Both of us flying side by side and doing our best not to look down as Buttercup chased along underneath us, sure it was some kind of game.
Both of us fully resolved to keep going, to not take a single look back, long after we’d flown over the large perimeter wall that for some strange reason stopped poor Buttercup right there in his tracks, until, just like me facing the Radiant Boys at their scariest, he realized his fear was all in his head and he ran through that too.
Both of us committed to just keep on keeping on—to not cave in to Buttercup’s awful, unceasing, continuous series of forlorn whining, howling, and yelps as he chased underneath us. So sure he’d been dealt a cruel hand of fate, that he’d been permanently and completely abandoned to the ground.
Both of us waiting, hoping for Buttercup’s desire to finally kick in just enough to where he’d be magically boosted and propelled right alongside us.
And just when I was sure I couldn’t take it anymore, just as I was about to break my own promise and swoop down toward my poor frantic dog and scoop him into my arms—
I saw him.
Ears pinned close to his head as his tail wagged like crazy. Causing him to swoop and swerve and even dive-bomb a few times in a way that truly sent my insides spinning, until he figured it out, got ahold of himself, and learned to use it as a rudder, steering him along, and keeping him on course, until he was fully caught up and soaring right there alongside us, as though he’d been doing it for days.
And even though I couldn’t listen in on his thoughts or read what might’ve been going on in his mind, his expression was all I needed to know that he loved every last second of it.
Loved it more than a warm patch of sun, a bowl full of biscuits, and an extra long car ride with all the windows rolled down.
Loved it more than all of those things combined.
Buttercup had found a new favorite pastime.
And he took to it as naturally and gracefully as a bird.
23
We soared through white, fluffy, mist-laden clouds.
We soared over snowy mountaintops and buildings and rivers and lakes.
We soared past large flocks of birds that Buttercup barked at and chased after, determined to get ahold of one and bring it back proudly as some kind of trophy in the way that he often did when he was alive. Each time glancing back at Bodhi and me in complete and utter confusion, when instead of capturing one of them, he flew directly through them.
And the moment we got to London, I knew.
Bodhi didn’t have to tell me, didn’t have to say a single word.
I just took one look at that wide winding river dotted with bridges and ships and lined with tall buildings, and I recognized it for exactly what it was.
The River Thames, the Westminster Bridge, Big Ben—we flew over it all. We even swooped in really, really close to the topmost capsule on the London Eye, which, in case you don’t know, is pretty much the earth plane’s coolest Ferris wheel, then we swooped down toward the bottom and back up again, trailing it carefully as it went around and around in the sky.
And after that, we took to the streets, gliding above one of those bright-red double-decker buses London is famous for, and past brightly curtained windows of apartment buildings, or flats as the locals refer to them.
Then we swooped down even lower, just barely grazing the tops of tall trees, then lower still, just barely grazing the tops of tall people.
And when I extended my finger, just barely tapping the brim of some guy’s hat and knocking it right off his bewildered head, Bodhi turned toward me, a disapproving look in his eyes as his lips sank down in a frown. But I just laughed and I stuck my tongue out at him before doing it again for good measure.
We kept going, heading toward a busy circle I thought I recognized from pictures I’d seen of Piccadilly, and that’s when I spotted it.
Or rather, them.
The large crowds of people.
All of them hurrying off to the office, or school, or wherever it is that people rush off to after eating their breakfast and getting dressed for the day.
All of them sharing one thing in common—they were all headed somewhere, and they were all determined to get there quickly.
All of those hundreds of people with somewhere to go—every last one of them totally and completely oblivious of me.
Having no clue that I soared right above them.
No idea that it was I who caused the stir on the backs of their necks and the breeze at their cheeks.
Completely unable to see me in the way I could see them.
Clearly.
Succinctly.
Down to every last detail.
They were alive and breathing and so utterly clear to me, and yet—not one of them had even the slightest sense we existed.
A girl, her guide, and her dog—all hovering right there above them.
Gazing upon the clueless masses beneath.
My throat grew all lumpy, and my eyes started to sting, so I forced myself to switch my attention to something else, watching as Buttercup continued to chase birds, looping and spinning and swirling and jumping, putting out increasing amounts of effort to no avail whatsoever, and coming no closer to understanding why he was so unsuccessful.
I even sneaked a peek at Bodhi, who’d ditched the nerd wear the moment we took flight, quick to explain how he thought the suited look would command more respect, make people (meaning me and his guide) take him more seriously than we would had he being wearing his usual gear. Though I think we could both agree that as far as experiments went, that particular one was a massive fail.
But having swapped out the nerd wear for the far more appropriate jeans and sweater and sneakers kids his age usually wear, he was about as far from a dorky guy as one could possibly get. And I guess that’s why he seemed so off before. It was like, from the catcalls that followed him to the stage at graduation, to that casual, slouchy way that he stands, not to mention the way he really tears it up on a skateboard—well, it just didn’t fit with the look he was trying to pull. It’s like he was in disguise before, like he was wearing some kind of costume, determined to hide the fact that he was just like any other normal fourteen-year-old boy.
Only Bodhi wasn’t normal.
Not even close.
Because not only was he dead. Not only was he my guide. But with his hair no longer greased back, with his clothes no longer coming from Nerd Central, with his face no longer obscured by those awful, unbreakable frames that he wore, he was actually, well, cute.
No. Scratch that. Because the truth is, he was way past cute.
He was pretty much the Zac Efron of the afterlife.
But the second he caught my eye, caught me looking at him, I looked away.
The last thing I needed was for him to read those particular thoughts.
And just to protect myself further, just to keep everything orderly and straight and tucked away in its place, I’d also decided that, no matter how cute and nice he might continue to reveal himself to be—he would always, secretly at least, remain dorky guy to me.
It was easier that way.
I pushed my legs together and pointed my toes like arrows, having learned earlier that doing so would rid me of any and all wind resistance, and allow me to soar even faster and higher. And even though I heard Buttercup barking behind me, torn between chasing after me and a whole new flock of birds he’d stumbled upon, even though Bodhi called out to me, saying, “Hey—Riley—just say the word when you’re ready to come in for a landing!” I pretended not to hear.
Because the truth is, after seeing all that I had, I could no longer find it within me to land.
I’d suddenly become aware of something I’d failed to see before.
The earth kept spinning.
People kept loving, and laughing, and breathing.
Everyone remained busy with the busy-making business of living.
And not one of them even sensed my existence.
No
t one of them even knew I still walked among them.
Not to mention how it was time to face the fact that even the people who had known me—my friends and teachers and stuff—well, they’d already moved on. Already moved away from me, and on with their own lives—having reduced me to a small, packed-away memory of a poor, unfortunate, twelve-year-old girl whose life was abruptly cut short. Not wanting to dwell on my loss any longer than necessary, lest it make them ponder their own ever-shrinking existences.
And while I knew Ever missed me, as did my aunt Sabine, as far as everyone else was concerned, well, the number of people who even still thought of me on the rarest occasion was dwindling down to only a few.
I closed my eyes tightly, feeling that awful burn threatening to spill out the sides, as I took a moment to quickly list all of the very good and valid reasons why I had absolutely no plausible motive to cry.
I felt more alive than ever, despite my current state of invisibility.
I had just completed my task, Bodhi completed his, and the two of us together had truly helped our fellow souls and done something good.
I was flying! Soaring over a part of the world I’d always wanted to see, and to make it even better, my dog was sailing and swooping through the clouds right along with me.
My guide turned out to be not nearly as big of a dork as I’d first pegged him to be, which also meant he might not be quite so horrible to work with in the future. Not to mention how I just might’ve learned a very important lesson about judging people based solely on their appearance.
Or maybe not.
That last bit would remain to be seen.
And just as I was thinking these things, my eyes still shut tightly, blocking everything out of my sight, Bodhi swooped up from behind me and yelled, “Hey, Riley—watch out!”
My eyes snapped open, only to find myself soaring head-on into a tall building made of the kind of glass that reflects everything around it.
And I was struck.
Not by fear, since I knew I was in no danger, I’d just simply sail right through it if I failed to stop or slow down.
No, the truth is, I was struck by me.
Struck by the sight of me.
By the way my whole body glowed in a way that it had never done before.
Glowed in the way cheerleader girl’s had.
Glowed in a similar way to Bodhi’s and everyone else’s I saw on that stage.
And even though my glow wasn’t anywhere near as bright as theirs—
I still shone.
There was no denying it.
I swerved to the right, narrowly avoiding crashing smack through my own image at the very last second, before swooping, making a big, loopy U-turn, and confronting myself once again.
Seeing it all laid out before me plain as day.
My smallish, slim body, my practically sunken, flat chest, my lank blond hair with the bangs that fell into bright blue eyes that flanked the beginnings of what swooped down to be an undeniably semi-stubby nose. But my cheeks were widened and flushed as a big toothy grin spread across my face, as I continued to stare at the brilliant, pale greenish glow that shimmered and danced all around me.
“You see it?” Bodhi said, coming up right beside me, his smile almost as big as mine.
I nodded, so struck by my appearance, at first I couldn’t speak. Having to clear my throat a bunch of times before I could utter, “Yeah, I see it. But what does it mean?” Glancing at him briefly before focusing back on this sparkling new version of me.
“It means you got your glow on.” He smiled, hovering right there alongside me. “It means you’re on your way.”
24
Even though I initially wanted to stop, and maybe even pick up some souvenirs for my family (still don’t know how I would’ve handled the actual logistics of that, but it seemed like a good idea at the time), after seeing my glowing reflection, after listening to Bodhi explain that there are many different levels to the Here & Now, and how each one just gets better and better than the one just before it, and how my new pale-green glow clearly marked me as a bona fide member of the level 1.5 team, and that if I kept up the good work, I’d be transcending that color and level in no time at all, going on to glow in a variety of colors, each of them representing a higher and higher sphere—after he explained all of that, I no longer felt the need to land.
London was a busy city.
Too busy for me.
And to be honest, I’d grown pretty weary of the spying life anyway.
Of existing vicariously through the living.
Especially now that I was finally clued in to the irony of it all—of how my life would only get richer and richer even though to all those below I was buried and dead.
But more importantly, for the first time in a long time, I had somewhere important to be.
For the first time in a long time, I had no need to live through someone else’s experiences. Not when it was so clearly time to start claiming my own.
“Let’s head back,” I said, at first a little shaken by my decision, though it was soon overruled by eager anticipation. Knowing I’d be back to visit the earth plane again, sooner rather than later considering how many more ghosts it was my job to cross over, but for now, I just wanted to celebrate my victory in the one place in which I truly belonged. “Let’s just go home.” I smiled, soaring ahead and instinctively knowing just how to get there.
Occasionally gazing down at the earth plane as I soared through the clouds, knowing that just like all of the people rushing around right below me, I too had somewhere important to be.
Coming in Spring 2011
Riley’s, Buttercup’s, and Bodhi’s
adventures continue in
Shimmer
“Go on, Buttercup—go get it, boy!”
I cupped my hands around my mouth and squinted into a blanket of gooey, white haze still hours away from being burned off by the sun. Gazing upon a beach that was just the way I liked it—foggy, cold, a tiny bit spooky even. Reminding me of our old family visits to the Oregon Coast—the kind I sometimes tried to re-create on my own.
But despite the infinite manifesting possibilities of the Here & Now, something about it just wasn’t the same. Sure you could replicate the same sensations, the way the tiny, pebbly grains wedged between your toes, the way the cool ocean spray felt upon your face, but still, it didn’t quite cut it.
Couldn’t quite live up to the real thing.
And clearly Buttercup agreed.
He sprinted after the stick, running headfirst into a dad enjoying an early morning stroll with his son, before emerging on their other side. Causing the kid to stop and stare and gaze all around—sensing the disturbance, the sudden change in atmosphere, the burst of cold air—the usual signs a ghost is present.
The usual signs kids always tune into, and their parents always miss.
I shut my eyes tightly, concentrating on mingling my energy with my surroundings. Summoning the vibration of the sand—the seashells—even the haze—longing to experience it in the same way I used to, knowing I’d have only a few moments of this before Buttercup returned, dropped the wet, slobbery stick at my feet, and we repeated the sequence again.
He was tireless. True to his breed, he’d happily retrieve for hours on end. A nice, long game of fetch making the list of his top five favorite things, ranking right up there with dog biscuits, a warm patch of sun, bird chasing, and, of course, his newest love—flying.
Nudging my leg with his nose, letting me know he was back, he stared up at me with those big brown eyes, practically begging me to hurl the stick even farther this time.
So I did.
Watching as it soared high into the sky before it pierced the filmy, white veil and was gone. Buttercup dashing behind it, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, tail wagging crazily from side to side—the furry, yellow tip the last thing I saw before the mist swallowed him whole and he vanished from sight. Leaving only a faint echo of excited barks tr
ailing behind.
I turned my attention to the small flock of seagulls circling overhead, swooping toward the water and filling their beaks with unsuspecting fish, before taking flight again. Vaguely aware of the minutes slipping past with still no sign of him, I called out his name, then chased it with a spot-on imitation of my dad’s special whistle that never failed to bring Buttercup home. My feet carving into the sand, leaving no trace of footprints, as I pushed through a fog so thick, so viscous, it reminded me of the time I’d flown through a cloud storm for fun, only to realize it was anything but. And I was just about to venture into the freezing cold water, knowing of his fondness for swimming, when I heard a deep, unmistakable growl that immediately set me on edge.
Buttercup rarely growled.
He was far too good-natured for that.
So when he did, it was safe to assume he’d stumbled upon something serious.
Something very, very bad.
I followed the sound of it. That low, gravelly rumble growing in intensity the closer I crept. Only to be replaced with something much worse—a horrible snarl, a high-pitched yelp, and a sickening silence that made my gut dance.
“Buttercup?” I called, my voice so shaky, so unsteady I was forced to clear my throat and try again. “Buttercup—where are you? This isn’t funny, you know! You better show yourself, now, or you will not be flying home!”
The second the threat was out, I heard him. Paws beating against the hard, wet sand, his quick, panting breath getting louder and louder the closer he ran.
I sighed in relief and sank down to the ground. Readying myself for the big, slobbery, apology hug that soon would be mine, only to watch in absolute horror as the fog split wide-open and a large dog jumped out.
A dog that wasn’t Buttercup.
It was—something else entirely.
Big—the size of a pony.
Black—its coat matted and gnarled.
With paws the size of hooves that came hurtling toward me, as I screamed long and loud, desperate to get out of its way.