ryan m. french

The sun was just setting when I climbed on the bus. It was long gone when I awoke. My legs were stretched out into the aisle, my face squashed up against the window.

I sat up slowly, bones cracking and popping. I brushed my matted hair out of my eyes and wiped the drool from my mouth. What time was it? Had I missed my stop?

I looked down at my phone and was surprised to find it ringing. The number was listed as “No Caller ID.” Not in the mood to deal with another scam caller at that moment, I declined it. The call disappeared and my regular lock screen showed, with the clock reading 10:30 p.m. I’d been here for at least three hours.

The bus hit a pothole and jolted hard, causing a rusted something in the body of the vehicle to creak loudly. The fluorescent lights flickered.

I was on the left aisle, behind the driver. He was an old man, probably well past his bedtime this late at night. He was hunched over the wheel, squinting to make out the road ahead. He hadn’t even acknowledged me when I first got on the bus, instead keeping his eyes locked intently on the darkened street ahead. Even though I was the only one at that station, I didn’t mind him ignoring me, since I wasn’t really in the mood for social niceties. It might have been a sign that the lights weren’t all on upstairs for my driver, though.

Right now the bus was empty. There might have been a few other passengers when I joined, but that was hours ago. Now it was just me and the man behind the wheel.

It was pitch black outside. No streetlights. Occasionally we passed a house with lights on, but those were set far back from the road. I could make out trees and farmland. Judging from the bumpiness of the ride, we weren’t on asphalt either—more likely dirt or gravel.

Had I missed my stop? I wasn’t sure. I was expecting a long ride, but not one that took me through rural terrain. The stop where I’d gotten on the bus was in downtown Atlanta.

I sensed another vibration. After a second I realized it was coming from my phone on the floor. I read the screen. No Caller ID again. I hesitated for a second, then picked up the phone and pressed the accept button. If this person was calling twice, it had to be important.

“Hello, you’re talking to Joey Sandoval.” My voice came out in a croak.

“Hello Joey.” The voice on the other end was unnaturally deep and distorted, like it was being run through a modulator.

“Who is this?”

“I have a question.”

“What?” I thought I heard him right, but it was hard to make out the artificial voice over the sound of the bus rocking.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Rolling my eyes, I said, “If this is a prank call, I’m hanging up.”

I was about to drop the phone. I was not feeling it tonight.

“I’m going to make you a promise, Joey. Before this call is over, you are going to believe in ghosts.”

I paused. It was such a random thing to hear immediately after waking up.

“What?”

The voice softened a little bit, fake as it was. “I just want to talk to you.”

“Okay?”

The bus hopped again and I looked up. Still alone, except for the driver. I doubted he could hear me over the jolting and jittering all around.

“You never told me if you believe in ghosts.”

“Umm…I don’t,” I replied. “If ghosts were real, they would do more than make books fall over or make chairs float around.”

“Well, hold on now. You might be basing your belief on a false assumption.”

“Tell me more,” I rolled my eyes as I spoke.

“Well, your idea of ghosts seems heavily influenced by popular film and television, but in real life they could be very different. In real life, they might appear in ways you never considered. Maybe some of the people you meet are actually ghosts and you don’t realize it.”

I cast a glance at the bus driver. He might be close to becoming a ghost, but he was still flesh and blood right now.

“Oh, so that’s how it works,” I grumbled.

“Well, not necessarily. I’m just opening your eyes to the possibilities.”

“How do you know I have eyes? What if I’m an eyeless individual and you just offended me?”

“Oh, you have eyes, Joey.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m a friend. Call me Rob.”

“Okay, ‘Rob.’ What’s stopping me from hanging up right now?”

“You’re bored and you want to see where this goes.”

Well, Rob wasn’t wrong about that. It might be another few hours before this trip was over, and there wasn’t anything else to do. 

“Okay then,” I sighed. “Lay out for me the evidence you have that suggests ghosts are real.”

“Well, Joey, it’s hard to offer ‘evidence’ in bullet point form, which is how you want it. We are discussing something that is inherently abstract. Something that lacks physicality. And, of course, I have yet to establish my credibility on the subject. I know that’s what you were going to ask next.”

He was right about that, too. But it was a pretty reasonable next question, so I didn’t let that comment shake me.

Rob continued. “How can I best prove myself to you, Joey?”

I paused and actually considered for a second. “You could tell me who you are and what your expertise is. Your history of studying the…ghost world?”

“Ah, I knew you would say that. And I wish I could. But I can’t tell you who I am. That’s the one rule.”

“You’re sounding real credible right now.”

Rob laughed. It sounded genuine, or as genuine as a modulated voice can.

“Alright, Joey Sandoval. How about we talk about you, then? We can start with that bus you’re on, the one you boarded in Atlanta. The one you’re hoping will take you as far away from home as it can go.”

That stopped me cold. I cleared my throat. “Hang on a second!”

“What?”

“Actually, never mind. Go on.” How did this guy know this? I hadn’t told anybody where I was going.

“You were on the phone with your father before you fell asleep.” More details this stranger shouldn’t have known.

“And what did we talk about?”

“Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

Actually, I wasn’t. Part of me hoped it was possible that someone figured all of this out by some easily explainable means. I wasn’t sure how, but that would be a greater comfort than whatever black magic sorcery I’d have to accept if this Rob guy somehow knew what I’d said to my dad.

“Ah, Joey,” said Rob. “I think I’ve established my credibility.”

“What do you want?” I darted my eyes back and forth, looking outside. There was nothing unusual, though. The windows were all shut. The driver was focused on the road ahead.

“I want to deliver on my promise.”

The urge to hang up was strong. But I knew that even if I dropped the call now, this encounter would never leave my mind. It would haunt me, keep me from sleeping, no matter how much time passed. That’s just how I am. There needs to be some kind of resolution for me to have peace.

“Well, you delivered on your promise. I believe in ghosts now.”

“No. You might believe that ghosts are real. But that’s not the same as believing in them.”

“Oh, my bad. Should I be putting my faith and trust in Casper for eternal life?”

“You’ve always been so stubborn, Joey. Even when you could solve all your problems by just listening to reason, you never do.”

I froze.

Rob said, “Sound familiar, Joey?”

“That’s exactly what my dad said earlier…how in the—“

“First, take his advice and listen.”

I sighed.

“We’ve established that ghosts are different from how they’re portrayed in pop culture. They can’t move around in the physical world; they’re trapped in the spiritual realm. Now, ghosts can sometimes connect with the physical world if they’re allowed, but it has to be for a specific reason. Usually it’s related to some vice that person faced in life. Let’s say in life a person is prone to excessive drinking. Then, one day he drinks himself to death and comes back as a ghost. He might be assigned to communicate with some alcoholic who is still living on earth, to convince them to give up drinking.”

“Is that what you are? A ghost?”

He paused, then answered, “Yes.”

“You’re a ghost.”

“I am.”

“That’s great. What’s your mission, then?”

“Well, for that, we have to go back to that conversation with your father.”

“Let’s maybe not do that.”

“You want resolution, don’t you?”

I did.

Rob sighed. “I want you to tell me about the phone call from your perspective. What were you thinking as you spoke to your father just a few hours ago? Do you regret anything you said?”

“Hold on a second,” I said. “You’re supposed to be a ghost, not my therapist. Just because you somehow know a bunch of stuff you shouldn’t, does not mean you get to involve yourself in my familial struggles.”

“I know it seems that way. But I want things to be better. I want this for you, Joey. Not myself.”

“And now you’re starting to actually sound like my dad.”

“Ah! Maybe we’ve struck the issue. What bothers you about your dad’s way of speaking?”

“Well,” I started. Even if this was just some regular guy who had been stalking me for the last several weeks (the only other explanation I could think of), I figured it would feel good to get it all off my chest. “He says everything in this really condescending tone. Very ‘holier-than-thou,’ you know? It starts grating on me after a while. It’s like he’s trying to hide how much he hates me, or maybe he thinks of me as a little kid. I don’t know.”

“Here’s a question, Joey. Are you acting like a little kid?”

I paused. “No. Sure, I get upset sometimes, maybe raise my voice, but that’s only after he’s been lecturing me for hours about how much of a failure I am. Just because I’m twenty and don’t have my entire future figured out doesn’t mean I’m not deserving of respect.”

“Has your father ever said anything disrespectful toward you?”

“Just about everything he says—”

“No, I’m not talking about his tone of voice. Are any of the words that he’s used actually disrespectful?”

“I guess…well, actually, he said I was stupid earlier.”

“Why?”

“Well, I left home without telling him because I needed to go looking for another place to stay.”

“Where is home?”

“What, do you want my address?”

“General location.”

“Atlanta. Don’t you know all this?”

Rob didn’t answer. “What time did you leave home?”

“Seven or so? The sun was setting.”

“So he didn’t want you to leave home, at dark, in Atlanta, a city with a very high rate of violent crime.”

“The point is that he’s trying to control me. I’m an adult. I should be able to choose where I go, even if it’s not considered ‘safe.’ Plenty of adults leave their houses at night, and they come back again just fine.”

Rob the Ghost didn’t say anything for a few seconds. I checked out the window and saw a water tower fly past. I couldn’t read the city name painted on it, but there were lights up ahead. Civilization was near.

Finally, he spoke again. “I hope you’ve figured out by now why I’m here.”

I waited for more, then realized he wanted me to respond. “Sure. You want to restore my relationship with my dad.”

“Not quite.”

“Then what is it?”

There was another silence so long that I thought the call had dropped. Then I heard that artificial voice start back up. “When I was…alive…I made a lot of mistakes, as you can probably guess. My relationship with my own father was just fine though, which is why I was confused when I was placed over you. But as we’ve talked, I’ve come to a realization. You see, one of my deepest regrets from my life on Earth is that I never mended my relationship with my wife. It was always rocky, even before we were married, but it worsened over time. I always wanted to make things right, but I died before I could ever really figure out what needed to happen.”

“I’m sorry, Rob,” I couldn’t take this anymore. “This is just getting too weird—”

“LISTEN TO ME!”

I jumped and nearly threw my phone across the bus. His scream didn’t sound like it was coming over the phone. It sounded like a real person standing over me and yelling directly into my ear. When I glanced at the bus driver though, he was still focused on the road. He clearly hadn’t heard anything. Heart racing, I settled back into my seat.

Rob’s voice softened. “I just need you to listen, Joey. You know what my biggest mistake was in my marriage? I never tried to understand my wife. I knew what I felt, but never what she felt. I could give my perspective, but I never sought out hers. And it tore us apart. I wish I could tell her that I get it now, that I get the problem, but I can’t. I can only help you.”

“So I don’t try to understand my dad? That’s the problem?”
“Another question, Joey. What was your dad doing when you were calling him?”

“He was driving. He was on his way home from work.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“He works on Saturdays. He always has.”

“One more question. Why does he so that?”

I swallowed. My throat was getting dry. “Because he wants to make sure my mom and I have enough to live comfortably.”

“He does that for you.”

“Yes.”

“Do you really think he hates you? Or, does he want you to have the opportunity to live a different kind of life than he does?”

I didn’t respond this time. Rob didn’t follow up with anything.

Finally, I said, “You’ve made your point. I’m going to hang up.”

No objection. He never spoke another word to me. I ended the call, dropped the phone into my lap, and leaned my head against the window. The lights in the distance grew and grew. I figured I had to be a hundred miles away from home by now. Dad had told me over the phone that he wouldn’t call the police; I was an adult and I could technically leave whenever I wanted. Even so, I knew he and Mom would be worried sick over me. 

I hated this feeling of not knowing where I was. At home, at least I knew there was someone waiting on me. As annoying as it was, Rob the Ghost might have had a point. But at this point, I had no way of getting home. This trip would cost me all the cash I had.

Then the bus passed a sign, lighting it up with its headlights. I leaned forward to read it.

Atlanta. One mile.

I sneezed and rubbed my eyes. How could I have been so stupid? The bus had turned around while I was asleep, and now I was almost home.

Twenty minutes later, I paid my fare and climbed off the bus. Again, the driver didn’t even turn from the road to look at me. As soon as I was off, the doors closed and he continued on down the street.

I was at the same stop where I’d joined the bus earlier in the day. The walk home was short. My mind raced with all the things I wanted to say to my parents, my dad in particular. Most nights, I would have just snuck back into the house and pretended like nothing had happened. That wasn’t an option tonight. 

Then again, Dad might be really upset with me. Maybe I should just wait on the front porch until morning, then talk to him.

I rounded the corner onto my street. My house popped into view, tucked away behind three poplar trees. It was a sight I’d seen thousands of times, and it should have been a comfort to me. There was something wrong tonight, though. I felt a sinking feeling in my chest.

My mom was sitting on the front steps, crying. My dad was nowhere in sight. And there was a police cruiser parked on our curb.

I ran the rest of the distance to the house. The officer was sitting next to my mom, but he stood up as soon as he noticed me.

I was out of breath, but I gasped, “Mom? What happened?”

She didn’t answer. The officer did. “Son, you’re going to need to sit down for a minute.”

I obeyed and sat down on the sidewalk. He approached slowly and seated himself next to me before continuing, “Your name is Joey, right?”

I nodded.

“Joey, your dad…he was driving home from work a few hours ago. He was passing through an intersection on a green light. Someone who wasn’t paying attention ran the red light and hit him. Paramedics did everything they could to save him, but he didn’t make it.”

My mouth felt dry again. I choked the words out. “My dad is dead.”

The officer nodded.

I wanted to lay down on the concrete and never move again. But somehow I managed to ask one more question. “When did it happen?”

“About seven thirty.”

“Just after I called him,” I whispered.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” the officer said.

He died just before I boarded the bus.

And right after, I got a call from a ghost.

I gathered my strength and stood. My mom looked up at me. Carefully, I moved past the policeman and sat down next to her on the steps.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Joey.”

“I don’t understand…” I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. My head was pounding. The world was spinning, but in a way, everything was beginning to make sense.