Picture an idyllic morning scene. The sun is gently shining through the blinds as ambient dust floats around to accentuate the beams and create an ethereal feel. Birds are literally chirping outside in an adorably melodic way and not their usual ceaseless caws and screeches. Lilting classical music wafts in from next door and we’re willing to ignore the fact that in a few minutes the eighty-year-olds playing this particular record will be getting it on at full volume, describing their every action in regrettably explicit detail. For one beautiful moment, the world makes perfect sense.

 

Then I roll to the side and see Agatha lying right next to me with a dangerously adorable smirk. “Boo!”

 

My brain makes a noise like a dying modem. “How the hell are you here? It’s the daytime.”

 

Agatha sits up, shrugs and sighs, “And here I thought we were done with you making these baseless assumptions about ghosts.” 

 

“... But yesterday when I called out to you, it was like you weren’t even here.”

 

The ghost’s lips purse and her eyes get wide like she sees a – on second thought, not the best simile. “Well, I mean, about that, you see,” running out of segues, Agatha goes for an obvious Hail Mary. “Uhhh… when the moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars, it disrupts the spectral planes of Mordor and Parthenon and…”

 

“You were giving me the silent treatment?”

 

My spectral guest exhales, for nothing but theatricality, I’m sure, while visibly deflating a bit. “Yeah, kinda, totally, one hundred percent actually, yup.” Called it. “But I’m not now, so you’re welcome!” Having no time to myself first thing in the morning doesn’t strike me as something I should be thanking her for. “Anyway, there’s some water and pain pills on the nightstand, you probably shouldn’t get up too quickly, so just take your time. Also, I have toast and juice on the table if you feel up to eating anything.”

 

…

 

My first reaction is to take back every catty or negative thing I’ve ever said or thought about this woman… but something seems fishy, and it isn’t just the incredibly expired juice my new roommate probably can’t smell. “Thanks… what’s the catch?”

 

Scoffing in overly dramatic mock offence, Agatha puts her hand on her chest and makes a big to-do of looking incredibly hurt. “Well, I never. To think that you’d be so distrusting of little old, gorgeous me.”

 

“You know most people with an ounce of humility use one less adjective with that turn of phrase, right?”

 

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re so cold to little gorgeous me!” My eyes roll so far into the back of my head, it might actually look like I’m possessed for a split second. “Okay, fine. I might feel just a tiny, little, INFINTISMALY SMALL, bit bad that you got punched in the face because I called you out on not having friends.”

 

Rolling up into a seated position, I immediately regret all of my decisions from last night, as whatever the hell remains in my stomach sloshes around like a bucket of chum on a ship during a storm. After preventing a prison break of half-digested slop through sheer will and determination, I stare sharply at Agatha. “Alright Patricia Swayze, first of all, I didn’t go out last night because of what you said!” The ghost snorts a laugh. “I’m serious! I wanted to go out. You don’t have as much influence on me as you think!”

 

“Mhmm, a radiant ghost that you’re quickly falling madly in love with–” My gag reflex nearly gets the better of my bile containment efforts. “--swoops into your life and mentions that you could use more social interaction and you just so happen to go out recreationally for the first time in years… but the two are completely unrelated. Uh-huh, sure, keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

 

My jaw tightens up and I can feel the fury in my expression as I try to reclaim my ability to articulate thoughts for a moment. “There is so much wrong with what you just said, so I’m gonna pretend like you just sounded like the trombone adults in Charlie Brown. Secondly, if I choose not to have any close friends, that’s none of your damn business. Lots of people are much happier living in complete solitude! It’s human nature, we’re all solitary creatures that hate social interaction.”

 

Agatha rolls onto her belly, legs lazily kicking the air behind her while wearing an expression most commonly seen in retail employees dealing with customers that truly believe that they’re always right. “Milt, baby, bubbeleh, why lie? I’m here for you, to make YOUR life better, and I’m not just talking about improving the view in this apartment, which is just a bonus you’re getting for free.”

 

“You really like complimenting yourself, don’t you?”

 

“It’s called self-love, hun, and it’s step one of my thirty-eight-step plan to turn your life around. I’m gonna Dead Stud for the Live Dud you, fool. Also, if you can record all of this and make that a new brand, I wouldn’t complain.” 

 

Setting aside the fact that I would absolutely watch that show if it were a real thing, I feel the need to defend my own autonomy. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need now, nor will I ever need, your help. Besides, that little farce yesterday isn’t even the worst-case scenario for trying to let people into your life. Trust me, I’m better off.” The woman hell-bent on driving me insane, stares at me incredulously. “Stop it with the look, or I’m calling an exorcist!”

 

Unable to stand another moment of Agatha’s musings, I slowly get up and shuffle over to the table. As I’m sitting down at one of my rickety second-hand chairs, Agatha’s head pops up through the table itself and the breakfast laid out on top of it, obstructing my view of the burnt black bread that was prepared for me. “Fine, I’m curious. What is your worst-case scenario that makes last night look mild? I’ve been an unwilling spectator of The Milton Show for a while now and I’ve never seen an attempt to connect, let alone a catastrophic one.”

 

I always thought the people who saw Jesus in their toast were nuts. Now I see a dead girl in mine. I think this is a poignant lesson on never judging others. Standing up and ignoring the explicit language a now pissed Agatha starts hurling at me for not responding to her, I slowly shamble to the bathroom. Locking the door behind me, and realizing just how futile that action is, I drop trou and roughly plop onto the can, hoping that even ghosts have some sense of boundaries.

 

After finishing up, I open the door and find Agatha sprawled out on the floor near the kitchen like a bear-skin rug. “Come on, just tell me what happened! Were they creepy? Mean? Bigoted? Did they smell bad? Did they ask a million questions in rapid succession? Ugh, I hate those kinds of people, don’t you?”

 

The headache I somehow didn’t wake up with sets in and starts building to a fever pitch as I hear a kettle screeching in my own head. “Shut up!” I finally scream, interrupting the torrent of words erupting from Mt. Agatha. “You want to know the worst-case scenario? The absolute worst thing that can happen when you try to make a friend?” The woman, who is now silent, nods her head like a woodpecker. “Fine… they could be perfect. They could be perfect in every conceivable way. They could make you laugh, be there when you cry, know what to say in every fucking scenario, be the family you never had and never knew you wanted, show you for the first time in your life what it means to love another person… and then they could die.”

 

“... Milton, I–” Agatha tries to close the distance between us, but I instinctively step back and hold my hands out.

 

“Don’t, please… just, don’t.” A familiar face that I’ve tried desperately to never remember flickers in my mind again and again. Bitter tears sting in my eyes and my teeth start grinding one another to dust. “You wanted to know why I gave up on transitioning before? Why I couldn’t go through with it? Because she was supposed to be with me. Because she came out to me first, and even though I could relate to almost everything she said and described, I didn’t put two and two together until she was already gone. Because now it feels like I’m stealing her dream, her life, her chance at being herself.” I have to brace myself against the wall because I can feel my legs getting weaker as my vision blurs through the waterworks. “I never even got to tell her who I was. One day a drunk driver just… I couldn’t even say goodbye.”

 

Closing the gap between us in a fraction of a second, Agatha holds me as I break down completely. I'd like to say that I recover from this quickly and maintain some of my dignity... but unfortunately, that's not the case. At some point, Agatha guides me back onto the bed, never complaining about my outburst, just silently comforting me as I let out a pain I'd let fester for years in silence. "I'm sorry," are the first words I'm able to force out through my burning throat, laying on my side, with Agatha gently rubbing my arm.

 

"You don't have anything to be sorry about. I'm the one who should apologize... I prod too much. It's a bad habit of mine and I'm sorry that I've made you remember something this painful." After what seems like an eternity, I start to run out of steam. The hurt is still here, but I'm able to put somewhat of a lid on it once again. "I-- I've said that I want to help... but I've been too pushy about it, and I'll do my best to keep that part of me in check from now on. Bringing up painful memories and experiences is the last thing I want to do."

 

The ghost lifts her hand off of my arm and without thinking, my other hand reaches for it and gently guides it back. "I'm sorry. Is it alright if we stay like this a little longer?"

 

The slow, rhythmic movements of Agatha's hand continue. "Of course."

 

The idyllic morning shifts to a lazy afternoon as I slowly relax. "For the record, it wasn't the painful memories that broke me. It was the good ones. I... I do miss having someone. I just-- I don't want to feel like I'm replacing her."

 

"I'm sure she wouldn't see it that way at all. If this girl loved you the way you loved her, she'd want you to make other friends, make new memories, and move on. You don't have to forget about her, and you wouldn't be replacing her. Your time with her was obviously precious to you, and I'm sure she appreciates how dearly you hold her memory." My eyes grow heavy, and despite having woken up fairly recently, I feel my body rapidly switching gears to rest once again. "For what it's worth and with no intention of pressuring you one way or another, I'm sure she'd want you to be true to yourself as well. She knew how you felt well enough that you related to what she had to say about being trans, right? I'm sure she'd want nothing but the best for you, without an ounce of envy or regret."

 

"How would you know?" I mumble, the fading embers of my consciousness allowing my indignant attitude to shine through for just a single moment more.

 

"Just a feeling I have, Mits."