Choosing Purgatory

Watching my husband on a date was no longer painful. True, at first it was difficult, but I’m well beyond that now.  My car accident was three years ago. I had grown used to my ghostly state.

 Knowing my sweet husband, he was not the type to be single for too long. He craved closeness and companionship more than your average person. But I also know he tends to take everything at face value, so some woman could take advantage of my darling man. Unbeknownst to him, I opted to stay to help him find the right woman. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure how I could do this, and I was limited to only meeting the women he brought to our house.  It was a condition of my staying in purgatory, I had to stay home until my mission was complete.

A year after my death, the first woman he brought home was Sue. She had a lot of plastic surgery. It pulled her forty something face so tightly that her smile and smirk looked the same. She was pretty, but not the type of woman I expected him to like. She would arrive, throw her purse on the couch and demand a cocktail immediately.  He’d run around fulfilling her every need, until she finally agreed to sleep with him.  She’d spend the night, beginning her demands first thing in the morning. When she left, he laid in the bed and cried. It broke my heart. I sat next to him, wishing I could still rub his back and tell him that he was worth more than this.  After five months of them dating, I was relieved when a few weeks had passed without Sue. He seemed sad but returned to himself again within a month. 

It took another year before the second one arrived. Kiki was young, in her early thirties. She made Sue look like a dream woman. Kiki was not nearly as demanding, but she was sneaky.  He didn’t know that she dug through our bedroom when he wasn’t home. She’d often slip money out of his wallet and pocketed some of my jewelry. It infuriated me but there was nothing I could do.  Then I remembered, I can move my urn. 

The day before I had gotten bored and tried throwing all my energy at a variety things in the house to see if I could move them. Nothing happened so I was frustrated. I took a break in my bedroom and noticed my urn.  So, I tried to throw energy there, and it shook.  Since my urn sat near my jewelry on my long dresser, I knew if Kiki dug through my jewelry again, I could use it.  

One day, Clint was out getting Kiki and himself coffees, she began rifling through my jewelry again. I rattled my urn. She stopped, looked around and saw nothing. She shrugged and went back to opening my jewelry boxes. I shook my urn harder and longer. This time she noticed. She began to smile and pulled the lid open as if she were about to find a Genie in a bottle. Peering into the mass of ashes, she barely replaced the lid screaming, “Gross!” 

“What’s that?” I heard my husband ask, shutting the door behind him.

“Oh!” She jumped trying to put the jewelry back in place, taking one gold chain. “Nothing, honey. I’m just looking through my bag for a necklace I like.” 

“Okay, well breakfast is here, my sweet.” He called out. 

Ugh, he called her my sweet. There was nothing sweet about this woman. I followed her out and watched her kiss my dear husband’s face. If I could have punched her, I would have. I decided to go hide out in my hobby room. Three years later, it remained unchanged. It had been my peaceful place in life, and remained so in death.  

A few days later she was over again. Clint was in his office downstairs, so she began her searching routine, laying out about 15 pieces of my jewelry across the dresser. Her eyes glittered with excitement when she opened the box with my grandmother’s pearls. 

She slowly pulled them out, admiring their glossy shine. She giggled softly placing the necklace, earrings, and bracelet on herself.  She spun to peer into the mirror, grinning from ear to ear. I couldn’t believe her gall.  I threw my energy into my urn, making it rock back and forth.  Kiki looked over at it as if she knew I were there. “Give it a rest sweetheart, you’re dead!” Then, she pushed the urn further down the dresser.

My urn shook until it fell over with a bang, sending a puff of ashes across the jewelry laid out on the dresser.  She jumped back and gagged.  

Clint came racing up the stairs to find Kiki, backed into a corner and all my jewelry covered in… well… me. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I was just looking, and she just…fell all over it.”  

He looked up, red-faced with fury, then noticed the jewelry she was wearing. “Give them to me.” He demanded. “NOW!” His tone deepened.  

With shaking hands, she removed the pieces. He held them tight in his hand. “Get your things and go.” 

“But I was just looking honey, I swear. I just…” 

“I do not care. Get out NOW!” He wailed. 

She picked up her things stuffing them into her bag, when my gold rope fell out of her pocket.

“What the hell, Kiki? Is that my wife’s gold rope?” He snatched the necklace from the ground, tears welling in his eyes.

“You know what? You’re way too old for me and stuck on some dead lady. I’m out of here.” She said, grabbing her bag, then slamming the front door behind her. Clint sat on the bed and held my pearls to his chest and sobbed for hours. “Oh, Aida,” he cried out. “Why did you have to leave me?”  I felt helpless, sitting on the bed watching him weep.

Another six months passed before Melody showed up. She was like Clint, in her late forties.  At first, I loved her sweet smile and bright brown eyes. But later, I noticed something sad and guarded behind that kind face. Something felt wrong even though she was always polite and funny. One night, she arrived with some Chinese takeout. She dropped the bags and menu on the kitchen table and took a seat. Clint followed her in about five minutes later.

They began opened the cartons and ate right out of the boxes. I cringed.  That would not have been allowed if I were still alive. He looked at her and winked. She smiled back. 

“Clint?” Melody started nervously with her voice shaking. He stopped eating and looked up at her. “I know I’ve been a little standoffish, but I miss my James. Although it’s been two years, I still feel like I’m cheating when I’m with you. But last night I was lying in bed talking to him about you and how you lost you spouse too. I was so confused by my feelings. His urn began to shake. At first, I thought I was crazy.  Then it moved again, so I asked him if he was angry out loud. When I said the word anger it stopped. I wanted to see if it would happen again, so I asked if he approved of my seeing you? The urn spun in a circle and stopped. I may be imagining things, but if I’m not, I think he approves.  If you are still interested, and want to move this to the next level, I’m ready to try.”  

With that Clint stood up and grabbed her hands pulling her to her feet.  He wrapped his arms around her kissing her gently. 

“I think I’m finally ready too, Melody. Let’s try this together.” I could feel their connection by  the way they looked at one another.  I would have cried for joy if I still had tears. 

Suddenly, I felt a pull and ended up in an unknown room with a man I didn’t know. 

“Are you Aida?” He asked. 

I nodded.

“I’m James.”  He smiled. “I think our partners just found more happiness. And now it’s our turn for the next phase of our journey. You ready?” He asked holding out his hand. 

Surprised, I reached out and felt his energy.  He held on tight and we went off to whatever is next.