12/25/12

Dear Angela

By: Lee Thomas Penn

-Son of-

Thomas Lee Penn

Dear Angela,

           

I need to inform you of a matter of the utmost importance. I know sensitive information, and yet you will not believe me unless I relate some details about my situation.

I’ve kept a close eye on you for some time, yet I couldn’t say for how long. I live in your apartment with you; I’m a spirit. Oh, please don’t think of me as a “ghost” or a “phantom.” That would just kill me! I’m not sinister, Angela, like that bloody poltergeist three buildings East. I promise. I sleep under the left-most couch cushion, when facing the television.

You’re my best friend, Angela – I know everything about you. You can’t help but giggle (it’s a lovely, mouse-like giggle) when you look at photographs of children in costume. I look forward Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday evenings when you roll out a yoga mat and do sit-ups in front of the television. Did you know that you tend to lose count and only do 98-99 or so sit-ups and not 100? I thought you should be aware. Did you know that you smell a bit like ginger and cactus flowers? Well, you do. I’m sorry – I’m gushing. I’ve just never had the courage to say anything to you before.

I haven’t the slightest idea how I came to live in our cozy apartment or when. I can only remember events, like when your boyfriend broke up with you and you wept on your bathroom floor for 235 minutes. I have forgotten what it feels like to love. You wouldn’t let any of your friends see you in such a morbid state, but I watched it all, touched every tear. Your eyes were bloated, and your cheeks turned blue. Dare I say it was beautiful? You had one arm clutched around the toilet as if it were a headstone, crying. Always crying. The other arm clutched a tub of Rocky Road ice cream. You dripped it everywhere, poor thing; you were so frightened of the future. Such a cold, shivering, breathing body. I remember it all. You cried as if you had suffered your whole life, and it all came tragically to a head with this one man who hurt you. Pain had been lurking behind the mousey giggles and your wine parties and the seven minutes every morning staring at your face in the mirror. I could smell it in the air. Oh, Angela! I tried to cheer myself up by playing in the tracks of your melted ice cream that night, yet I was too, too sad for you. And then Richard from the apartment above came and checked on you. Richard… Richard… Sour smell… Wait, no it’s gone.

I also remember when the homeless man solicited you for money through the front door — doors are such a humorous concept for me. You sounded very brave as you turned him away, but I could tell that you were frightened. And understandably so! I’ve learned to read the rhythms of your heart, Angela, and it was beating dangerously. He died two hours later, so you probably don’t have to worry about him anymore. Something about a bus: I don’t quite recall.

I’m supposed to tell you something important, and yet I can’t quite remember what it is. Honestly, I can’t even remember my own name. Oh, but it feels so good to finally talk to you!

I’ve explored every square inch of your apartment while you have been away at work during the day. I quite like our home! Have you ever followed the pipes to see where they go? I flit through the silky clothes in your closet and rebound off of the picture frames lining your walls. Tell me, what was Rome like? I’ve always wanted to explore the crypts under the Vatican; I hear that it’s a regular party down there.

I especially like it when you take a shower. I dance around in the steam — it tickles me all over, if you were curious. When you’re like me, you can hop from bubble to floating bubble with ease. I have to keep myself from laughing. Oh, and so that you are aware, you tend to miss a spot on your left elbow, between your shoulder blades, and on the back of your right thigh. You’re a beautiful girl.

Sometimes I talk to Suzette when you go to work. She’s rather smart for a bird and would like to let you know that she appreciates the new seed. Your plants, on the other hand, bore me to death. They’re always whispering about dew points and changes in the weather, the droll fibers. Do consider adopting a Venus Fly trap or a Pitcher Plant, Angela.

On other occasions, I pay a visit to the specters in the neighborhood, although they offer poor company. My acquaintance down the block shrieks all the livelong day, and I can’t get a word in edgewise. She clutches her wrists and screams something about her children. Horribly impolite. Another chap wears a belt about his neck and makes a sport out of scaring old women.

“I’ll teach them to build high rises and duplexes near my castle!” he hollers, waving a condensed fist and spewing ectoplasm. He tells me that I should take over your body and cause mischief: that it’s quite fun. But, I’d never possess your body, Angela.

I apologize. I seem to have forgotten the focus of my letter. I do have something to say, Angela, but I just can’t remember it. I’ve wanted to speak to you for so long that I get caught up at times.

I do need to eat. Every night I stand outside of your bedroom and stare at the door, waiting for you to fall asleep. Your breathing regulates, I slip through the keyhole, and I position myself right in front of your face. I’m so close that I could kiss you if I still had lips. So, I sit there and count the hairs on your chestnut head or stare at the mole hidden under your eyebrow and wait for you to dream. When you breathe out, you exhale the sweetest morsels of dream. I devour these greedily. You woke up once while I was enjoying a light brunch of nightmare goulash, and I think you saw me. You shouted some gent’s name, and I darted up to the ceiling before you could finish a blink. As I stared down at you, I felt absolutely terrible. Your chest heaved up and down fitfully for 22 minutes. Poor dear: I didn’t mean to frighten you. You slept terribly after that, and I had to settle for sparse snacks.

Here, I’ll stop taking up your time. I’ll read over my letter from the beginning, and the purpose of its creation will come to me again.

Ah, I remember now! How could I have forgotten this? You left your apartment on a trip two weekends ago, and you asked Richard from the unit over yours to take care of Suzette and water your plants. Now, I’m only telling you this because I’m a resident, and I have the right to move about our apartment without being harassed. Otherwise, I wouldn’t intrude upon another’s business. Well, Richard fed Suzette and made sure that your plants would live, but he also brought tools and cables and the like. Please don’t think me a gossip, Angela. He used the weekend to install cameras into your apartment: one in the kitchen, one in the living room, one in your bedroom, and two in your bathroom. They’re hidden in such a way that you can’t see them unless you look very carefully. He spends all day watching our apartment on his computer monitor.

Angela, you must take these cameras down because they make it intolerably difficult to move about our apartment unseen. Sometimes I bump into things. I value my privacy, and I don’t feel comfortable with that horrid man watching me. I don’t like this Richard – he spends all day collecting things: comic books, sugar packets, and even his own toenails. He keeps them all in jars, locked away in his guest bedroom. Did I mention that he smells of milk stains and fish oil? Well, I’m particularly exposed when you bathe because my movements disrupt the rising steam. He also loosened the ceiling of your closet and dropped down into your apartment shortly after you left for work this morning. I was having a lovely conversation with Suzette, and he almost caught me unawares. He dug through your underwear drawer and paraded about the place in only your knickers, posing and bending, much to my horror. I should not be subject to such abominable sights, Angela.

I insist that you either speak with this exhibitionist and come to some sort of understanding or we move away immediately. Please, for my sake. I have my rights. I’m ready to leave whenever you are, Angela.

Fondly,

-The Spirit from Apartment 274