Ghosted

Late September in the Colorado foothills is usually cold, sometimes so cold that you can’t feel the nose on your face. But every so often, Mother Nature gives you a gift to reward you for all those months you spent struggling into long underwear, and this September was certainly that. A gift. An orange, yellow, and red gift wrapped up in a warm blanket of sunshine called Indian Summer. When I awoke that last Saturday in September, I was determined to enjoy every second of this unexpected weather. The first thing I did was throw back my curtains and open my window. As a slight breeze eased through the screen, I spied Grams down below, standing across the street in Mr. Carlson’s driveway. The old guy was obviously upset. His bushy eyebrows were pulled down hard over his eyes and he kept running his hand over the top of his nearly bald head. My grandma stood with her back to me, dressed in summertime garb, her giant gardening hat making her petite frame seem even smaller. When she reached out and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, I knew she was giving him one of her signature pep talks. The big orange cat lay on his side beneath the forsythia bush near the back gate, relaxed as only a cat can manage with the tip of his tail twitching lazily back and forth. His huge yellow eyes tracked every movement Grams and Mr. Carlson made yet, in typical cat fashion, he also somehow appeared completely disinterested. When Mr. Carlson suddenly jabbed a finger toward the backyard, he didn’t even flinch. He was the biggest cat I’d ever seen, a stray that had appeared in our neighborhood many years ago and decided to make Mr. Carlson’s yard his home base. For the most part, Mr. Carlson left him to his own devices, although he did leave dishes of water and dry cat food on his back porch. Every once in a while one of the neighbors would complain about the cat’s night time howling to Animal Control. Officer Chere Pep would come by to talk to Mr. Carlson about getting a license and shots, but the old man would just shrug and say, “That's not my cat. I just make sure he doesn’t starve.” When I was little, I used to try to make friends with the cat. I would lure him out from under bushes and cars with a saucer of milk or a piece of hot dog tossed on the ground. He would get close enough for me to hear his rumbling purr, but if I reached to pet him, he’d dash for cover. I finally gave up and took on Mr. Carlson's attitude that he was a wild cat who belonged to no one and no one could tame him. While the two humans chatted in the driveway, the cat raised his golden stare to my window. I knew in that split second when his eyes met mine that something out of the ordinary was going to happen. And, that it would change everything. And, that I probably wasn’t going to like it. Believe it or not, I never did get around to asking Grams why Mr. Carlson was upset. Reason number one being my grandmother is a professional psychologist and her ethics carry over into her private life. She doesn’t tell secrets or spread gossip, so even if I had asked, she would have told me it was Mr. Carlson’s business and not mine. And, reason number two, I’m a seventeen year old high school junior with friends, too much homework, and an after school job helping my aunt, Marlene, in her costume and custom sewing shop. Translation: I’m so busy that I actually forgot to ask. The following Monday morning, I was standing in the hallway with my two very best friends when Chester Gibb, editor of our school newspaper, walked up to us and said, “Hey, guys. I want you to meet my cousin, Foster McNault.” He looked back over his shoulder and called, “Hey, Fos, come over here.” Across the hall, a boy with shaggy dark hair was deep in flirty conversation with a couple of girls. He flashed a friendly smile our way, but stuck a ‘just a minute’ finger in the air. A moment later, the girls burst into giggles, then walked off down the hall, throwing admiring glances back his way. He headed toward us, hands tucked casually into the front pockets of his jeans, walking at just the right speed-fast enough to show us that he wanted to meet us, but slow enough that he didn’t appear too eager. His gaze quickly swung over the group and settled on me. When our eyes met, I felt a shock that stung me from the inside out. It was that same weird feeling I’d experienced that day with the big orange cat.