I’d told him not to marry me. It wasn’t his obligation. I wasn’t his obligation. But every once in a tidal moon, the heavens create a being that defies all logic and embraces the beautiful, perfect state of stubborn selflessness. Wes loved me. He would give me the wedding that every girl dreams about from the moment they experience their first crush. He would place a diamond ring on my delicate finger; a piece of his heart flashing and glittering, blinding those whose eyes and thoughts veered him as a fool for wanting to marry death’s bride.
I never did deserve this man. Even from the very beginning, from the very first touch, I knew that life would have to balance out somehow in the end. When something great happens, the opposite is just waiting in the wings. Stubborn little tom-girls like me just didn’t win guys like Wes. There was certainly a princess somewhere out there, and I had cheated her out of her prince. Little old me. Lost in the arms of Wes. Lost in the delirium of storybook love.
But that balance, the cancer, indeed did make a cruel entrance into our lives. And it was going to take me away from him. My heart would stop. I would be lost. Wes would be lost.
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Thanks to a medical test requiring sleep deprivation, I've been awake for over 36 hours, so please forgive me for keeping this post short. My brain is screaming for me to put it to sleep, but first things first! I have to thank the wonderful people who are reviewing my book-- your comments today made me cry. I hoped people would like the book, but I never imagined that the book would be so "consuming".....To hear that people can't put your book down is THE BEST compliment a writer will ever receive! So thank you all so much! And just FYI, I am taking the manuscript to the editor tomorrow. Kindle and nook, here we come! Thank you all for being so patient!
As promised, here is the beginning my series of personal ghost stories. I must start with the "muddy boot man" (a name you will become familiar with in the book), because he was my first legitimate paranormal encounter.
When I was growing up, my bedroom was in the basement of our home. I hated my room because it was close to the furnace room-- a room that scared me beyond belief just because it was dark and noisy and smelled funny. Both of my sisters also dwelled with me in the basement--their bedrooms were on either side of mine--but they're close company didn't help. At night I slept with my covers wrapped so tightly around my head that I'm surprised I didn't suffocate. I believed in ghosts as a child--sure--but I don't recall ever putting two and two together. Perhaps I subconsciously knew that I was not alone? Knowing what I know now, I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.
Fast forward to when I was about ten years old. Every Ogdenite (people from Ogden, Utah) knows of the Union Train Station. 25th and Wall. Can't miss it. Now an historical landmark, it is full of museums and shops and even a small restaurant (ate there just last week--The philly sandwich is divine.) Anyway, one afternoon my mother decided to take a friend of hers and me to the Union Grill for lunch. I ate the french dip. (Sounding familiar, those who have read the book?) I needed to use the bathroom before we left. Mom and her friend Marty stayed at the table while I went.
If you visit the train station today, sadly, the bathroom of my experience no longer exists. (I didn't know this until I went there several months ago to do research for the book...at first I was absolutely devastated, but, in the end, it worked out great! I'm not sure where the story would have gone if the bathroom had remained the same!) Now-a-days, a purple door leads you into a small two-staller with one sink. When I was 10, this particular restroom was still as old fashioned as they come: it was vast, with several stalls and a long row of porcelain sinks with 'X' knobs. I remember feeling nervous when I entered the bathroom. I was alone, yet, I did not feel alone. I did my duty quickly, but remember hesitating when I opened the stall door. Did I hear something? I couldn't know for sure. When I opened the stall door, I verified that I was alone. However, when I watched the bathroom sink knobs begin to turn on, one by one, by themselves, I knew that I was wrong. I was not alone.
I'm pretty sure that's the only time I've ever left a restroom without washing my hands.
Mom and her friend Marty were too deep into a discussion to notice that I was pasty white.
Fast forward several years. I'd never told anyone about the incident. (I'd literally been scared speech-less! Plus, did I really want anyone to think I was crazy?) Then the internet came out. (Yes, young friends...there once was a day when the internet did not exist.) I was a teenager. Halloween time rolled around. Friends and I were talking about ghosts. I got brave/curious. Did a search on the Union Station, found a relating link about ghost stories, and found out I was not the only one who had encountered a male ghost who preferred to haunt the women's restrooms. Long story short, several women had a similar experience to me, and some of them had even seen a pair of muddy boots standing beneath the stall doors. One woman opened the door to confront him--What the hell was a workman doing in a women's bathroom?- but, of course she opened the door to empty space.
Funny thing? Since then I haven't been able to find the original posts I read, or even any other posts about the muddy boot man. I've also asked several workers at the Union Station, and only one of them knew anything about a ghost in the women's bathrooms, and even then her story was vague. When I told her my story, she just about fell over! Sorry mister boot man....your story is out!
Now, because I didn't see him, am I sure that it was the muddy boot man I encountered?
Yep. I'm sure. I can't explain how, but I am sure.
It was several years before my next encounter, but one single encounter started a chain reaction. More tomorrow. G'night friends!
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