A Ghost In Frame - Short Essay for Handbasket Zine.

I wrote this piece a few months back for Handbasket zine, a small online publications that showcases short format writing from LGBTQ+ writers.

A Ghost In Frame

There is a ghost that lives in the glass of a picture frame in the hallway of our sublet. I don’t know if the ghost moved in with us, a stowaway, carried in the frame from some previous apartment, or if they took up residence in the glass when we arrived here in Oakland. The ghost isn’t necessarily scary, it just is. I mean no offense to the ghost if fear is their intention, personally I’m glad that the ghost is a seemingly benign presence in our lives. I’m not sure how well I would handle a malevolent haunting with all the other stressors I’m currently navigating. 

You won't see the ghost if you’re looking for it. I think. Looking directly at the frame, you will only see the art inside and perhaps the reflection of our dining room in the glass. The only way to catch a glimpse of the spirit is in passing. If you are walking down the hallway, perhaps in a hurry, looking for your keys or a hat that you just had in your hand but is now nowhere to be found, not paying any attention to what is or isn’t reflected in the glass, that’s when you’ll see the ghost. Just there in the glass, standing in the dining room, waiting to be noticed. 

I’m convinced that the ghost is real; also, in account of it’s realness, I suppose the ghost should have a name. So, we’ll call the ghost Percy; a name that is both a bit anachronistic and non-threatening. I am convinced that Percy is real, primarily because of the consistency of their appearance. I see Percy, idling casually in the glass, several times a week. That frequency of Percy sightings seems significant, like, one or two ghost sightings can be brushed off. Percy on the other hand is practically a third housemate.

Thinking about it now, I suppose the argument could be made that Percy doesn’t live in the glass but in actuality resides in our dining room. I suppose that would be a valid theory, but the evidence available to me would suggest otherwise. Percy only appears reflected in the glass of one specific picture frame. There are several other reflective surfaces that Percy could appear in around the dining room; including two long glass cabinet doors perfect for the reflecting of spectral entities; and to this moment Percy has not shown up in any of them. 

Sam, my boyfriend, has yet to see Percy. So, the argument could be made that I am in fact dealing with a nascent neurological disorder and Percy, the benevolent dining room spectre, is simply the early warning sign of my inevitable mental collapse. But, what fun would that be? It’s much better to be the Christina Ricci in a ghostly romp than the Russel Crowe in some boring Oscar bait. (Wait, do I want to make out with Percy?) Or perhaps Sam is willingly ignoring Percy because he is, as the kids in the 1950s might say, a “fraidy cat.”

Maybe I need to believe that Percy is real because I haven’t seen any of my friends or family in person in almost two months. That isn’t revelitory I suppose, we’re all in the same leaky boat these days. Percy, in their own silent and ominous way, is company. I can trust Percy to be there in the glass more than I can trust most things about the current world. As I scuttle around our shotgun apartment, stacking and restacking piles of books, picking up abandoned socks, I am comforted by the idea that Percy is hovering nearby, observing our domestic bumbling. 

We’ve all become a touch ghostly as of late. Drifting listlessly between tasks that grow increasingly arbitrary and mechanical, moaning all the while for a past that we miss despite its flaws. As is usually the case with ghosts, I see myself reflected in Percy. The next time I pass the frame I will say hello to Percy. Yes, I am well aware of how this sounds. Charming and rational, right? It sounds charming, rational, and polite in fact. I won’t wait around and bother the poor fellow, but I will say hello, briefly, and continue about my business of touching things and rearranging various objects. I really think that Percy and I might have a lot in common.