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IN THE AFTERLIFE, THERE are two types of spirit guides. Most people choose to be “temporary” spirit guides, floating in and out of the lives of countless humans, assisting them briefly while fulfilling their dreams. As a temporary guide, you work with a partner, and you don't get too attached to your human charges. I would argue that it's much, much easier to be a temporary spirit guide.
I, however, didn't take the easy road. I'm a “permanent” spirit guide. I've been with the same human for three years, helping him, holding him, clutching his hand when he needs someone—and believe me, Nicholas Harvey needs someone.
“What do you think you'd like to eat today?” I ask him, even though he can't hear me. I'm the ghost in his house, and I'm probably his best friend. “Nicholas, you have to eat something, okay? It's not good when you have so much vodka on an empty stomach.”
Nicholas has been in front of the television for hours, watching WWE. I don't understand the appeal of wrestling, but I've been with Nicholas for so long, I know all the wrestlers' names. I even root for them... sometimes.
For some reason, a groan slips out of him. He probably heard my lecture, somewhere in his soul. Of course, he ignores it, and takes another swig from his bottle.
Nicholas and I... we only have each other. I'm as lonely as he is, but I don't like to admit it. On most days, it's just the two of us, hanging out and passing the time together. Sometimes, I wish he could see me. I wish he didn't think he was all alone.
“Don't forget to collect your laundry from the dryer!” I remind him. “You need a clean shirt to wear tomorrow, okay?”
I know everything about Nicholas. He knows nothing about me. My name is Lillie Brenner, and I died of cancer when I was sixty-seven years old. Of course, I no longer look like a sixty-seven-year-old lady. I changed my appearance a long time ago. Back Home, they call it “shifting.” I think I've earned the right to look eternally twenty-five.
Seeing him take another swig, I shout at my charge, “Nicholas... get food! You need to take better care of yourself!”
If you shout at them, and you're lucky, you might get through to them. Today, it looks like I might get lucky. With an audible grumble, Nicholas rises from his armchair and shuffles into the kitchen. Because I have nothing else to do, I follow him.
We stand together, side-by-side, staring into the refrigerator. He really needs to go shopping, because it's barren in here. He scratches his head and sighs heavily before reaching for a package of bologna. I guess that's better than nothing.
“Don't forget the mustard!” I call to him before he closes the refrigerator door. My gentle reminder is enough to make him grab it.
I'm Nicholas' best friend, but the truth is, he's my best friend too. I don't really have anyone else. Sometimes I wish I would have chosen to be a temporary guide—then, at least, I would have a partner. When you're a permanent spirit guide, your human charge is your partner. You see them through everything. You learn everything there is to know about them.
For example, I know Nicholas hates himself. He thinks he's worthless, and I wish I could prove him wrong. I follow him back to the living room, where he proceeds to eat a bologna sandwich in front of his flickering tv. I think his television might be from the eighties. It is seriously outdated.
“I just want you to know... I'm really proud of you,” I tell him. “You've been working so hard lately, Nicholas. I know you don't believe me, but I think you're a good guy.”
Nicholas yawns at my praise. His yawn is so huge, I can see his broken teeth when his lips are stretched apart. Poor Nicholas. I don't think he's seen a dentist in a couple of decades. I can relate. When I died, I had a few missing teeth as well.
“You know what? I think you should get a pizza soon,” I suggest to my oblivious friend. “I think you deserve it.”
Pizza is his favorite food, by far, but he hasn't cleaned up his pizza box from last week. It's still sitting on his kitchen table, untouched since last Tuesday. The box is greasy, crushed, and probably attracting gnats. I'll be honest—Nicholas' house is kind of messy. I've always thought so. He might be a fifty-seven-year-old janitor, but he certainly has an aversion to cleaning his own home!
Between bites of his bologna sandwich, he takes an occasional swig of vodka. I really wish he would stop drinking vodka. It's not good for him, and it drove his daughter away. As a spirit guide, it's my duty to fulfill the wishes of my charge. Nicholas' wish—his one wish—is to reconnect with his daughter. I don't think it'll happen as long as the vodka remains.
There's a lot of trash scattered around in Nicholas' messy house, and most of it is empty booze bottles. Vodka, his poison of choice, is all over the house. I don't want to judge him, because spirit guides aren't supposed to judge, but I want this stuff out of his life! I think his situation would improve if the vodka would just... disappear.
Nicholas suddenly croaks, “Aw, shit!” When I realize he has a mustard stain on his shirt, I chuckle into my hand. He glances in my direction, which makes me wonder if he can—deep down—hear me laugh or sense my presence. I've always hoped he could.
As he swabs the stain from his shirt, I tell him, “Well, you have to admit... it's kind of funny.”
He grumbles and grouses and licks mustard from his finger. Honestly, he can be a bit of a grouch, but he's my grouch. I love him, and I mean that in the most platonic way. I would do anything for him, as if he was my father or my son. I never had a son, but... maybe it would be a bit like this?
Because I look so much younger than him, maybe he's more like a father to me? It's a strange thought, but if he is like my father, he's the father who can't see me, or hear me, or interact with me. If I hang out with him long enough, I start to feel sad about that.
When the bologna sandwich is gone, Nicholas marches back to the kitchen to heat up some frozen potato skins in the microwave. Seeing him return, I exclaim, “Aww, you like to eat those with sour cream! You don't have any? That's no good!”
Nevertheless, he eats them and continues to watch his wrestling. His potato skins don't look too bad, so I manifest a few for myself. That's one of the nice things about being a spirit—you can manifest whatever you want, whenever you want it. I even manifest some sour cream with mine. It's too bad I can't share it with my friend.
The hour gets later and later, and like most nights, Nicholas and I have nothing pressing to do. Every now and then, I'll read his mind to make sure his wishes haven't changed. When he's not thinking about a television show, his most common thoughts are I miss my wife, I wish I had a friend, and I wish Hannah still loved me. Hannah is his daughter, and he hasn't seen her as long as I've been his spirit guide. I've tried to arrange a reunion so many times, to no avail. Hannah is steadfastly determined to avoid her father.
During one of his show's commercials, I randomly tell him, “Nicholas, you've really got to shave tomorrow.” He doesn't like his beard, and neither do I. It makes him itch, and it makes him look ten years older than he is.
When the hour is late, and Nicholas has had too much vodka to continue to stay awake, he retires to his bedroom for the night. On the left side of the bed, he's arranged his wife's clothes. He does this every day. He picks out a new outfit for Katya, as if she was still alive, and places it on her side of the bed. Then he sits on the right side of the bed and stares at the clothes, with no Katya in them.
While he's staring at her clothes, he starts to cry. The vodka probably has something to do with his tears, but it's still heartbreaking to see him upset. I sit next to him, wrap an arm around him, and wait for him to cry it out.
“It's okay, Nicholas... I'm here for you,” I whisper to my charge. “I know it hurts, and I know you're sad that she's gone, but... we'll get through this, okay? We'll get through this together.”
I've seen Katya before. Every now and then, his wife's spirit will visit him. Let's just say, she... isn't as devoted to him as I am. I think she was put off by his alcoholism, not unlike his daughter. Frankly, I'm the only one left in Nicholas' life. I'm his silent friend, his secret guardian, and I want nothing but the best for him.
Together, we will find better days.