Children

Bedtime story: Apparitions in my stairwell, oh what a ghost-month morning

Went to sleep late last night, holding on tightly to my IPAD. Not unlike many other Americans and the technology-obsessed. Dreamt wild dreams of working underground battling bats and snakes; and those were just my co-workers. Woke up with frizzy curls and a fuzz head. Waddled over to the Beastie boys-my new fish- and they were dancing about as if they were in the “Sabotage” video. Good to know they made it through the night. You kind of never know with little fish.  Thoughts of looking at my work email jarred me awake. Yet, I had no coffee in my blood as of then. So back to bed I crawled.

The pitter-patter of little five year old feet lulled me out of my morning news revere. Holy Batman, Ariel Castro was dead. He could only take a month of captivity although he had handed out 120 months of enslavement to three young women.  What a bewildering set of events. It was time to make the coffee and become a fully productive human.

My son screamed from down below. What could it be now. Could it be someone knocking on my door? If so, go away and don’t come around here no more.  No, no one at the door. It was just a ghost on the wall. Wait, what? A real ghost or my son’s ever-there companion, Mr. Castablancas?  Why, no. It is a real ghost.

Why is this ghost hanging out on my stairwell? It looks a bit jittery and skittish? My son tried to shake its hand but stairwell ghost just wasn’t having it. It was 6:30am, afterall. Maybe stairwell ghost needed coffee as well. I went about the business of coffee making. I noted I had a new Mojito mix. Fabulous, it could come in handy if ghost should get ornery.


And ornery he got. Dancing to and fro on the wall. Making a total spectacle of himself. It was as if he were doing the electric slide. I hadn’t seen those dance moves since three weeks ago when I first got my migraine diagnosis.

Why was stairwell ghost being a stairwell ghost. Had he not somewhere to be.? People to see? Kids to spook?  After 15 minutes of this dance that ghost and I were engaged in, the moment seemed to be getting old. I warned him there would soon be kiddies singing and lunging off the chairs. This was no place for a respectable ghost. I went to go make him an old fashioned (Mojitos just didn’t seem his speed). By the time I came back, with drink in hand, he had vanished into thin air.

Where he might have gone, I really don’t know. Here’s hoping he found a merry path to saunter about. Off to dress the son, run the dishwasher, feed the son,  answer 101 emails before work and contemplate the beauty of an overgrown backyard.

Where was that drink again? Is it still ghost month, by the way? Is that a migraine coming on?

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