driver blew the horn nearby, and in her surprised she became
intangible again, and dropped the sodas and the tacos. Which wouldn’t have been such a loss if the
tacos hadn’t fallen into a puddle of oily water.
“Well, fuck,” Andi said.
