Waiting On A Sign

There’s been a ghost in my apartment for the last little while. She’s female. Five-foot four. Long, straight hair that reached the swell of her back. I’ve caught her dart across the room once. She’s terrified of being in the same room as me, and if she is, she always stands just behind me. Every now and then, I could feel her presence around on my back and parts of my chest, like she wanted a hug. I may just be crazy though, but for a while it was comforting. I had company.

She never bothered me, nor was a problem. I’ve been merely curious, nothing more, nor less. What was she looking for?

I’ve wondered about a lot of things this week. The analogy of running to walking has still been fresh in my mind. I’ve found a lot of very pivotal answers, and signs that I choose to define as divine rather than coincidence. I want to run because of them. Last night however, was odd.

I went to sleep at nearly three am. It took me a few moments to fall. I usually never remember my dreams, but last night took a different spin.

There’s been talk of a reunion in Parksville for the Click to get back together, catch up, and laugh at the nostalgia. I’ve been interested, certainly, even though my mind is repulsed at the thought of being around specific individuals; those that changed for my worse, or didn’t change at all. There are so many faces I`d recognise. So many faces that would recognize me. Needless to say, I’d fear running into her.

But I dreamed of Parksville once more. I found myself on the beach, looking out to the starry night sky that I used to covet. Four am, and the world was asleep, just like I remember. This is where I would come to hide from the world. Sometimes I would cry. Sometimes I would wonder where my direction in life was leading me. Mostly, I left simply because I couldn’t handle the pain I felt being next to her. I was lying. To her. Mostly to myself.


And I dreamed that I was wandering, and once again hoping for the day’s break. The sunrise, I’ve seen less than a hand can count in my life. But one night I had stuck around a little longer than I was used to, and I was rewarded with calm. Beauty, really. A sunset is beautiful, but only for its convenience. Everyone’s awake to see it. The sunrise however… it’s a joy few share each morning. It’s something you never see. Something you don’t generally forget.

I kept walking. I’m not sure where I went. I could have wandered up and along the boardwalk a little longer. I could have retreated into someone’s house. I just know that I kept moving in my dream, and I didn’t pay attention to my setting.

But I ran into her. And we talked.

She’s appeared in my dreams many times in the past. Never as an act of affection, or friendliness. She’s been a messenger of sorts. She’s the only thing in a dream that’s instigated serious, or meaningful dialogue, which is remarkably contrary to the person she truly is. She’s spoke of feelings to me. She’s taunted me with empty promises and hopeful ventures. And she’s the only person in a dream that I truly speak to, which, once again, is contrary to reality.

She’s appeared before. I know that I hurt her. Perhaps not on the same level or playing field that she hurt me, but I caused her significant grief. I knew her better than any other, even her own family. She said it all but twice, but she didn’t need to say it any more. We both knew it.

When everything fell apart, I left for good. She’s tried in real life to rebuild communication with me, but each time, I’ve broken away. I took her best friend from her along with half the things I owned when I left her home the last time.

And every time she comes to me in a dream, we speak of us. But we speak of different us’s. She speaks of the friendship. She’s never had someone that had someone leave her on hostile measures. Just me. And I think that’s why she’s made movements in the past to bring me back into a circle of friends.

“Why don’t you ever talk to me?” She asked.

I didn’t answer. I remember looking away, hopeful that she’d understand. But she never did.

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

“Why won’t you be my friend anymore? We knew each other.”

“We were never friends.”

“I thought we were.”

“Maybe for you, then.”

“You never come back here anymore.”

“I know.”


Our conversation continued in this ilk for a little. It almost always does. The only difference is my dreams are faster. We talk like people. We don’t pause for eight minutes, hoping the next bomb doesn’t go off in the other’s face.


“Are you going to come back soon? To see everyone?”

“I think so. I don’t know why though.”

“Will you see me?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why? We were friends.”

I remember her crying. She was smaller in my dream than in my memory. A few inches too short.

“That’s not how friends work. What happened between us ruined me. We were never friends. Friends are friends. Relationships are friends that grow into something more. Once the relationship dies, there’s no ‘friends’ left. You’re just two people who remember a lot of things. Two strangers.”

“I’m friends with lots of my ex’s. You’re the only one that doesn’t want to be friends afterwards. If I know so much about you, and you know things about me, why can’t we be? Why do you throw that away?”

“Because I’m not willing to cause myself more pain to make you happy. You can never be a friend to me, because I have memories of a different person. You can’t be friends when you remember what it’s like to be something more. It would just be another lie.”


And I woke up. I grabbed my notepad. I wrote everything I could down, in the most chicken scratch writing I’ve written since elementary school. I went back to sleep.

I woke up, and I gave it some thought while I was in the shower. Maybe this is another sign for me. Every time she’s in my dreams, I change the course of the path I walk. This to me feels like more a confirmation of questions I’ve had as of late. I’m glad for it. It makes me more certain about the choices I’ve made. Another step, a little faster, to finally running.

When I got out of the bathroom, something was missing. I couldn’t find the spirit in my apartment, but the feeling of arms around me still lingers. I think she has left. I feel a little down, but now, I feel full claim to my home. Perhaps it’s a territorial thing. I just feel once again that these walls are mine. My sanctuary. My home.

I think I will be going to Parksville soon. There's a sunrise I'd like to see.