Smoke signalsA Story by Karen PrestonGhost story
The girl was naked;
her back leaned against the birch tree like she was part of it. Blonde pieces
of hair were turned white by the moon. You watched her from the old
convertible your dad had given you; it’s top was stuck down behind the
back seat. The girl’s eyes
were closed, and the moonlight had painted her skin blue. White strands
rose up and fell through the breath of the forest. You were afraid
if you turned off the engine she would disappear. Your hands slid down the
curve of the car’s steering wheel without your knowing. The girl wished
you had been there. She would have liked a friend. She was a fan of the old
movie actress Brigitte Bardot. Some days she would tell people Brigitte
and she were friends. Then she would take a drag from her cigarette and
say she was sending smoke signals. Just like you, she loved her gold
aviator sunglasses, even though hers had so many hairline scratches. She
said with them she could be a movie star or the invisible man. She said a lot
of things when they let her. You got out of
your car. Your hand held onto the side, over the crack where the power
windows slid up and down. Your eyes had not left her; they had fallen in
love. A twig broke between your foot and the pine needle floor of the forest.
She faded away. You started to run towards the grove of birch. The ground
was impressionable around her tree, and you left footprints as you searched.
Though there was a scent in the air of lavender and vanilla, she had not left a
mark. It had started to rain as you walked back to your car. Sitting down in
the seat you saw something on the passenger side floor. You reached down and
picked up a pair of gold aviator glasses. In the reflection of the twin lenses
you saw her. She had on your clothing. Your heart went fast forward. You
looked in the back seat. It was empty. Taking a breath you looked at the
reflection in the glasses again. You moved your right hand up to your face. In
the glasses her image made the same gesture. What could you do? You put the
glasses on and lit a cigarette. You sent smoke signals and waited. © 2012 Karen Preston |
AuthorKaren PrestonBoston, MAAboutI am an artist. Most of my work is digital collage. I just started writing as new way to express myself. more..Writing
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