I’ve never minded being alone.
For some people, being alone is the worst thing in the world. They fill their time with countless meetings, dates, texting, and online chatting―anything to stay busy and not face the silence of their thoughts.
For me, it’s different. For me, being alone is the only time when I can actually think. It’s the only time when my mind is clear and focused. Maybe that’s because I’ve felt alone most of my life, and it is the only time when I am truly comfortable.
My name is Renda Bloodmane. For some reason, my birthmother thought it would be suitable to call me a name that most people almost always mispronounce. I heard it a million times in school . . .
“Brenda? Brenda, are you present?”
“No, my name is Renda. It’s Renda, not Brenda.”
“Are you sure your name’s not Brenda?”
The conversation was typically followed by a long line of questioning as to why my last name is Bloodmane. And to be honest with you, I’m not exactly sure why I have that particular last name. Many people think that it’s a description of my red hair. “Blood” standing for “red” or “in the lineage” and “mane” as another way to describe “hair”. But I’ve never met my birthmother, so I couldn’t tell you.
She abandoned me in the hospital, the day I was born.
I was born in a small hospital in Cale, Florida. Literally hours after I was born, the nurses returned to my mother’s hospital bed and found it empty. They searched the entire floor for her, but she was gone.
As for my birthfather? Well, she never told anyone who he was, so in the scope of my first several hours of life, I was basically left without any parents or family. My mother’s parents had apparently died years ago and since she was an only child, I was put in a foster home almost immediately.
My foster parents, two very kind people named Bernie and Sandra Berkins took care of me, and eventually they filed for adoption. They’re great people and I’ve had a relatively normal upbringing as their only child. But I’ve always felt―different.
For starters, my parents are very social people and like to spend time with their friends at the country club or enjoy having drinks at their house at dusk. They’re always the center of attention, making people laugh with their funny stories and bright smiles. And I do feel very lucky to have them. But the last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself. I wonder if it’s because I’m adopted.
My parents told me I was adopted, when I was very young. They’re good people, and I know my parents love me, and I love them. But I’ve always felt an invisible wall between me and everyone else. Sometimes that wall protects me. Other times it shuts me out. Either way, it has always made me aware that I’m a little different.
I’m quite shy and try to fly under the radar. I don’t want people taking what I say the wrong way, and so, many times, I don’t say anything at all. In college, my friend Bobbie Trillo used to get upset with me quite regularly because instead of going out to keg parties with her and getting into drunken “situations” with fraternity boys, I would stay in my room and read. She’d go out for hours on end, while I’d spend the time in my bed . . . in flannel pajamas . . . immersing myself in tales of horror, suspense, or romance.
It’s not that I didn’t want male attention. I’m a woman after all, with the same needs and desires as all women. But I’ve just never felt comfortable in social situations, and even though I know I’m not unattractive―I’m just not at ease around outgoing people.
So, needless to say, my life is not exactly the most exciting in the world.
To add to my quiet life, I work in a public library, here in Cale. Now, I know that a small-town library might seem unexciting, but for me, there’s nothing better than getting lost in the stacks of books and smelling the old paperbacks resting among the long shelves. It’s a place where I feel at ease and can be myself.
My friend Larlene, who also works at the library as the manager, thinks that since I’m a redhead, there’s absolutely got to be some fire deep within me that is raging to get out.
I think she may be watching too many soft-porn movies on cable, but who knows. I do love romance novels and movies. Maybe I just need the right guy to draw out my passion.
Anyway, we recently had a small argument about my lack of a social life. I was working on organizing some of our DVD collection, correcting some of the titles that were out of order in the comedy section, when she swooped down on me. That also isn’t unusual, since Larlene is close to six feet tall, and I stand at about five feet, four inches.
“So,” she said in a breathless gasp. “I’ve finally found you. What’s the plan for this weekend?”
My plans were the same as every other weekend. Rent some movies, and curl up on the bed with my yellow Labrador, Jane (named after my favorite Charlotte Bronte novel, Jane Eyre). In fact, I was actually looking forward to watching an old Hollywood epic, Cleopatra with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.
Jane is the perfect movie-watching companion. I’ve had her since she was a puppy—adopting her from a local animal shelter. In some ways, Jane is my kindred spirit as we were both given a rough start in life, but somehow, we found our way to relatively greener pastures.
Dogs have a way of showing us how to appreciate things in life, and she makes me a better person because of her presence. There is nothing in the world that means more to me than Jane does.
So watching a movie with my best, furry friend in the world seemed like the perfect night.
But divulging this truth would not sit well with Larlene, who enjoyed spending her time online, chatting with any number of lovelorn people on one of the many dating sites she belonged to. Larlene never had any luck finding anyone who was relationship material, but she loved the attention. She also enjoyed hanging out in the local bars in town, something that didn’t appeal to me. So I needed to think fast and offer up something that wasn’t too dull, but would be a good excuse to keep her pending invitation to spend the evening with a half-dozen martinis, at bay.
“Well, I was thinking about visiting my parents and spending some time with them. I think they’re having some friends over.”
Larlene cocked her head in my direction and a sly smile appeared on her lips. “Yeah, right. I’ll bet you’ll be at home with Jane. Don’t lie. I see right through you.”
Damn. How did she know? “Well, maybe I’ll be at the house for a bit, but I’m really going to be busy. I think . . .”
“Come on, Renda,” she interrupted me in a pleading tone. “Let’s go out this weekend. We need to relax and have a few drinks. It’ll be fun. Please?”
Her face was hopeful, but my mind was made up. There was no way I was hanging out in a bar until the wee hours of the morning. But I needed to let her down easy. She was basically one of my only friends in town. Most of the other locals thought I was too bookish and serious. I’d even heard one of Larlene’s friends call me “snobby,” which stung, because I don’t think I’m a snob at all. I’m just shy. There’s a difference. Still, Larlene was well-intentioned and I didn’t want to upset her, so I changed my tone.
“I’m actually not feeling all that well. My head hurts, and I think I might be coming down with that flu that’s been going around.”
To add to the ambience, I coughed and Larlene’s eyes softened a bit. “Well, that’s not good. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Maybe next weekend?” she asked and smiled at me, as we finished putting away the DVDs.
* * *
The rest of the week passed uneventfully, other than the awful weather. It rained constantly and made the days in the library incredibly dreary. The gray skies cast a depressing mood over everything—as though a heavy blanket was draped over the building.
It was Friday, and a few hours before closing, when something happened that would change my life forever.
I wasn’t really expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen. Friday afternoons are usually quiet because most people are getting ready to go out. I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, I’m a homebody, and going out to bars isn’t my thing, but on the other hand, I can’t help but be reminded that even the seniors in my community have busy social lives, while I spend my Friday nights on the couch watching old movies with Jane.
The aisles were empty, making it a perfect time to put away the remaining books that readers had left on tables or chairs. My cart was nearly full as I pushed it along the carpet, hearing the wheels make their telltale squeaking sounds.
My first stop was the horror section. Someone had chosen a great collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s most popular stories and the cover was illustrated with a large black raven―in honor of the story with the same name. I do enjoy horror novels and have always wondered about the other dimensions that exist. Surely, we aren’t completely alone? I mean, if the world is made up of energy, then where does that energy go when a person dies? Does it completely blink out? Or does it manifest itself in ways that we simply cannot comprehend?
These thoughts were circulating through my mind when I turned the corner and saw a ghost for the very first time.