We are haunted by what we can’t have, and when we get it, we become ghosts. -Intellectual Shaman
Jorge was driving a red roadster recklessly. He was standing at the wheel, like a ship’s captain, an enthusiast of the roadways, careening between summer leaves like a man on a mission. He was an artist, so perhaps society would give him leniency before they locked him up; now he was a successful artist. After years of dripping paint on canvas and living off cigarettes and cheap wine, Jorge made the big time.
“Come down from there Jorge; we’re not at the beach yet; sailing a car across asphalt isn’t a good idea.” Kate reclined on her leather seat cushions, staring up at him.
Jorge laughed; he looked down at her. She was wearing a white dress and red lipstick. They were married. He was out of control, and he held the wheel tighter. Jorge wasn’t changed by things, nothing could change him, not fame, success, or women, and Kate was with him even though cymbals were crashing in his head as he took the next corner at 90 miles per hour.
“Why are you taking off your clothes?” Jorge asked.
“For the ocean, silly.” Her skin was ivory white in the sunlight. Jorge kept staring.
“The road!” Kate shouted.
A semi-truck darted past. Jorge smiled, a sheepish smile.
“Keep your panties on.”
“They’re coming off. They cost me 29.95 and I don’t want them to shrink.”
“Whatever you say,” Jorge said.
The dunes were up ahead and Jorge downshifted into the turnoff. Some people create art and others live each day differently. The sea was endless and looked like it could swallow them whole. Kate ran for the big drink, wearing nothing but her red fedora.
After a swim and the sun, and a bit of Kate’s complaining; something about her being his sex slave, he drew her portrait and she kissed him. Maybe it only took one skill to beat the system and they got into their red roadster, picking up speed along the canyon highway.
A male squirrel with big nuts ran out in front of them.
“Don’t hit him!” Kate screamed.
“Where?” Jorge shouted. He swerved off the road and they were thrown free. Their red roadster crashed into a tree.
“Something’s wrong with him. He doesn’t move. He must be very brave,” Kate said. She petted the squirrel’s head.
“You mean to say, we nearly died because of a squirrel? He had better be brave, if that’s what I swerved for.”
“Don’t be nasty,” Kate said.
“Hello Kate, do you think something’s wrong here? I mean, we’re walking around after being thrown from a car at 90 miles per hour.”
“Oh, I guess you’re right. We should have some bumps and bruises, at least.”
“Who are those two people lying on the ground over there. They look like us, don’t they?”
I don’t think so. Maybe the guy looks like you; his hair is messy, but I don’t have tan lines like that girl.”
“Kate, we’re dead.”
“What are you talking about, dead?”
“Maybe not completely dead, I think we’re ghosts.”
“Well, in that case, if we’re going to make this marriage work, I’ll need you to give me my space.”
“And I’ll need you to pick up after yourself.”
On second thought, the minister said ‘until death do us part.’ Technically, we could go our separate ways.”
“You’re never getting rid of me honey, not in this life or the next.”