Stardust Melody

My third installment in Nat1's Write, Wrong, or Otherwise anthology! Stardust Melody follows two ghosts through the streets of Brooklyn as they try to piece together who they are and why they wander. This story is only lightly edited.

The gray monoliths of the buildings rose up like towering rock formations. With the recent downpour they sprung from pools of sooty and tepid water laced with asphalt, soot, and trapped garbage. The rain stopped hours ago, but with no sunlight to dry the boulevards, the row of streetlamps cast an eerie reflection of light which glowed up from the slick avenue. Here, the soft glow of the storefront window mixed with the reflection and filled the atmosphere with a warm yellow glow.

Despite the light’s warmth, Frances felt cold. She was always cold these days. Cold for as long as she could remember, honestly. Unless she thought for too long about how cold she felt, at which point she invariably didn’t feel like anything. Ignoring whether she was cold or not she was sure of one thing: she was thirsty. Her lips craved the slick rim of a cool glass, her nose an acrid and fruity fragrance, and her head a warm, numbing, fuzzy sensation.

She licked her lips and tried to concentrate on the window. It showcased a group of mannequins, all posing in partywear outfits. They stiffly depicted what surely would be a great night on the town, despite never embarking with their chaperones to go anywhere. Frances was sure she fit right in with them. Her silvery dress swished as she shifted her weight from one leg to another. Her pale, pallid hand absent-mindedly twirled the pearls of her necklace. It trembled slightly. Ignore it. Just keep ignoring it, that was the key.

Ignoring it was always easier said than done. The party wear in the window transported her in time and place to the warm and bright ones of a piano, the chicker-chicker of a mixer, and the sharp clinking of glasses.

Luke intruded on her thoughts and attention, as he was wont to do, plodding up and down the sidewalk a short distance away. As he drew nearer his steps became loud stomps. Little terror’s probably seeking attention again. His arms were crossed over his black suspenders. Under his gray paper boy cap his rounded face was turned up into a discernible frown, clearly communicating a growing, childish impatience with the current night’s events.

“Are we done yet?” he called back over his shoulder as he turned, continuing his march. It was always the same question.

Frances rolled her eyes. After less than an hour of peace the fantasy was broken and he tore her back to reality. Their reality. Oh goodie, here we go again.

“It’s still my turn,” she replied with a sigh, “besides you still haven’t paid me back for the extra time you got yesterday.”

“Hmpf! Your turns are always so booooooring!”

Surely his mother spoiled him. “Hush now, be still.”

Luke un-crossed his arms, and then immediately balled his fists and re-crossed them. He resumed his sentinel’s watch patrolling the streaked, gum-spotted sidewalk. The little terror was much more challenging to ignore for very long. Frances re-trained her eyes on the suits.

The brat stopped his march long enough to add, “what do you want to look at breeches for anyway, you’re a girl!” It was more of a statement, a jab, than a question.

“Oh, what would you know about ladies’ fashion, you’re what, eight?”

He stuck out his tongue, re-crossed his arms once more, and shuffled off into the middle of the avenue. She followed the troublemaker with the corner of her eye as he began to walk a figure eight through the pavement, the intersection of his march taking him repeatedly through a puddle. Each step on the glossy surface was certainly an attempt to disturb the standing water. Make a mess. Little boy stuff. Despite his efforts, the puddle remained still and undisturbed.

The stomping continued to test Frances’ patience. It drew her kicking and screaming back from her fantasy. She wheeled around on her heel, her hands on her hips.

“You shouldn’t play in the street, you know!” she admonished, nearly raising her finger at him just like her mother used to do to her. What would mother have thought if she could see me babysitting now.

“You know it won’t make a hill ‘o’ beans difference. Can’t rightly die twice, can I?”

I only wish. For a brief moment she paused and wondered whether the kid was right. Could they die again? She didn’t want to think about it. Thinking about it made her thirsty. What she wanted was a stiff drink, soft music, and a warm arm around her shoulder telling her it’d all be okay. Things she was certain she’d never have again.

The little imp resumed his plodding attempts at splashing. He pushed his grimy shoes hard against the icelike reflection of the streetlights.

“You know that’ll do nothing,” Frances counseled.

“It will too! Yesterday – or was it the day before – well anyway, yesterday I got it to make a ripple. If I try really hard maybe I can learn to do it again.”

Frances tsked and twirled away from him again. She tried not to think about their situation, but it was too hopeless to ignore. She didn’t know much about ghosts. She wasn’t much of a reader, or a religious type for that matter. She did read about the afterlife in a tabloid once, come to think of it. It had gotten passed around all her girlfriends and the gossip alone made it worthwhile.

She remembered more of it now. There was an article in there on witchcraft, voodoo, that sort of thing. Talk about curses and how they always came in threes. Supposing there was any truth to that slop, she figured she was looking at three curses right now.

Firstly, the two of them were dead. She was sure of that, but she wasn’t sure what kind of dead. Best she could figure she was a ghost, and a right smart-looking one at that, thankyouverymuch.

Second, they hadn’t a clue how either of them died. Try as she might, the only thing she could be sure of was it had been dark and foggy. She’d been driving up the avenues. Big deal, it was not unheard of for Brooklyn to be foggy or dark, or for people to die in car crashes.

Finally, she was tethered to the little terror. They tried everything. Nothing worked, they could never get more than about fifty paces away from each other before some invisible rope went taught and kept them together. She clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking. That was the greatest mystery of all. She was so sure, positive she had never met Luke before. She couldn’t remember anything about him. Why’d she have to get stuck with him?

To top it all off, not a living soul could hear or see them. To the best of her knowledge, Frances was trapped with the plodding soldier for eternity. She glanced back at the partywear, trying to imagine somewhere – anywhere other than where she was. Instead, she sighed. Surely, no amount of concentration would bring back the daydream.

She unclasped her hands and dusted off her dress habitually, like she always did when she felt stir-crazy and it was time to move. Turning to Luke, she acquiesced, “alright, it’s your turn.”

“Oh whoopee!” Luke forgot all about his attempts at splashing and jumped up, beaming up with his round face. “Oh this is gonna be swell, just you wait. I wanna go to Luna Park!”

“Luna what?”

“The park, you know, the one with the airship and the moon and the electric lights,” he paused to search her face with recognition, “you know, Coney Island.”

Frances’ gut dropped and she let out a groan. “Luke that’s too far away, it’ll be hours.”

“I’ll just borrow a little time, pleeeease,” he pleaded.

“You already owe me time. No chance, pick something else,” she turned her nose up to make the decision final.

“No fair, you never do what I wanna do,” he protested, stamping his feet.

“If you wanna go so bad then go by yourself,” she retorted, her nose lifting even higher.

He looked deflated and more plaintive, his eyes softening in his round face.

“You know I can’t go by myself, don’t be so mean.”

A pang of guilt right to the heart. She pushed past it, satisfied that she had finally placed him squarely in a state where he was willing to behave. Her throat felt dry again. She swept in for the kill.

“Your mother must have spoiled you rotten. I don’t see why I should go, there’s nothing in it for me,” she said with a questioning inflection, opening one eye to look down at him.

“But it could be fun for both of us. Or we could trade.”

There you go, right where I want you.

“Trade? Fine. We’ll go to Coney Island. But I want something special in return.”

The twerp was energized and vigorously nodded as he said, “Yeah, sure, anything!”

“I want to go to a club. But not just any club. The Jade Bird has a late night shindig I used to go to. They have music, dancing, gin, and other adults,” she emphasized dults, “We go right after Coney Island and the whole time we’re there I don’t want to see you. Not a peep. If you wanna go then say yes.”

Luke scrunched his face up in thought, but it must not have been a hard decision because he hurriedly replied, “Deal!” and skipped off down the avenue. As the distance grew, Francis felt the familiar tugging sensation in her gut. Compelled to move faster to keep up with him, she chastised him for running and implored him to slow down.

This rubber-banding continued for what felt like an hour. Maybe it was two? Either way Frances was sure if she could feel her feet that they’d be on fire working her way all across Brooklyn to hit the end of Surf Avenue. People, living people, began to fill the streets. The closer they walked the more they saw. Men in hats and white shirts long rid of their work ties escorted ladies in short, summery dresses and heels. Invariably, many of the couples toted along leaning, tugging children, some wearing shorts and collared shirts while others wore narrow suspenders much like Luke’s. Just what I need.

Finally, they walked under the large, red entrance sign welcoming them to Luna Park. Ticket collectors and park attendants paid no attention to them, at times peering straight through them to greet other park patrons.

Frances felt ill at ease walking in without paying. She found she could push the thought away without much effort. She had no money, and even if she did there’d be nobody who could take it. Either way, she was pretty sure there should be a discount for ghosts and therefore it was justified.

Luke seemed not to experience this moral quagmire, skipping his way into the park. Within, the inky black night sky was disrupted by a star field of electric lights. At least a million incandescent yellow orbs were strung this way and that across a great, heart-shaped lagoon surrounded on both sides by sculpted white parapets. These were broken up only by flowery minarets, also in white, decorated lavishly with scrollwork and little red heart emblems. Every edge and corner of these was equally adorned in that warm, smokeless, man-made fire.

In the dead center of the lagoon a great rectangular tower of illuminated rose-like medallions jutted up like a beacon, a lighthouse summoning park-goers to its gold palace below.

“Chutes first, chutes first!” the brat squealed, sprinting off toward the Shoot-the-Chutes line. He took the steps two at a time, paying no mind to his manners or the other children. Frances swore she could see him pass right through another child once or twice. She trotted to keep up but it was no use in her dress and heels, and she was barely at the foot of the line when he reached the top.

“Hey, you behave up there!” she called up, cupping her hands around her mouth. The other patrons calmly continued to step up and board the toboggan-shaped boats.

“Oh, gee, this is a biggie,” the terror said, rubbing his hands together as he peered down into the ramp and lagoon below.

A young girl, probably about 10 or just a little older than Luke, was being helped into one of the boats. As the operator helped lower her over the gunwale her pink dress fluttered. From her vantage point along the base of the ride, Frances could see she was adorned head-to-toe in pink: pink shoes, pink bonnet, pink stockings. Another gentleman squatted down in the boat behind her, smiling as they both settled in and gripped the sides of the gunwale.

Luke wasted no time, jumping aboard just ahead of the girl and leaning over the bow with his hands on the forward handrail. Frances could see him turn his head to say something to the girl, but she was too far to hear anything. She shook her head.

The operator stepped back inside and pulled a lever. The boat let loose and rapidly glided down the steep chute. As it built up speed, water sprayed off the prow and up both sides of the hull. Luke let out a loud “weeeee!” while the girl in pink squealed with equal parts laughter and fright. Frances giggled in spite of herself at the sight of the two kids losing their minds to the delight of the chute.

The boat shot out into the lagoon on plane, scooting across the surface with a splash, sending up more spray as it glided to the waters’ edge. The operator only gently ruddered it alongside as it bumped into the dock as the little girl and her escort clapped and cheered. Luke joined in as they all disembarked with the help of another attendant.

Luke turned to the girl in pink and spoke to her directly, “That was great, oh what a ride. Oh we need to ride that again, let’s get back in line.” She was fussing over her bonnet, adjusting the ribbons. “My name’s Luke by the way. Are you from Brooklyn too?”

The girl, satisfied with her attire gripped the gentleman’s hand and pointed, squealing, “Daddy, look look!”

Frances’ heart leapt as she followed the little girl’s finger and witnessed a caravan of elephants slowly loping down the main promenade around the lagoon. Other park goers stared in awe at the parade, mouths agape at the procession of gray beasts, each adorned in red garnets and heart-shaped fez. The elephants would randomly toot their trunks and flap their ears at passerby.

“Oh neato, so you like elephants huh?” Luke continued his one-sided conversation. He gripped his cap and alternated glances at the large, gray animals and the girl in pink. Her eyes remained transfixed on the elephants only.

Finally, she interjected, “Daddy, can we ride them, can we?” she squealed again, giving her father a tug on his sleeve. The pair then began to excitedly start off in the direction of the elephants.

Luke called out after them as they went, “Hey, I could go with you! We could be friends!” After another moment, they were gone in the sea of spectators in their slacks and dresses. His arm hung out in midair, grasping almost for a hand to take him away too.

Frances leaned with her weight on one leg, rubbing her hands up and down her arms gently trying to warm herself. She pursed her dry lips, unsure what to say or do. He knows right? He couldn’t forget, could he?

“Hey um,” she started, immediately unsure how to finish. The rest of the sentence didn’t come. She was terrible with kids. Swallowing, her mouth suddenly very dry and patchy feeling, she started over, “She can’t see–”

“Yeah, I know she can’t hear me. Or see me. I just – I dunno, I guess I just felt like having another kid to play with would be nice is all. Then you wouldn’t have to.”

A lump grew in Frances’ throat. Just peachy. Now the kid’s got a moral high ground she thought. She absent-mindedly twirled her pearl necklace. She felt shrewd and frumpy. Here was this kid, this child who never got to grow up. Would never get to grow up. Never play with other children on the playground again, never go to school, play sports, or dance at prom.

Yeah Frances, real nice piece ‘o’ work, how do you feel now? You’re a washup, a rich wannabe party animal who’s gonna be forgotten and go on being annoyed forever. Boo-hoo, here’s a kid who lost his shot at beginning to live.

She swallowed and then clasped and un-clasped her hands. She didn’t want to drag this out. The time passed quicker when he was having fun. She still wanted to make the Jade Bird, after all.

“Hey Luke, er, if it makes you feel any better, I could be your friend. For tonight I mean. Er, I didn’t mean that, I just meant we could hang out for a while.”

Well that sounded real nice. Great job again, Frances. What did she even sound like?

Luke turned around, his hands behind his back. His pale, round face looked up at hers, puzzled.

“You mean it? You wanna be my friend?”

“Yeah, um, sure I do,” she replied, re-centering herself on both heels before adding, “Hey look, there’s this um, ride over there,” she pointed off to the left promenade back toward the entrance. Avoiding eye contact she continued, “I bet you’d like it. Called the Dragon’s Gorge or something. Wanna try it?”

“Dragon’s Gorge? Sounds cool!” the kid perked up, gripping his suspenders and readying to run before she caught him.

“Actually yes, but we have to walk there. Like friends. No running off.”

“Oh yeah, sure.”

They began their stroll around the lagoon. Frances crossed her arms and sauntered along, the silvery sequins of her party dress clicking around. Luke fell into line and tried his best to match her pace, straying a little and then bouncing back whenever he saw a clown, a store, or something else which grabbed his curiosity.

Frances let her eyes linger on the tall, many-faceted glazed windows of the Grand Ballroom as they passed by. Within, a small band played jazz standards while a lady in an emerald green halter top sang to a delighted crowd of swishing, bobbing dancers. Tuxedoed arms caressed a menagerie of colorful dresses dotted with beads and furs, despite the heat. Occasionally, a pair of lips would steal a quick kiss when its owner suspected nobody else may be looking.

Frances hated it. The whole scene looked all too familiar. Pair after pair of happy couples dancing the night away with armfuls of each other. Here she was, alone and miserable like so many other dreary New York evenings. All she needed was a glass and the picture would be complete.

The emerald singer’s words floated out the double doors, tickling Frances’ ears and enticing her to think about something else. She allowed herself just a small respite to catch the lyrics.

Lonely days are long, twilight sings this song
Of the happiness that used to be
Soon my eyes will close, soon I’ll find repose
And in dreams you’re always near to me

Her mind greeted them, pulled them in, and allowed them to push out her ruminations. She turned them over and over again. The tune lilted and bounced around in her head until she found herself humming it while they strolled along the park promenade.

The kid drowned it out with, “You must like parties, huh?”

The question almost startled her out of the fantasy. “I like ’em, yeah. I like singing mostly, I wanted to be a singer before…” She left the sentence unfinished. It felt like the wrong thing to share at the wrong time.

“Oh, it’s okay, I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be a friends’ secret.”

She smiled, eyes shut, not meaning anything in particular by it and hoping he wouldn’t probe further.

Luke continued, “Is that why you wanna go to the club? So you can sing at a party again?”

The party slipped back into Frances’ mind. The room was dimly lit and cloudy with the culmination of two dozen cigarettes, the wisps of which all conjoined into a great fuzzy approximation of the reality behind them. The clinking of ice in one ear and the popping of a champagne cork in the other. Those were the most prominent sounds, a cacophony which drilled through the soft rags of the tinkling piano. She tasted salt, little drips flowing down from her eyes, over her nose and onto her lips. In her fantasy she was crying. Seriously? She wondered whether she could even cry now.

She shook her head. Luke watched her expectantly, but quietly left her alone with her thoughts this time. Her hands trembled and her head felt dull so she tried to change the subject, to think of something else – anything else.

“How about you kid, anything you wanted to do? You know, before, it happened. What did you wanna do when you grew up?” Nice Frances, that’ll help.

“Me?” Luke looked puzzled by the question, then wrapped both his hands around his chin and shouted, “Grow a beard!”

She giggled, her nose catching the air in a snort. Luke returned the laughter, and she found that the more he laughed the more she laughed back at him. The laughter caught her off guard and the more it continued the harder it was to stop. Finally, it subsided, and she coughed to shake the last out of her throat.

“That’s it? You want a beard?”

“Oh yeah, I mean I dunno if I can now but I always wanted to grow a real big white beard. So when I’m an old man I can say ‘hey you whipper-snappers, you get along ’fore I give you a caning!’” he mimicked wielding a stick in one hand while the other maintained his fingered beard.

Hands on her hips, Frances returned, “Wow Mr. Luke, you sure are a crochety old man.” Luke continued to smile but returned his hands to his pockets as he walked.

The Dragon’s Gorge now dominated the park before them. It presented itself as a gargantuan archway, appropriately guarded by two monstrous dragons on either side, each with a pair of glowing green eyes. The archway itself spanned a large recess which showcased a diorama of scenery and railways within. Occasionally, with a clatter and a scream of surprise, a train full of passengers would careen around a corner and then dip out of sight behind the next outcropping of faux rock.

Luke’s pace quickened as he skipped ahead to the entrance. There wasn’t much of a line and Frances was able to persuade Luke to wait with her for an empty car. He could do with some fresh manners anyway, and she didn’t much feel like sitting in the same seat as someone else. Literally.

What couldn’t have been five minutes passed in silence before a brakeman guided an empty train car onto the staging lane. It was adorned with heart-shaped scrollwork and even more dragon heads, these ones sticking their tongues out. Luke hopped into the back and Frances carefully stepped down into the wooden cart beside him.

A young couple, dressed down in casual wear, took their seats up front. Once they were settled, the brakeman let loose the cart and they began their rickety descent.

Frances’ stomach lurched as they rounded the first corner. She gasped as the train tilted back up a ramp and caught on a ratcheting lift. The clank-clank of the tracks drowned out any other noises the attraction may have been making as the train climbed higher and higher.

Out of the corner of her eye Frances caught the kid looking around, trying it seemed to get a glimpse of what came next. His big, round eyes put his circular face into a state of apparent worry. She immediately regretted suggesting this. The Dragon’s Gorge? At his age he should probably be on the teacup ride or something.

She gripped the handlebars as they crested over the ramp, the train briefly floating before thunderously clanking its way down to the other side straight into a narrow tunnel.

In the blink of an eye Frances found herself in a brightly lit scene, the train clacking away and swerving left and right, eliciting gasps from the couple ahead. All around was a carefully constructed miniature Grand Canyon. At least, that’s what it looked like. There were dusty red paper mache rocks forming a ridge high up above the tracks on both sides. Down below the tracks a trickling blue river of dyed water babbled in an artificial creek bed.

Up on one ridge was a makeshift teepee flagged by clotheslines of hanging pelts and a few large clay jars. On the other ridge sat six taxidermied buzzards all packed together, staring down with eyeless, beady faces at the passengers. As they trundled along, Frances envisioned them hunched over, tearing into a bony, decrepit steer like in some picture show. She tried not to think of what may have become of her body, the one she occupied for what seemed like a much shorter stint of life the more she pondered it. She felt parched in the artificial arid landscape.

Once or twice the brakeman yanked the lever, slowing the cart up with a jerking sensation as they plunged into another tunnel. Luke slid across the seat and was now sidled up to her, practically sitting on the beads of her dress, as his hands tightly clasped the handlebar.

The tunnel slipped away, revealing cool blue hues and the shimmering reflection of water on the ceiling. It was relieving to fly away from the desert so quickly, and Luke let out an audible “Aaah” as the forward passengers sighed with some mixture of relief and amusement.

All around the train were a menagerie of marine life. Schools of fish flitted this way and that on thin, complicated networks of wire. The dark blue rocks were speckled with purple corals, orange starfish, and wavy, shimmering green sea grass.

Twice Frances was sure the train was headed right for a rock face (and once a large tuna) before the wheels thundered them out of the way on a different course. The car rounded another corner and the scene opened up even more, boasting a great expanse filled with larger creatures. White ice sheets dotted the ceiling and chubby seals dove from them down through the air, disappearing around another rock with a mechanical click.

She could have believed for a moment she was truly beneath the ocean before the main attraction dominated the room: a panoramic view of the oceanic backdrop was thrust a great undersea ship. It was coppery, cigar-shaped, and decked out in portholes full of electric lights. The Vernian craft elicited a “Captain Nemo!” from the kid, who turned to Frances pointing at the vessel. Gasps of “ooh”s and “aah”s from the other two passengers showed that at least on some level they were impressed with this attraction.

She Frances didn’t want the scene to end. It actually felt sort of peaceful. She could forget for a minute that she was anywhere else than settled quietly on the bottom of the sea, watching the fish go by. She wondered whether when it was her turn she wouldn’t rather go walk the beach and see just how many fish Luke and her could spot if they wandered down into the Atlantic.

The next tunnel draped them in darkness all too quickly though, and her stomach lurched before she was sure the cart was being lifted up by another ramp, the tell-tale clattering of the track told her it had to be.

The ramp was much shorter this time, as Frances counted the seconds stopping short of the last ramp before the train stopped clanking and nosed down again. The tunnel forked hard to the left as the whole park came back into view. From within the archway’s diorama the park looked breath-taking. The yellow spots of warm light beaded every surface and were a blur from their speed. Park goers down below stood up, some waving at the train as it rolled along.

Luke gave a wave back, holding onto his cap and laughing gleefully as he shouted something nonsensical down between the dragon statues. It seemed like a nice finale. If given the option Frances fancied she’d like to get off and walk around some more. The brakeman pulled his lever once or twice but made no effort to stop the ride. The train crested one more ridge and then dove out of sight of the park into darkness again.

With more darkness came more speed. The sickening twists and turns became more jolting and jarring now. Frances couldn’t help but feel a strange, familiar sensation. Plunged into darkness, lurching this way and that as a set of mechanical wheels beneath her skidded and slid along, always on the edge of control. She felt her foot instinctively applying pressure with her toes, feeling around for a brake pedal which wasn’t there.

Frances yelped as a sudden ramp tipped the cart back. Her gut lagged behind, stretching out forward with the train’s momentum as their speed was stolen away by the incline. Now the cart creaked along, crawling toward a bright orange-red glow at the end of the tunnel.

Tantalizingly slow, the train emerged into a scarlet cavern illuminated by wrought-iron torches of open flame. The tracks rested on a trestle over another river, much like the Grand Canyon but this one burbled with thick, red lava. Or was it blood? Stalactites clung to the ceiling above the rectangular cavern, and Frances wished she kept her eyes fixed on them.

All around, the cave walls were pimpled with grotesque faces. Wretched mouths oozed pain from the slick rock below black eyes. Tears of thick red fluid seeped out of them. Frances felt herself clenching the handlebar and holding her eyes shut tight like some scared little girl. She forced them open gain and looked down into the river. It was occupied by a lone boatman in dark, tattered robes. He was posed in this the scene with a gold coin in one bony palm, while the other hand clutched a push pole.

Horrible, grasping, and plaintive hands rose up out of the river and clung to the boat while the boatman looked on, featureless beneath his charcoal hood.

On the other side of the seat, Luke began to shudder. His whole body trembled and shook, and when Frances leaned over to check on him she saw his face was wet. Streaks of slobbery boogers mixed with teardrops on his cheeks and he made no attempt to lift his arm or wipe them away. Oh, real great job, Frances.

She balled up as much of her hem as she could and attempted to wipe Luke’s face with it. To her surprise, it seemed to actually work. She quickly wrapped her arm around Luke. He was unexpectedly cold to the touch but he leaned into her while the train crept beneath the torch lit archway at the end of the cavern.

To her relief, the train slowly clacked around one last soft turn and screeched to a halt at the end of the staging platform. Ahead, the young lady was still still covering her eyes while her date laughed on. Ass.

Poor Luke was quiet, emitting only the occasional sniffle. She helped him up and out of the car. Another go was definitely not what he needed right now.

Frances walked him off away from the Dragon’s Gorge and down a grassy bank. It met a narrow river which meandered through the park. A myriad of little gondolas propelled by much friendlier-looking boatmen and their push poles chauffeured guests around lily pads and beneath white, heart-adorned bridges.

With no idea how to comfort Luke, she just said, “you know, I bet they take a whole day to change the light bulbs on that submarine. And the plumber probably has to wear galoshes just to work in the River Styx, what do you think about that?” Frances realized once again just how much she sucked with kids.

She laughed in a meager attempt to liven things up but it was no use. The little boy remained silent, and just took a seat at a small cafe table and chairs a few feet up the bank. Frances felt cold creeping in again. She wrapped her arms around herself and just stared into the rippling water, watching the ripples bounce of the beds of reeds and lily pads.

“Frances,” he asked timidly, “are we in hell?”

She couldn’t remember the last time she heard her name spoken. His voice sounded so small. It sounded hurt and scared and forgotten, like it might be buried and left behind for good. His words sent chills up her spine, and she struggled to feel warm inside and out. She clutched her dress tighter.

Frances chose her words carefully, but they still struggled to come out. “Oh Luke, where did you get an idea like that?” She strode over, not quite sure how close to get.

“Well, my momma taught me all about heaven. But this doesn’t seem like it. I never figured on being cold or scared or bored in heaven. So far as I can tell then this is, you know, the other place. But that ride – that ride is what I thought it was supposed to be like.”

She smiled grimly and pulled out the other cafe chair to sit beside him. He certainly was an intelligent little boy after all, wasn’t he?

“Luke, I don’t know much more than you do, but I know enough to be sure you aren’t in hell. And you shouldn’t say things like that. First of all, as far I can see we’re still in Brooklyn, and there’s a lot of folks around here who don’t strike me as the hellish type,” she paused to let it sink in. Behind Luke’s troubled, gray eyes she suspected the wheels were turning but he wasn’t quite believing her. Placing her finger under his chin, she continued, “Second, you’re too good a boy to go to hell.”

She brushed the dark bangs from her eyes and smiled again, as genuine a smile as she could muster. His round face still pursed with questions, his eyes darting across the lines of her face looking for what she assumed was comfort, answers, or both.

He started again, “But why then? Why are we here? When can we leave?”

“I wish I did know that.” This poor kid. He wasn’t frightened of some ride so much as he was afraid of the afterlife. The beyond. Sheesh, maybe I really am a miserable person. Maybe I do deserve to be stuck here. But he hasn’t done a thing wrong to deserve this. To deserve landing with me.

She patted him on the head awkwardly, as if he were her old spaniel, and tried her best to comfort him. Then and there Frances had a new goal, a reason to go on, do better, lift herself out of her funk. She was going to do her damnedest to make Luke’s eternity just a little bit nicer, whatever that took. It didn’t matter how bad she wanted out of it, how bad she wanted to dance or run or dive into a bottle, she’d figure it out somehow.

“Hey, how about you pick what we do next?” she said, patting his shoulder.

“Oh, I dunno, I think it’s your turn. Should we go to your party? You wouldn’t wanna be late.”

She tutted and waved the thought away with a hand, “Eh, that juice joint had no atmosphere anyway. Not like this place,” she gestured around to the still-glowing white minarets of the park.

He stirred in his seat. Then he asked in a soft, squeamish voice, “You mean you wanna have a party right here?”

Frances giggled. “Sure, right here. We got lights, we got guests, now all we need is a band.”

“You can sing!” he blurted.

She was taken aback, swallowing and rubbing her hands together. “Well, sure but I didn’t mean me. I mean, I’m not very good is all.”

“Oh it’s okay, I can plug my ears. Well there’s the boats too, but they can’t hear us anyway.” At her hesitation and upturned eyebrows he added, “C’mon, it’ll be great, it’s your dream right?”

A slight burning sensation behind the eyes unsettled Frances. She felt a twinge in her chest, and her nose felt a little runny. She did her best to swallow it down but the result was just a ball of butterflies rustling around in her gut as she stood up from her chair.

“Well, one song can’t hurt to get the party started eh?”

She bit her tongue and stepped gingerly away from the cafe tables, closer to the water’s edge. Her hands trembled oh so slightly, but she arrested them behind her back. She took a deep breath to steady herself and clumsily cleared her throat.

Frances parted her lips and allowed the pent-up lyrics, her favorites, to spill out.

Sometimes I wonder why I spend
The lonely nights
Dreaming of a song
The melody haunts my reverie
And I am once again with you
When our love was new
And each kiss an inspiration

The words felt strong, familiar, comforting, and warming. As she sang, Frances felt her lungs fill with air as if she hadn’t drawn breath for days – weeks even. Her chest swelled and she felt compelled to push, to show the melody out. She spun on her heels, arms out in the air, projecting the sweet verses.

But, that was long ago
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song
Beside the garden wall, when stars are bright
You are in my arms
The nightingale tells his fairy tale
Of paradise where roses grew

Her feet firmly planted, the tremors gone from her fingers, wrists, and arms, she belted the words. Each one complemented the last, the beat was driving and buttery smooth. Frances felt a tingling on the back of her neck, an electric current goading her on and rejuvenating her. Now she clutched her arms close together again, softening the attack and decay of her voice. She delivered the final verse just as strong, but infinitely more earnest.

Though I dream in vain, in my heart it will remain
My stardust melody
The memory of love’s refrain
Though I dream in vain, in my heart it will remain
My stardust melody
The memory of love’s refrain

She was panting now, and looked around under the yellow light of the park to see if anyone had heard. She shifted impatiently on her heels, and almost automatically, gave a short curtsy.

Luke ceaselessly clapped his hands together in his chair, so hard that it was rocking side to side on its uneven legs. Frances smiled, covering her teeth with one hand as he continued his applause with a standing ovation.

“That was amazing, amazing! How did you do that, how did you learn?” he babbled on and on, showering her with praise and compliments she felt she had little right to.

“I picked it up here and there. I had a tutor when I was younger, too.”

“I knew it, I knew I had to be in heaven. Only an angel sings like that.”

“You’re too sweet,” she tried to play it down, but if she was being honest with herself, Frances couldn’t remember the last time her singing was liked, let alone tolerated. It wasn’t the kind of thing an heiress in her family did, nor was it the kind of thing a boyfriend approved of her getting up on stage to do in front of their friends.

She felt good. Happy, even.

“Well, Luke, the party’s started. What shall we do next?” Might as well double down, she figured.

“Let’s look for bumper cars! Vroooom,” he started running around in a figure eight again, this time mimicking a steering wheel.

“Do you really think we can drive ’em?”

“Well, maybe not, but we could dodge them! Then we can pretend to get smashed, boom!” and he kicked backward, tumbling over onto the grass, giggling as his cap flew off his head.

His round face, the cap, and the amber glow of the lights all came crashing back onto Frances like wave after wave of shock. Her head felt light and her face tingled, leaving a clammy and bloodless sensation. She remembered the fuzzy, blind drunk dizzying sensation in her head. She remembered instantly the foggy avenue and her dim headlights, the lurching sensation as she struggled to maintain control.

She remembered the boy crossing the street.

She cupped her hand over her mouth and knelt down in the grass. She felt sick, wretched even. Her pitiful end coming back to her in one single motion was more than she could hold back, and the tears burned their way out of her eyes while she gasped for air. Her sniveling came in spurts at first, before her breath hitched and kick-started a train of gasps and wails.

“Oh no, oh Luke–”

Little Luke stood up from retrieving his cap and, upon seeing Frances on the lawn sprinted over to her side. He put a small and on her shoulder and sort of patted her the way she had done earlier.

“Hey, it’s okay, we don’t have to play that game. We can do something else.”

“No, it’s not that,” she gasped, “I just remembered how it happened. I’m pretty sure I know what happened to you, too.”

His eyes widened. She tried to control her heaves for air, and in between breaths she managed to get it all out.

“You were right, I do miss parties. I used to sing at clubs. I’d get in the car with my friends, my boyfriend, and we would all go. I wasn’t a very happy person. The crowd didn’t always like how I sang, so I would sit at the bar for a while. Dance a little, head to the next place and do it all over again.

“Well, one night I was singing. My date, he… Well, he ditched me. He didn’t like how I sang either. So I closed the place out – I was really sloshed. I got in my car and I started driving fast. Real fast. It was foggy, I couldn’t really see. I– I hit a small child. A boy. I don’t remember anything after that.”

Luke’s nose was running as he hiccuped, his eyes turning puffy and misty again.

“Luke, I am so, so sorry. Luke,” she stammered, “I’m the reason you’re dead. I’m the reason we’re both here. I killed us.”

His chest was heaving beneath his suspenders. Frances pulled him in close, wrapping her arms around him and gasping for breath.

He mumbled into the sequined shoulder of her dress, “you mean you died in a car crash? All alone? That’s so sad.”

He can’t really be thinking of me. The miserable drunk who runs over kids? She pulled away to look squarely in his puffy eyes, wiping her nose with her other hand as she did. “Luke, I did that to myself. But you didn’t deserve that. You’re a good person.”

“So are you, you’re my friend. Nobody deserves to die like that.”

Her chest still ached, tight with exertion and that burning, clenching sensation. She smiled anyway, straightening his cap. “Well,” she sniffled, “it’s because of me you’re not gonna get to grow a beard. I only hope one day I can make it up to you. I’m so sorry for what I did. I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Oh, I forgive you!”

He makes it sound so easy, like he doesn’t get it.

“Luke, I don’t think you understand–”

“No, really, I forgive you. You didn’t mean to hurt me, I know that. You were sad and lonely, you didn’t know what you were doing. But it’s okay, friends forgive each other.”

He dove into her shoulder and embraced her again, his warm arms wrapped around her neck tight. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine a world where she might have met this little boy walking around the city, just passing by. Or darting between her and her friends around Coney Island, racing off to the next attraction.

“Thank you, Luke.”

He kept his warm arms around her neck, refusing to let go. The warmth started to spread, and she could feel a growing radiance from his hands, arms, chin, and torso. She opened her eyes and saw she was bathed in white light. Not the incandescent strands dotting the park, but a hot glow.

“Luke, look! Let go, Luke!”

She pushed him away and showed him his hands. The glowed with a vibrant intensity, the light climbing up to spread from his fingertips up his arms. He gaped, turning his hands this way and that to watch the warm beams. Then he took a step back and checked the underside of his shoes as if he had stepped in something.

“Frances!”

His whole body was enveloped now; he looked like his whole body was wreathed in white-hot flame tinged in blue. She stared at him, mouth open, a flutter returning to her gut as she clasped her hands together. Her breathing had calmed, the heaving in her chest ceased. All she felt was Luke’s great subliminal warmth.

“Luke, what– how do you feel?”

“I feel great! I feel so warm,” he remarked before licking his lips, “and I taste again. And smell again!”

She didn’t know what to think. Everything she saw defied thinking, no rational logic or deduction or assumption could help her understand what she was experiencing. But she did feel something, a clinging, overwhelming joy she couldn’t shake.

“Luke, I think you get to go now,” she excitedly exclaimed as she took his little hands and shook them.

“I get to go?! Oh yippee, I get to go, I get to go!” he stamped and jumped up and down in place, then quickly faltered. “Wait, what about you?”

It was not lost on Frances that she was the same pale figure without sensation that she had been. In her excitement this failed to bother her, although now that she reflected on it, she decided she didn’t feel that bad about it. She was glad, and confident that someone, somewhere had made the right choice.

“Oh, well, maybe it’s not my time yet. But don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright. You’re gonna get to see some amazing things.”

Despite her reassurance, he protested, “But I wanna see them with you. Friends stick together. Besides, they gotta hear your singing in heaven, you’d make a beautiful angel.” He paused, screwing his face tight in thought again, before exclaiming, “I got it! I forgave you, so you gotta forgive me back.”

“But you haven’t done a single wrong thing to me. You never hurt me.”

“Well, maybe then you gotta forgive you too.”

No, that wouldn’t do. Maybe Frances did deserve what she got. She lived a pretty miserable life, she figured her afterlife ought to meet expectations. She tried to assure him again by saying, “Luke, I don’t think it can work for me. You should go by yourself. You’re a brave boy, you’ll be alright.”

“But that’ll leave you all alone. I don’t want you to be alone. I’ll stay with you,” he half-tripped as he stumbled up to her and wrapped his little arms around her tight again, clenching like he had no intention of letting go.

Forgive myself. She closed her eyes. He made it sound easy. It wasn’t what she deserved. She couldn’t remember forgiving herself for much. She blamed herself for how her mother and father felt about her. Blamed herself when nobody liked her singing. Blamed herself when every boyfriend walked out on her. Heck, now she was guilty of running down a child and she was downright positive that was worth blaming herself over.

Luke hugged her tighter, little white and blue wisps floating off of his shoulder and streaming up into the air around them.

He’s a good kid. He’ll be happier once he’s with his people. More likely than not, Luna Park’s a whole lot better up there anyway. Maybe he could even grow a beard up there without having to be an old man. He would understand one day. Some people were just bad and they didn’t get to be redeemed, not by a few lousy roller coasters anyways.

The boy nestled his face into her hip, pushing into her and holding on even tighter. The wisps grew stronger now, little blue coronas shooting off like sparks from his hat and shoes.

He’s a good kid. He made it sound so easy. Maybe if he doesn’t think I’m so bad, then maybe I’m not so bad. Frances took a deep breath again and held it. She put a hand on his cap, distorting and flickering the warm light as she did. Maybe I can do it as easily as he can. She let her breath back out, allowing a shred of guilt to go with it.

Luke’s warm light sparked and flickered once more. She lifted her fingers from his cap to find her index and middle finger radiating a white gleam. The blue-tinged fiery luminescence climbed down her outstretched hand and flowed up her arm to her heart where an all-encompassing heat grew. It spread out through every vein, nerve, and pore of her consciousness, like her soul was wrapped in a freshly ironed blanked.

“You did it, you did it!” Luke looked up, beaming from ear to ear.

Suddenly Frances was aware her feet weren’t even touching the ground anymore, as she and Luke hovered over a foot off the ground. She smiled and laughed, and gestured frantically with her arms, “Luke we did it, you did it! How can I ever thank you?”

“It’s my turn, and tag, you’re it!” And quickly as he could, Luke began to doggie paddle through the air, climbing with every stroke such that he was now about twenty feet off the ground.

“Oh no, you don’t, I’m gonna get you!” Frances gave chase, back stroking her way out over the river, paying no mind to the height as she and Luke climbed far up over the lagoon, past the illuminated tower.

They took turns, invariably chasing each other through the night sky on their journey. They paid no attention to the attractions of the park and the returning parade of elephants. No more did they look to take in sights of the city’s skyline, or the indigo sky and its first burgundy rays of daylight. No living soul saw, or would ever be able to discern them from two twinkling bright candles, flickering once again each before they vanished together into the starry skies beyond.