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right through me now, it would be a waste of time. I m the color of wind. I can dance on moonbeams and sometimes cause a star to twinkle. But when I
was alive, I looked all right. Maybe better than all right.
I suppose there s no harm in telling what I used to look like.
I had dark blond hair, which I wore to my shoulders in layered waves. I also had bangs, which my mom said I wore too long because they were always
getting in my eyes. My clear green eyes. My brother always said they were only brown, but they were green, definitely green. I can see them now. I can
brush my bangs from my eyes and feel my immaterial hair slide between my invisible fingers. I can even laugh at myself and remember the smile that won
Best Smile my junior year in high school. Teenage girls are always complaining about the way they look, but now that no one is looking at me, I see
something else I should never have complained.
It is a wonderful thing to be alive.
I hadn t planned on dying.
But that is the story I have to tell: how it happened, why it happened, why it shouldn t have happened, and why it was meant to be. I won t start at the
beginning, however. That would take too long, even for someone like me who isn t getting any older. I ll start near the end, the night of the party. The night I
died. I ll start with a dream.
It wasn t my dream. My brother Jimmy had it. I was the only one who called him Jimmy. I wonder if I would have called him Jim like everyone else if he
would have said I had green eyes like everyone else. It doesn t matter. I loved Jimmy more than the sun. He was my big brother, nineteen going on twenty,
almost two years older than me and ten times nicer. I used to fight with him all the time, but the funny thing is, he never fought with me. He was an angel,
and I know what I m talking about.
It was a warm, humid evening. I remember what day I was born, naturally, but I don t recall the date I died, not exactly. It was a Friday near the end of
May. Summer was coming. Graduation and lying in the sand at the beach with my boyfriend were all I had on my mind. Let me make one point clear at the
start I was pretty superficial. Not that other people thought so. My friends and teachers all thought I was a sophisticated young lady. But I say it now, and
I ve discovered that once you re dead, the only opinion that matters is your own.
Anyway, Jimmy had this dream, and whenever Jimmy dreamed, he went for a walk. He was always sleepwalking, usually to the bathroom. He had
diabetes. He had to take insulin shots, and he peed all the time. But he wasn t sickly-looking or anything like that. In fact, I was the one who used to catch
all the colds. Jimmy never got sick ever. But, boy, did he have to watch what he ate. Once when I baked a batch of Christmas cookies, he gave in to
temptation, and we spent Christmas Day at the hospital waiting for him to wake up. Sugar just killed him.
The evening I died, I was in my bedroom in front of my mirror, and Jimmy was in his room next door snoring peacefully on top of his bed. Suddenly the
handle of my brush snapped off. I was forever breaking brushes. You d think I had steel wool for hair rather than fine California surfer-girl silk. I used to take
a lot of my frustrations out on my hair.
I was mildly stressed that evening as I was getting ready for Beth Palmone s birthday party. Beth was sort of a friend of mine, sort of an accidental
associate, and the latest in a seemingly endless string of bitches who were trying to steal my boyfriend away. But she was the kind of girl I hated to hate
because she was so nice. She was always smiling and complimenting me. I never really trusted people like that, but they could still make me feel guilty.
Her nickname was Big Beth. My best friend, Joanne Foulton, had given it to her. Beth had big breasts.
The instant my brush broke, I cursed. My parents were extremely well-off, but it was the only brush I had, and my layered waves of dark blond hair were
lumpy knots of dirty wool from the shower I d just taken. I didn t want to disturb Jimmy, but I figured I could get in and borrow his brush without waking him. It
was still early about eight o clock but I knew he was zonked out from working all day. To my parents dismay, Jimmy had decided to get a real job
rather than go to college after graduating from high school. Although he enjoyed fiddling with computers, he d never been academically inclined. He loved
to work outdoors. He had gotten a job with the telephone company taking telephone poles out of the ground. He once told me that taking down a nice old
telephone pole was almost as distressing as chopping down an old tree. He was kind of sensitive that way, but he liked the work.
After I left my room, I heard someone come in the front door. I knew who it was without looking: Mrs. Mary Parish and her daughter Amanda. My parents
had gone out for the night, but earlier that evening they had thrown a cocktail party for a big-wig real estate developer from back east who was thinking of
joining forces with my dad to exploit Southern California s few remaining square feet of beachfront property. Mrs. Parish worked as a part-time
housekeeper for my mom. She had called before I d gone in for my shower to ask if everyone had left so she could get started cleaning up. She had also
asked if Amanda could ride with me to Beth s party. I had answered yes to both these questions and told her I d be upstairs getting dressed when they
arrived and to just come in. Mrs. Parish had a key to the house.
I called to them from the upstairs hall which overlooks a large portion of the downstairs before stealing into Jimmy s room.
I ll be down in a minute! Just make yourself at home and get to work!
I heard Mrs. Parish chuckle and caught a faint glimpse of her gray head as she entered the living room carrying a yellow bucket filled with cleaning
supplies. I loved Mrs. Parish. She always seemed so happy, in spite of the hard life she d had. Her husband had suddenly left her years earlier broke and
unskilled.
I didn t see Amanda at first, nor did I hear her. I guess I thought she d changed her mind and decided not to go to the party. I m not sure I would have
entered Jimmy s room and then let him slip past me in a semiconscious state if I d known that his girlfriend was in the house.
Girlfriend and boyfriend I use the words loosely.
Jimmy had been going with Amanda Parish for three months when I died. I was the one who introduced them to each other, at my eighteenth birthday
party. They hadn t met before, largely because Jimmy had gone to a different high school. Amanda was another one of those friends who wasn t a real
friend just someone I sort of knew because of her mother. But I liked Amanda a lot better than I liked Beth. She was some kind of beauty. My best friend,
Jo, once remarked in a poetic mood that Amanda had eyes as gray as a frosty overcast day and a smile as warm as early spring. That fit Amanda.
She had a mystery about her, but it was always right there in front of you in her grave but wonderful face. She also had this incredibly long dark hair. I
think it was a fantasy of my brother s to bury his face in that hair and let everyone else in the world disappear except him and Amanda.
I have to admit that I was a bit jealous of her.
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