“What in the world happened, Xavier?” my Dad asked. I didn’t know where to start. I couldn’t tell him about the ghosts, the Burger King monster, or how Gigi was connected to it all. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. I could barely believe it either, and I went through it.

I strew in as many normal-sounding excuses as possible, none of which were that convincing. I knew that my Dad didn’t believe me, but he did not press the issue. I assume he felt my uneasiness, and decided it was a conversation for another time. Apple, on the other hand, was more persistent.

“How did you end up staying at Gigi’s house? What happened to the car? Did you do well in school today?” All these questions were hard for me to answer truthfully.

“Calm down with the questions, Naomi,” Dad said giving me a look that definitely meant that we were going to have a long talk about this afterwards. It seems like Xavier has had a hard day today. Let’s give him some rest for now.”

The rest of the car ride was silent. When we got home, I went up to the room and stared into my bathroom mirror. My drooping face and my raccoon eyes showed my tiredness despite the long nap I took. There was just too much to digest. The encounter with Gigi, the attack at the Burger King, staying at Gigi’s house, the offer to work as a ghost hunter. I knew I could not take on the position. I neither had the expertise or desire to use my ghost seeing powers in such a way. Talking to ghosts was only a hobby, in one I held no confidence to use in the hunting ghost workforce. Still though, Gigi’s words affected me more than I initially thought. I did feel obligated to use my powers to help others; I knew that only a few like me existed and could help defend others against these ghost attacks. But it could not be. Regardless of my supernatural ability, I was just a normal, useless kid. I could never participate in something this massive, this crazy.

Dinner was similarly quiet. Dad cooked Italian sausage with linguine along with some herbs and steamed broccoli--delicious as always. Dad didn’t speak about last night's incident. He talked a bit about office work and plans for enlarging the garden. Apple and I just nodded. Apple looked at me accusingly, but besides the occasional glance, she barely acknowledged me. I felt like a stranger in my own house.

After dinner, I watched the dishes as Apple played video games from the living room sofa. After I finished, I started walking towards the stairs to my room. As I reached the stairs, a grizzly hand touched my right shoulder

“Have a moment to talk?” Dad asked. He looked at me with calm, yet serious eyes.

“Yeah, sure.”

We sat down on the living room sofa. I tried my best to hide my uneasiness. I had no idea what to say. I knew Dad wanted to talk about the truth of what happened last night. The lies I told him and Apple in the car convinced him as much as a telemarketer scam. I racked my head to find any logical explanations for these past events. If I told him the truth, he would only think I was lying, like when I was a little kid.

“Listen, Xavier. I know you lied to me about what happened last night. I don’t know what exactly happened or what trouble you may have gotten into." He took a long breath before continuing. “I don’t know what you did, but I trust you did the right thing. If you don’t want to tell me the particulars, that’s fine” My surprised face must have caught Dad’s attention as he increased the sternness in his voice.

“Now I’m not saying that you're off the hook for what happened. You know well enough how important it is for you to return home before dinner. I’ll have to find some suitable punishment. Yes, something like...paying for Naomi’s piano lessons.” He scratched his head.

“For goodness sakes, I’m not fit for playing the mean parent. I wish I had some of your mom’s hardness so I wouldn’t raise such spoiled brats.” He patted my head. “So, you don’t have to tell me the specifics about what happened, Xavier. Just know how much it means to both me and Apple that you're safe. We care about you kid. Heck, Apple couldn’t even finish her dinner yesterday and you know how much the kid likes to eat. Just be more aware of other peoples’ feelings.” He got up from his seat. “Well, you can go to bed now Xavier. Goodnight.”

“Good night, Dad. I’m sorry, for everything. I’ll try to tell you more of the truth that happened eventually, but it’s like you said I did nothing wrong. I promise.”

“I believe you kid. That’s the one thing I’m sure about you. You might be a bit dumb, a bit crazy and immature, a bit of an old soul in ya, but you're a good kid. That’s the one thing me and the miss made sure of.”

I went to bed feeling awful. I desperately wanted to tell the truth, to explain to my dad and Apple about the ghosts, the ghost hunters, the offer I received. I wonder whether my dad would agree with my decision. He always believed in following my heart, so he would likely agree with me. However, we’re also tight for money. A job as rare as that should pay well. Regardless, I could not tell Dad about my ghost seeing ability. He didn’t believe me back then. Dreams, night terrors he said. When I insisted, both he and Mom got worried. Daily hallucinations? Possibly the symptoms of some debilitating mental disease. I didn’t want them to believe that I had schizophrenia or was otherwise unwell, so I quit trying to convince them. Bringing that fact up now, would only make me appear as an even greater liar or worse. It would make Mom’s death feel far worse for the both of us

Mom was an angel: a perfect being without fault or blame. Dad always said she was too good for this world. Despite all the financial issues Dad struggled through or his bout with alcohol addiction, Mom was always there for him. Mom believed in the best of people. Her motto was that behind every evil person was a tragic backstory and a desire to reform. We all knew it was wishful thinking, but the way she said it and acted in her life probably could temporarily convince even the starkest cynic. She gave luxuriously to charity and spent time teaching underprivileged kids in poverty-stricken areas. She also forced Apple and I to show greater care and consideration for those around us. We were always told to help other people even when the person themselves thought they were beyond saving. “The greatest thing in life,” she would always say, “is making the blind man see and paraplegic walk again.”

I was twelve years old when my mom died. She did not have a painless passing. Her final days were spent in immense physical agony. She suffered from dermatomyositis, an auto-immune disease that weakened her muscles and caused the development of a distinct skin rash. At 45 years old, she struggled to walk, to breathe, even to swallow. On bad days, she couldn’t even stand, relying on a wheelchair for transportation. She dealt with constant muscle and ache pain to the point that she disregarded her opinions on pharmaceutical drugs and started taking pain pills just to fall asleep at night. It was hard to watch, especially given how lively and active Mom had been before. Her dark hair faded, her bright dimpled cheeks turned gaunt and lifeless and even the diamond wedding ring she always wore seemed to lose some of its luster. I never said it out loud, and I felt guilty for even thinking about it, but at times I couldn’t even look at her during her worst.

She would always have this way of smiling when things were at their worst. When the pain inside her was reaching a boiling point or during times of significant sleep deprivation she would transform all the hurt she felt at that moment into a colossal, toothy grin. The grin was supposed to be comforting, but for me it only showed how strained she was to keep both me and Apple happy despite all she was going through. It made me feel like a burden.

Despite her poor condition, she still managed to care for the family, to help cook meals with Dad, to read bedtime stories to Apple, to give me homework advice. She pushed herself to live like how she was before the onset of the disease. Mom even continued maintaining her vegetable garden, although Dad often argued with her about it. The doctor said she needed to be careful. Dad scolded her, telling to lay down and let him take care of things for now on. Mom refused. She argued that if she was just going to lay down and sleep all day, she might as well be dead. The joy she gained from helping me and Apple, to act as a functioning member of our family, provided her the energy to continue through the pain. The lady was strong beyond all words: regardless of the circumstances, she would do anything to preserve our happy family. Then the fall happened.

Gigi and I were playing tag in the yard. Mom was sitting in her wheelchair looking down at us from the patio stairs. Dad was at his job working full time as a sales manager. Before he left for work, he told me to look out for Mom to make sure she didn’t do anything too risky. To that end, I tried my best to watch over Mom while running away from Apple. However, I was a stupid kid, and ten minutes in I completely forgot to keep track of Mom. I chased Apple down the yard until I saw the figure of a young man wearing a business suit sitting on the ground. He sat cross legend with a book in his lap. He laid right in front of the path where Apple was running and didn’t even look from his book when the young girl ran right through him. I came to a stop where the ghost was sitting. He raised his head, acknowledging me before going back to reading his book. I was about to run past him before he called out to me.

“You’ve certainly grown, boy.” I stopped in my tracks.

“Sorry mister, but I don’t know you.”

“Fair enough. I never really got the chance to know you. My fault really, but I didn't know how much of a dashing young man you would be.” My ego took the young man's comment a bit farther than it was intended.

“I am pretty manly, am I mister.”

“Certainly,” the ghost said, looking up from his book. He stood to face me, towering over me by at least 8 inches. “And yet, at heart, you're such a little kid.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What I said of course, but don’t worry. It's the sad thing in life that often makes us grow. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your game. I just had to pay a little visit before I go.”

“So, you don’t want anything mister?”

“No. In fact, I’ve already gotten what I needed. Thank you so much for this conversation.” I heard a large thump from near the patio stairs. “You better go check on that,” the ghost said. It seems pretty dangerous, and I know a thing or two about danger.” The ghost vanished in a cloud of smoke.

Both Apple and I ran to where I heard the sound. Mom had fallen out of her chair, crashing down the stairs and breaking her right arm and left leg. Apple cried so hard that I had to cover her mouth when talking to the 911 operators.

From then on, Mom was never the same. She was delirious, having visions of people who weren’t there and not seeing people who were. She suffered terrible nightmares that resulted in panic attacks when she finally woke up. She had to be hospitalized, unable to care for her essentials. The doctors said she had little time left. Before I knew it, she had passed.

The family was never the same after the incident either. Dad was distraught, Apple had horrible nightmares for months after the incident, and I, unable to truly accept that she died, fully lost myself into the ghost world. I searched for her there, desperately trying to see if I could talk to her one last time and beg for forgiveness for having not paid attention to her when she needed it most. Dad didn’t blame me. Apple certainly didn’t blame me, but I felt fully responsible for what went down. It was my duty to look after her, and I failed. Even now, although our family acts as happy and silly as we do, we all hurt a bit inside from what happened. Some wounds can only be seen from the inside.