Greetings from Mr. Greenbaum
by K.L. Johnston
I was cooking supper when Mark came into the kitchen, chopping vegetables for chicken stew. He stood and watched me for a moment, and I kept chopping, waiting for him to say whatever was important. He was looking a little flushed, like he was working up the courage to say something. If he had time to pull his thoughts together, the stutter was almost non-existent.
“Mom”
“Yes, Dear One?”
“I think I just saw a ghost.”
“At five in the afternoon?” I arched my eyebrows. “What makes you think it was a ghost?”
He thought about that for a minute. “It wasn’t one of Dr. Vinckman’s full body appa… appa… apparitions. I could see him, but I could see through him too.”
Good, his sense of humor was working. I transferred the carrots and onions and celery to the pot of broth. I knew this conversation had to come sometime. We had moved here to get away from his father. After our previous life, ghosts were not that scary.
“And where did you see this ghost?”
“In the closet in the front hall.”
I frowned. “What were you looking for in the front hall closet?
He sighed. “It makes a good place to stash my soccer gear.”
We’d had this discussion before. “You mean the stinky soccer gear that you might forget to wash over the weekend?” I started chopping the chicken into chunks.
“Mmmhmmm. Mom that’s not relevant right now. He’s in the hall closet and he smells.”
“Worse than your sox?”
There it was. The eyeroll. He hadn’t perfected it yet, not like his big brother, but he’d get there with practice.
“Ok so it’s not a good thing. What’s he doing in there?”
“I don’t know. Just hanging there. Dripping.”
I smiled but said, “Ick. You know, that would be Mr. Greenbaum. He was the very first ghost I ever saw. I met him when I was just a little girl visiting Aunt Thea. Actually, that’s pretty polite for him to solidify enough for you to see him. Shut the door for now and I’ll come and check on him later.” When I got around to checking on Mr. Greenbaum, he would be gone. He always was.
“He’s dripping on my soccer bag.”
“Well, I don’t think he means anything by it. And if you put your soccer gear in your room like I’ve asked you to….”
“It’s just convenient to put it in there. Then I don’t have to carry it all the way upstairs before I get a snack and all the way back down to do the laundry.”
I could admire his logic. I suppose it was better than leaving his bag on the stairs. “Ok so put it in the laundry room. We’ll wash your uniform this evening, but for now, give Mr. Greenbaum his space and some time to go away.”
“Damn. Now my stuff’s going to smell like ghost shit.”
“Mark! Watch your mouth. Now you can do that particular load of laundry all on your own just to make sure you get my point about listening to reminders and watching your mouth. Did you ever think that Mr. Greenbaum might feel the same way about your stinky sports gear?”
‘Sorrreeee.. just shoot the messenger why don’t you. You know people at school hassle us because we live in a haunted house, right? Can I have a snack?”
“Not a very smooth change of subject boyo, but nice try. Obviously, they’re not cool enough to handle living in a haunted house. Is it a problem?” I tossed him a stalk of celery. The one thing his quick-fisted father was terrified of was the paranormal. With the ghosts that had accumulated in this house, it was like we had our own security team.
He shook his head in disgust. “Mostly they’re just making lame jokes. I’d like to see how they handle Mr. Greenbaum shi…. Dripping on their gym bags.” His face lit up. The glee was unholy. “Hey! Can I have some guys over?”
I gave him my patented Grimace of Motherly Doom. “And that wasn’t even remotely transparent. Not yet. We haven’t lived here long enough. And even though Mr. Greenbaum’s not dangerous, he’s not a performance artist.” My Aunt Thea on the back stairs was dangerous. And the guy in the basement was even more of a problem. The burned child upstairs was a little pest. But Mr. Greenbaum was an old sweetie. “He was sad enough to take his own life. You can’t do something mean like that to him or to people who you just might want for friends. Who knows how Mr. Greenbaum would react? He’s not used to teenagers. Now get some peanut butter to go with the celery and go do your homework. Maybe when your brother comes in you can introduce him to Mr. Greenbaum. He’ll eventually run into him anyway.”
“Great. Now I gotta be polite to a ghost.” But he brightened up immediately and I could tell he was planning something special for his brother.
“You just remember, Mr. Greenbaum’s basically defenseless, while your brother isn’t, so be prepared for any consequences or beat downs. No matter what scheme you’re thinking about. And I’m talking about deep cleaning and heavy yard work consequences, not just you and your brother putting on the boxing gloves.”
He grinned and crunched into the celery. Sometimes the little things in life, like sleeping safely through the night or getting one up on your big brother, were worth the consequences.
Author, poet, and photographer, K.L. Johnston received her degree in English and Communications from the University of South Carolina. Her work has appeared in literary journals, magazines, and anthologies since the 1970s. She is also the author of a photo-illustrated book of meditations. She enjoys exploring the connections of humanity with the physical, spiritual, and liminal places she has stumbled into in her travels and in her own backyard. She uses her unstructured time to indulge her curiosity about places and people. You can follow her on Facebook at “A Written World”.