ON BEING A GHOST

I watched a movie in my old bedroom on my laptop. A black and white movie. Black and white, but not old. New. I watched it, and my mind wandered from it as I tried to discern whether I was hearing raindrops or heavy footsteps behind the soundtrack to the film. Heavy clumps of rain, or the heavy clop of feet on cement. I couldn’t be sure, but as I looked out the window, half-anticipating the image of a man of some sort heading down the driveway in the dark, I imagined that I needn’t be afraid, because I no doubt looked like a ghost from outside that window, to someone looking in on me. I no doubt looked like a ghost, sitting there in the dark, lit up by the white glow of my computer, perhaps flickering a bit due to the movement of the film, sitting very still and looking very solemn as I did. It is comforting to realize that you look like a ghost to whoever might be looking in on you. It is comforting to appear frightening. It is comforting to appear unreal. It is comforting to be illuminated and fearsome.