My heart thudded in my chest as the bright afternoon sun shined above me. I felt the weariness in my legs as I ran, one step after the other, on the paved path. Sweat dripped from my face, my body’s natural coolant acting against the unusually warm fall season. From the sides of the paved track, I saw pine trees where red birds, likely cardinals, gathered to sing.  At least I assumed the birds were singing; my headphones drowned out the sound of the birds and the voices of the people around me with electric guitar, drums, and the vocals of Anthony Kiedis.

I turned, following the pathway, and nearly collided with a squirrel crossing by who immediately scurried onto a nearby tree. I came to a sudden stop and decided it was as good of a time as any to slow down and take a breath. So far, I had run a mile and planned on completing one more before the day was over. I took to walking, adjusting my headphones before the next goal post sign that showed how many miles I had left on the path. The path led out from the forest area into a more open section with wooden tables and chairs to accommodate families visiting the park. The faint smell of bacon served to temporarily prevent my nose from registering the ever-present scent of cut grass.

From behind me, a guy, somewhere in his early 30s, ran past me. He was athletic, maintaining a runner’s build: skinny and toned but not overly muscular. We shared a similar physique despite a few extra pounds on my end.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a human figure out in the distance. A small girl, no younger than thirteen, standing alone along the pathway a couple of meters off from the guy running. From what I could tell, the guy paid no attention to the girl, running as fast as he could along the path. The girl’s head was glued to the paved pathway, staring at the ground below her as if transfixed. She took no notice of the people running on the track.

The guy got closer to the girl, to the point where it would be impossible not to see her. He continued to push on the gas. If anything,  the presence of the girl made him speed up. 15ft. 10ft. 5ft. The man was only a breath away from the little girl who stood there paying no head. The collision was inevitable.

And then he was upon her, his outreached hands lodging into the girl’s abdomen. And then his hand exited her waist. His legs and torso too also passed through her. In a blink of an eye, the man had gone completely through the young girl, running towards his destination. The girl continued to look at the ground, showing no interest in the man who phased through her.

As I came closer to where the girl was, slowly stopping to where she was standing, she raised her head to stare at me. She had grey eyes and blonde hair nestled under a straw hat. She wore a green umbrella frock-style dress with laced shoes that matched her hair. When she saw that I stopped to see her, she looked up at me with a face of shock.

“You can see me?” she asked.

I nodded my head. The little girl stared at me curiously before reaching out her hand towards me.

“Will you play with me?”

I looked around, noting if there were any people around watching me. She was giving me those adorable puppy-dog eyes that any older brother knew were impossible to refuse. There were only a couple of families near the picnic area. Not ideal, but at least I wouldn’t be making a fool out of myself in front of too many people.

“What do you want to play?” I asked her.

“Tag,” she exclaimed, jumping up and down, a smile stretching across her pale face. “Let’s play tag!”

“Alright,” I replied as I placed my finger inside her forehead. “Ok then. You’re it.”

I sprinted along the path. The girl, smiling from ear to ear, followed right behind me. For a little girl, she was rather fast. We spent around five minutes chasing each other before I ran out of gas, falling backward into the grass. On seeing this, the little girl too fell to the floor right next to me, looking at me with an elated smile. We laughed, a good long laugh before silence came in.

“What’s your name,’ I said, breaking the silence. 

“My name?”

“Yeah, your name.” 

“How come? Nobody asks about my name anymore?”

“I like to know the names of people I like.” She grinned.

“Sarah,” she responded. 

“Are you happy now, Sarah?”

“I think so,” she responded, starting to stand up. Despite laying in the grass, her hair was free of any dirt or mud. Her clothes too were spotless.

I stood up with her. As I looked at her, I began to see her body shimmering, light emanating from her body like a disco ball.

“You’re ready to go?”

She nodded and I noticed tears forming in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said. “I can be at peace now.”

Sarah began to rise into the air as particles of light formed around her. She looked at me, waving her hands. I waved back too, trying not to pay attention to the people staring at me as she looked away from me and towards the blue sky. From the left and right side of her, I saw the images of two elderly figures: most likely her parents. They two waved at me before hugging the little girl in a giant embrace. Then, both the elderly folks and Sarah disappeared into thousands of small shining lights.

After staring at the sky for some time, I looked back down at the place where Sarah and I once laid and then back at the running track. I dusted the dirt off my grey shorts, walking towards the runner’s path. Poor girl. I wonder how long she had been separated from her parents. Nobody should have to go through that. I put my headphones back on and continued my run.

I can see ghosts. A bit of an odd party trick, I know, but it’s all I got.  I can’t recall the first time I realized I could see ghosts. For me, seeing ghosts is as normal as breathing, eating, and sleeping. I remember while on a walk with my mother around the age of five, I saw an elderly man standing in the street during ongoing traffic. I screamed at the man to get out of the way only to watch as a car barreled straight through him. The man emerged from the other side, unscathed. My mom stared at me in confusion and asked what I was yelling about.

“Mommy, there’s a man on the road. The car ran him over, but he’s still standing there. Look!”

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My mom looked, not seeing the intangible man.

“There’s no one there, sweety,” she said. “Are you imagining things again?”

“Over there, over there,” I pointed towards the man, but to no avail. She couldn’t see him. 

“Quite the active imagination you have their Xavey. It’s good that you're so caring about other people's safety. Just make sure to extend that care to people who actually exist.”

That was the first time I realized I was different. I tried to get others to see what I saw. I took photos. I recorded videos. I even tried to get my dad to touch one, only for his arm to phase right through her face. All to no avail. I ended up trying to talk to them, to see if they could communicate with my parents or any of the other living people around. That’s when my relationship with the ghosts began.

I quickly grew interested in talking to ghosts. You would think that ghosts would have a lot to say, especially since some of them have been around much longer than the average human, but in fact, most ghosts are rather introverted. Ghosts are quite narrow-minded. They seem only to have one goal in mind when talking and will solely focus on completing that goal. Whether that be to go to the mall, to taste a certain dish, or to visit the gravestone of a loved one, ghosts seem wired only to fulfill a specific need. They will pester you to help them achieve that goal, usually after only a couple of lines of introductory dialogue beforehand. I can either tell them no, in which case they immediately vanish into the shadows, or I help them. When I help them achieve their goal, they usually thank me before vanishing into a blinding array of light. I suppose they go on to the afterlife.

Nearly all the ghosts I met were nice. Some were pushier than others, but overall, they were pleasant to deal with. I only met one evil ghost, during the time of my mother’s illness and he...well it’s not a nice memory to recall. In most cases though, ghosts were harmless, sometimes even friendly. I enjoyed helping them with their problems, regardless of the weird looks I would get from strangers. I was doing something that no one else can. I felt useful.

But I didn’t feel special. Sure, I suspect there are few like me—few who can see the dead, but that doesn’t make me any better than those who can’t. I considered it a special skill, like being a great pianist or an expert chef. I might be quite the amateur ghost whisperer compared to some unknown ghost-seer genius out there. Plus, there seemed little I could do with this ability. Sure, I could help the ghosts, but how would talking to people no one can see help the living people around me. I was different, but not special; unique, but not in a way that mattered; I was born with the strange quirk to talk to imaginary friends. I may help the dead, but to everyone else, I looked insane.

It didn’t help that beyond seeing ghosts I was as basic as a slice of white bread. I had no real talents to speak off nor interests beyond running and a service-level understanding of ornithology. I wasn’t cool enough for the popular kids or nerdy enough for the geeks. Take away my ghost-seeing abilities and I was less than a nobody.

After my run, I decided to do some static stretches before driving home. Traffic was surprisingly light, so it only took around fifteen minutes before I turned into the driveway entering my subdivision. Five minutes in and was walking up to the door of my home. My house was average size, a white-painted brick building with sliding windows and a picket fence where my dad maintained his vegetable garden. When I entered the house through the front door, I heard a squeal, resounding from somewhere near the kitchen.

“Xavier’s back!”

It was Apple, my little sister. Her real name was Naomi, but she had been gifted the nickname apple due to her love of apple slices. She had turned eleven last month, which came with a sudden shift in her appearance. She used to love to wear pigtails but now decided to wear her hair long. She wore a blue t-shirt, a departure from the flowery dresses she loved to wear before. Her personality also saw a sudden shift. She became far more responsible: washing the dishes, vacuuming, and helping Dad cook.

She came to see me as I took my shoes off.

“Did you bring anything?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t too hungry today.”

She pouted as her dark frizzy hair covered her right eye.

“Well, you should have texted me if you wanted anything.”

“I was busy,” she retorted, still pouting. I helped Dad clean the vegetables for dinner tonight.

“She sure did,” a loud booming voice from the living room.

It was my dad, wearing a blue apron over his muscle white t-shirt. He was muscular, far more than me. He was bald too, a haircut that he himself enjoyed despite the mockery of Apple. He grinned, a mischievous grin that I’m almost certain was what made mom fall in love with him all those years ago.

“How was the run, sport? Meet any hot girls.”

“No girls, but it was a decent run.”

“Shame. You’d think they start at least glancing at you a bit more since you exercised. Then again, you would never notice these things anyway.”

He walked up to me and nuzzled my forehead with his right fist.

“Still clueless Xavier. I guess those player genes didn’t get passed down to you.”

“I’m not clueless, Dad. I would think I’d notice if a hot girl looked at me. “I’m not that attractive.”

“Don’t give me that. You were born from the most attractive women in the world, and share genes with me, a modern black Hercules. Calling yourself anything but attractive is a categorical error.”

“A modern Hercules? Really Dad. I think Dionysus would be more fitting.”

“Watch it,” my dad said with a half-grin. “So, what are you going to do now, sport? Schoolwork?”

“Actually, I finished my homework for today. I’ll take a shower and rest for now.”

I started walking towards the stairs to my room.

“Really eh. Well, make sure to come back down for dinner. We’re having meatloaf for dinner, and your sister did a superb job at helping Dad today, so I would have to smack you real good if you don’t enjoy it.

“Dad, don’t threaten him,” Apple said. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“For sure. I can’t wait. Well, see ya.”

Showers feel so great after a nice workout: the hot air filling your pores and the warm water washing away all the dust and dirt. Dinner was great. Dad was a great cook, even back when Mom made most of the meals. Ever since he started cooking daily for my sister and I, he has increased his cooking skills. The meatloaf was tender and juicy with flavor popping out of every bite.

“Looks like you enjoy it,” my dad said. “I mean, who wouldn’t enjoy a dish created by the greatest culinary team of all time.” He winked at my sister who nodded in agreement.

After dinner, I washed the dishes as my dad claimed the television before my sister could.

“Hey, sweetheart. Daddy’s kind of tired now. Wanna play on the Switch a bit while Daddy rests.”

“Fine,” she replied. For a little kid (or I guess preteen), she rarely fussed and generally went along with the flow. Granted, she was a bit spoiled.

After I finished washing the dishes, I decided it best to go to bed early so that I would be well-rested for school tomorrow. As I started walking up the stairs, I heard a voice call up to me.

“Did you really finish your homework?”

“Yes, Apple,” I replied. “Is that so surprising?”

“When have you ever done your homework before the day it was due?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” I responded. Maybe your older brother is a bit more responsible than you realized.”

“Fat chance. Listen here. You need to do well in school. I don’t want to be in the same grade as you. It’ll embarrass me.”

“School will give up on me entirely if they hold me back that far. Anyhow, Apple, I really did the work this time. I’m trying to be a bit more studious this semester.”

“Studious,” she said slowly, which reminded me of the loading screen on a PC. Then she broke out in a half-grin. “Could it be because of the tutor?”

“No...I mean maybe a little. Anyhow, you should go to bed, Apple. I mean, what little sister stays up later than her older brother.”

“I’m not a morning bird like you Xavey,” she said, pouting her lips. Daddy said I can stay up to 10:00 pm now and I’m going to make use of every minute of it. She turned from me and went back to her switch.

“Goodnight Xavey. You better study well.”

“Night Apple.”

It did not take me long to fall asleep. As soon as my face touched the pillows of my bed, I was out like a light. It was a long, weird sleep full of nightmares.