The bent form feebly leaned against the stained wall, totally ignored by the morning commuters. But I noticed him, of course.
Love handles (the result of a good life) and in his late fifties, he wore polished alligator skin shoes. Like some lost used car salesman who accidentally wandered off his Texas lot and into Gotham's labrynth, he also sported blue polyester slacks and loud tie. But curiously, "he" wasn't really there-- not in the same way that a departed soul manifests in a fixed spot. But wow - whatever he was, he was really bright.
Bright is a term we purveyors of the paranormal use to describe a spectral manifestation's visual accuity. Imagine an image ranging anywhere from a grainy, black and white screen to a high definition color monitor. (Some MIT parapsychology professor created a scientific scale and mathematical formula for defining brightness, but I leave the numbers to the amateurs who host those retarded ghost chaser shows on America's suckling teet, the television.)
Back to bright. Like I said - whatever he was, every detail was availabe, from a tiny teardrop rolling from under his giant reading glasses to a pale band around his ring finger where a wedding ring had recently been removed. Such vivid encounters are a rare treat.
It was 2001 - almost a year after 9/11 and I'd only been in New York for a month. I was considering wandering further northeast to explore Boston, but this very encounter convinced me to stay in Manhattan.
I continued to examine the crying man, his face now cherry red and his back leg shaking violently. He cradled his limp left arm like a delicate new born. And then I felt it.
I felt a soul - but not his soul.
This soul belonged to a young man with wavy hair and kind eyes - but desperately not wishing to be seen, He had obfuscated himself quite admirably. But now he stood watching the collapsing man - a figment of his own manifestation.
He looked at the space around him. More people's images, but less detailed, appeared either brushing past the young man or standing with newspapers open but their eyes keenly focused upon the ailing gentleman in those slick alligator skin shoes.
But no one did anything to help.
Panic and anger flushed hot and salty around the young man's blurred form. He stormed down the subway platform. I chased after him, bumping through a crowd of Asian tourists as they disembarked a train in the real world and real time.
The young man's ghost stretched his neck peering over a mass of forms who materialized to block his view. He pushed through them and darted down the subway platform. I followed. His aura spoke of helplessness, but paired with an overwhelming anger toward the authority he was so desperate to find yet so desperate to avoid. The fabulous combination made me dizzy.
His frustration battled a desire for a typical nonchalance that was suddenly rebuked by the unexpected (and pathetic) sight of a total stranger in dire need of help. But no help was available.
The fluffy haired ghost blew back past me towards the brick wall. More figures, the young man's memories of that moment materialized - his memory of the many commuters who stood by and said nothing and did even less to help the dying man.
And yet, the young man, so desperate to remain an anonymous face in the crowd also said not a single word nor offered a hand as the dying man continued to sink towards the sticky floor of that subway platform.
Suddenly a rush of adrenaline flooded my senses. My own pulse quickened as he ran towards the stairs leading up to the ticket booth. Finally the apparition spoke, "Get help! There's a man--", but an approaching train drowned out his plea.
And another wave of blurred forms pushed him down the stairs as more commuters hurried to catch the express train which had just arrived. I caught my breath.
It was the young man's train too.
Indecision now - a huge inhale of it, that pivotal left or right, yes or no, Marvel or DC decision. That moment when we ask ourselves to step up and make the hard - before I could finish savoring the conflict, the young man's ghost made up his mind and stepped onto the train.
I suddenly saw the scene from his eyes. The doors slid shut and the train slowly began to move. The brick wall approached - and there he was in those alligator shoes. The man kneeled slumped against the wall and didn't move. He looked dead.
I thought the young man's thoughts, "Look at those shoes - he deserved it. Fuckin rich prick." And the young man's anger at the man's wealth and his anger at the absent police swallowed his guilt for not doing more.
"I said excuse me, please!"
I startled from my trance. I was standing on the platform where I had originally seen the older man slumped against the wall. His form was gone. The young man's specter/aura had vanished as well. His soul faded back into the crowd as it so desired. Had I even moved at all? Trippy. And that's when I decided to stay in New York.
***
And speaking of New York... the prolific posting prior to my auspicious absence was quite exhilarating. I admit that I hadn't realized the potential for education that this electronic journal represents.
And call me paranoid, but I've no doubt The Void did indeed work its influence to regain the dis-harmony it so prefers. A little blabber mouthing about ghosts and The Void freaks my shit out because of it. Luckily The Void doesn't hold grudges. It blusters, but I can tell it's curiosity is piqued as well.
The Void is weird.
So following my (fated it turns out - more later) encounter with the Pope's modern day witch hunting squad, I spent some time away. I'm pleased to acknowledge that all the portents originally malevolent have returned to a lovely shade of pale lavender, a most calm and spooky color. I use the word acknowledge because I've learned that to acknowledge something brings it into being. Thus it's true. Yay. I love the internet.
So - I'm back.
Also pleased to report that I pretty much quit my temp job - and as Libra's balance would have it, I floated peacefully into a dream job at (set your phasers on nerd) a gaming company.
I am single again, but such is for the best right now. That's just fewer movie dates to cancel at the last minute.
In closing--
There's a calmness that some of the more talkative ghosts refer to before they met their first death. Its like the world simply slows down and the soul which is about to leave that mortal shell can finally take the time to appreciate those last few seconds as it passes into a different reality.
For once in a long time, I feel a smiliar focus and clarity and calmness - and potential. Maybe it's wearing shorts and flip-flops to a job I love, perhaps it was my two months of meditation - I hope it's not that gross out blood baptism courtesy of the Catholic Church, but whatever the reason - things are good now.
"Help! Help! ... Help!" Her pale arms waved in the July night. 