Well—
“So,” Ginny was saying as I quartered tomatoes, “she said that I could write my paper about the debated existence of ghosts, but I’d likely get a bad grade.”
I chuckled, glancing at the window out of the corner of my eye.
“But I told her that I actually know a medium,” Ginny continued. “A famous one! I told her who you were, and that I volunteered here with you, and she knew who you were, but she said the same thing again!”
“And it’s just ignorance, Si!” Ginny proclaimed as she started gathering up the tomatoes I’d chopped and began laying them on a baking sheet.
“People are willfully and happily ignorant and won’t open their minds to other thoughts and ideas.
They can’t even admit that maybe they aren’t right about everything and that just because you can’t see it doesn’t make it not true. ”
“I—”
“A college professor of all people, too!” She howled as she began drizzling olive oil over the full sheet of tomatoes. “They should be the most open-minded people!”
When Ginny grabbed the salt and pepper to season the tomatoes, I stopped her.
“Well,” I said quickly, reaching for a few jars of other spices, “I’ve told you a million times that most people think I’m a charlatan. And there’s nothing you can do about that. Do yourself a favor and write your paper about one of the approved spiritual topics on the syllabus.”
“Si, how can you say that? You’re not a charlatan!”
I shrugged as she sprinkled salt and pepper on the tomatoes and I got festive with the paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, and a touch of cayenne.
Four large sheet pans full of tomatoes were oiled, seasoned, and ready to roast. Glancing behind us at the two ovens, I saw that the preheat lights were still on. I turned my attention back to Ginny.
“I know I’m not a charlatan,” I said, glancing at the front window of The Lunch Counter again.
“But I can’t make everyone believe it. I don’t have the time—or desire—to deliver messages from dead relatives to everyone on Earth to prove anything.
And even if I did, some people still wouldn’t believe me.
Too many charlatans ruined it for the rest of us. So…who cares?”
I shrugged again and turned to lean on the serving counter.
My eyes darted to the front window once more.
I couldn’t help myself. The ghost that had followed me to work for the umpteenth day in a row was standing outside, staring at me.
The name of The Lunch Counter is emblazoned in big, blue, block letters on the front window.
In the center of the “o” in the painted name was the ghost’s eyes, watching me.
If I thought he’d done it intentionally, I would have been amused. Instead, I was unnerved.
The thing is, when you’re a medium, and you see a ghost—meaning that you’re also some level of clairvoyant—several things are happening at once.
One, you can’t really acknowledge the ghost, because then normies will think you’re schizophrenic and call the police.
Even if you explain you’re a medium. Or maybe because you explain you’re a medium.
Two, it makes it hard to focus on other, more important activities, because ghosts, for obvious reasons, pull focus.
Three, whether you like it or not, being in the presence of a ghost when you’re a medium, changes the vibe.
And people notice. It’s hard to act normal when things are not… normal.
Most importantly, and something a lot of people aren’t aware of—since most people are not mediums—is that you don’t often want to let ghosts know you see them.
Once a ghost knows you are aware of their presence, they will follow you.
Some try to tell you to find an alive person and deliver a message.
Or complete some unfinished business for them.
Some ghosts simply want someone to talk to because they’re lonely.
Some aren’t verbal and stare like creeps, giving you an “ookie” feeling. Others simply wail and make noise.
The ghost at the window was already too aware of my abilities and was far too attached. I didn’t need to make things worse.
If you’ve never tried to act normal while a ghost screams bloody murder next to your ear so that neither the ghost nor other people know you know there’s a ghost nearby, you’re lucky. Pretending to be normal when you’re a medium is exhausting. When you’re a clairvoyant medium, it’s worse.
Even if you’re a regionally semi-famous medium, such as myself, putting your best foot forward with others means the whole “medium thing” isn’t your conversation opener.
It’s difficult to not acknowledge something that I was born with, like my race, ethnicity, sexuality, and hair and eye color.
I’m a medium. I can’t turn it off. Sometimes I find ghosts because my clients want me to call them forth.
I get paid for that. Some ghosts figure out that I can see them and won’t leave me alone until I help them. With that, comes a lot of problems.
Knockknockknock.
Hi. I’m Silas Erie. I came to see you because I can see ghosts and your great grandma Myrtle said she’s disappointed you’re still with your bum husband, Steven, and she wishes she had written you out of the will.
Would you like to say something to her so that she can move on and stop following me around the store while I’m grocery shopping? That’d be great, thanks.
You can see how this would be a problem.
Believer or not, many people don’t take kindly to being approached in such a way.
I find that most people who believe that I truly am capable of seeing ghosts would rather approach me.
They don’t want me to go all cuckoo and approach them while they’re at the deli counter.
Excuse me. Do you know an older gentleman who died of a heart attack? Fella with a questionable haircut that’s possibly a toupee and died with a blue cardigan on?
First of all, I wouldn’t open with a leading question.
I wouldn’t approach someone like that, but I certainly wouldn’t approach them if I wasn’t certain the ghost I was dealing with belonged to them.
That’s simply rude. Why get someone worked up that you might have a message from the afterlife for them, but be wrong?
No one wants grandpa’s message from the beyond given to them while strangers eavesdrop, anyway.
Especially since not all messages from beyond the grave are family friendly.
Ghosts can be ratchet. Trust me. In death, decorum can completely go out the window, especially if the dead person wasn’t exactly well-mannered in life.
Thinking about the struggles of being a medium, I nearly marched over to the front door to begin checking the corners for the silver pieces.
I had to stop myself. All of the doors and windows in The Lunch Counter had silver in their corners to keep the ghosts from being able to enter.
Like every door and window at my house. The paint on the walls and ceiling had been mixed with sage ash.
Like every wall and ceiling at my house.
My peace wasn’t protected out in the real world, but at The Lunch Counter and at home, I was good.
“Where is it?” Ginny asked as the ovens behind us clicked.
I didn’t have to look to know the preheat lights were off.
“Front window,” I said. “He’s a Traveler but not too much of a talker. He’s been following me for a while. Just glad he’s not a Screamer.”
Ginny frowned and stared at the front window. I couldn’t imagine how frustrating it had to be to have someone tell you they can see ghosts but you have nothing but your faith in them to make you believe it.
“Well,” Ginny said, “if he gets feisty, you let me know. I’ll go out there and start slinging holy water.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Ginny gave me a sly wink when I pushed away from the counter, and together, we got the four trays put into the ovens.
In thirty-five to forty minutes, we’d have perfectly roasted tomatoes to make the soup.
Paired with made-on-the-fly grilled cheeses it would be the perfect lunch for our patrons.
“Good luck finding holy water,” I said. “Nearest church is twenty miles away. And it doesn’t work on ghosts, anyway. That’s just a myth.”
“You keep saying that, but I’m not sure I believe it.”
“You believe I can see ghosts and talk to them, but you think I’m wrong about the holy water?” I asked, one eyebrow rising. “That’s deranged.”
Ginny chuckled as she set the timer for the ovens.
“Why wouldn’t it work?” she asked. “It’s holy water. If it can affect vampires—”
“Really?”
She shrugged. “—then why can’t it hurt ghosts?”
“Because holy water is a religious thing. Being a ghost has nothing to do with religion. You’re just…a ghost.”
“That doesn’t explain anything!” Ginny laughed.
“Ghosts have been around since man existed,” I said with a laugh. “Religion came long after man started walking upright. Holy water is a religious thing. Ghosts are not.”
“God existed before man, even if there wasn’t religion.”
“Debatable,” I replied.
“Who says?”
“Everyone.”
“Heretics!”
“Atheists, actually,” I said. “Regardless, holy water is a human invention that came after the first existence of ghosts. They could care less about it.”
“Then why does silver and sage keep them out of buildings, huh?” Ginny smiled proudly.
“Are you trying to insinuate that silver and sage are also human inventions that came after ghosts?” I laughed.
She rolled her eyes but dropped the topic. Ginny walked around the service counter and plopped down on one of the diner-style stools bolted to the floor in front of it. I stared at her from across the counter, amused.