Believing in ghosts

Ghosts -- they come in all shapes and sizes and, yes, I do believe in them. I have felt the sadness and the heaviness at Gettysburg and Arlington Cemetery and a cold chill go down my back when I took that final walk into my gramps’ house to pack up his life. I even feel the presence of the ghost living in my dishwasher; I named his Terrance. But the strongest ghost I ever felt was the ghost of my former self.

The summer before my freshman year of high school, I packed up my room and moved from my Baltimore suburb to Michigan. That was my first move, but it wouldn’t be my last. Of all the times since then that I have packed up and changed zip codes, the first one has stuck with me the most. 

Maybe it was because I had to grow up and say goodbye to my childhood home or maybe because it was the furthest distance. I’m not sure. But whatever the reason, that life changing moment has stuck with me to this day.

Hurricane Floyd

I have always had an obsession with thunderstorms. Ever since I was a little girl, I remember the butterflies that would instantly inhabit my stomach the minute the weatherman predicted a summer downpour. I would spend the entire day outside with my neck craned up, waiting for the first drops to fall.  The minute they did, all the neighborhood kids would book it inside while I headed for the cul-de-sac in front of my house. With my arms spread out to either side, I would spin in the hot summer rain until I couldn’t stand anymore. Then I would lie on the pavement and watch the rain come shooting down on me. Looking back, lying in the middle of the street probably wasn’t the safest idea I ever had. 

           

The weather was always hot and sticky growing up near the Maryland Seaboard, creating a pressure system that always invited thunderstorms to venture down towards us. The best part was, I never knew where they would come from. The pilot side of my dad taught me how to watch for fronts and different kinds of clouds. I was the only six-year-old who knew how storms traveled from west to east and that different clouds sat at different elevations. I didn’t know which Power Rangers had which powers, but I knew a cumulus cloud’s base hovered around 6,500 feet. I knew the jet streams would bring the storm clouds over our house from the backyard to the front. 

But living close enough to the coast meant that hurricanes could whirl in from the east and catch me off guard. I loved that surprise. Whenever my neighbors started boarding up their windows and charging extra batteries, I would sit and stare out our screen door, waiting for the dark clouds to roll in. Every so often I would glance at the floor at my retriever, Bailey. She hated storms, so whenever one would get close, she would start getting nervous and I would start getting excited.

           

Hiking in Cunningham Falls

To this day, I still am not one hundred percent sure how I got blamed for what happened. I usually am the one who ends up with the accusing finger pointed in her face, and I long ago accepted that as one of my many character flaws. But I still can’t quite figure out how the girl with the broken foot got blamed for hitchhiking on the highway.


A tradition at Wilde Lake Middle School was the class trip to Summit Lake every June. We were middle schoolers so we had graduated to the next level of field trip, a three-day excursion without our parents. I don’t remember a single kid who wasn’t excited about that. 


Just like everyone else, I was looking forward to the trip. Three days of hiking, s’mores and scary stories sounded like heaven. But I was even more excited that my mother agreed to let me go. Two weeks before the trip, I had an unfortunate accident with a flight of stairs and a student who had revenge in his eye during a fire drill. He hadn’t been a fan of mine since I mildly embarrassed him during a softball game. Could I help it that he pitched one right down the center? Or the fact that my bat made perfect contact with the ball, sending it back the way it came? No, not anymore than I could help it that the ball hit him square in the groin, or the fact that he fell to the ground crying while I rounded the bases.