sweet jesus

I do believe in ghosts. That right there could skew the whole thing.

Last night I’m running. It’s late; almost 11 p.m. I am coming to a sleepy intersection where I know someone was killed in an automobile accident last year. She was young. Usually, there are roadside markers to memorialize her but lately there has been nothing of the deflated balloons, the dead flowers, the washed-out signs. The closer I get to where, I imagine, is exactly the place she died, I start to feel physically strange. A wind starts high up in the trees making a sound that isn’t exactly like wind, only louder and bright and twinkling eerie. A sharp tingle starts in the base of my head and washes down my neck, flows chakra-like to the base of my spine, my butt, down the backs of my legs and finally stops in my heels. I am wringing. I keep running, but notice my arms are down flack at my sides, not bent at the elbows like usual. And then everything turns back to a quiet streetlight yellow; I bend my arms again and continue.