Being the only sick kid on the small property of four houses, two toward the front of the old dirt road and two toward the back near the river, gave me a lot of time alone.
I had to watch my friends play without me from my bedroom window. They would gather under my window sill to say hello and ask me how sick I really was and if I was going to die?"I did," I told them. "On the operating table, the doctor told my mom that I died, but they brought me back,"
A hush came over them, looking up at me with eyes of fright. "You're not a ghost, are you?"
"No," I laughed. "I told you, the doctors brought me back from being dead. I'm really alive," I undid the hook from the window and slid my hand through. "Here, you can touch it, see?"
Tentatively, they all reached up with each of their hands and went to touch mine simultaneously. Except each and every one of their hands went right through mine. They recoiled back, eyes wide with fear and disgust. Perfect timing because in the next second, I screamed and howled bloody murder as best my ghostly form could do. They scattered, running and crying hysterically, their lives permanently scarred. Of course, I died. Idiots.
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