My Mother's Ghost

I opened my eyes and my mom was standing over my bed as usual. I rolled onto my side with my back to her but I knew she was still there. She was always there. It was seven in the morning on a Sunday but I doubted I'd be going back to sleep so I got up. She followed me into the kitchen and stood behind me as I made myself a cup of coffee. I took a shower and she waited just outside the curtain. When I brushed my teeth, I could see her reflection just over my shoulder, head tilted slightly, her black eyes gentle. She still wore the powder blue dress and deep purple hijab she died in. I could see the stab wound that took her. It wasn’t gruesome or bloody, just a hole. She was killed when I was fourteen. Some guy tried grabbing her purse and when she fought back, he stabbed her. I was watching TV when it happened and suddenly realized she was standing next to me. I didn’t think much of it until my step-dad walked into the room with the phone and told me my mom was dead. I looked up at Mom and she looked down at me. I turned back to my step-dad crying in the doorway and understood that only I could see her.

It’s been three years and I’ve gotten used to having her around. She’s never in the way; she’s always either beside me or just behind me and when I move, she moves with me. Sometimes, I can’t even see her, like my nose, I can only see it when I focus on it. She never says anything, just watches me. I decided not to tell Hector, my step-dad. It’s not like she has a message for him; and if I did tell him, he might think I’m crazy and have me committed. So I go about my life with my mom literally hovering over my shoulder, watching my every move.

I sometimes wonder if she’s proud of me, if she’s disappointed with my grades, whether she thinks my short black hair with gray and orange streaks is too modern. But she never reacts to anything I do. She just watches. It was unnerving for a long time, but, as I said, I got used to it.

I stood in my bedroom wearing just my underwear, staring at myself in the mirror. I absentmindedly squeezed my boobs in a sort of breast exam as I contemplated putting on makeup. Maybe just eye stuff. I looked past my reflection to my mom. I was really starting to look like her. I have her dark onyx eyes and her round nose but my dad’s lips. The baby fat in my cheeks was starting to settle in the right areas and you could tell that I actually have cheekbones. Mom’s were higher, though. I started messing with my hair, trying to get it to flop at just the right angle, then I gave up and went to my closet. Today was an important day and I needed to dress to the nines. It was a proper dress party and I had a grand total of three dresses. I rescued them from the throng of T-shirts, sweaters, and jeans and threw them onto my bed. The first was a plaid Christmas dress with a huge satin bow around the waist; the second was a modest black dress with a lace neckline; the third was a pastel green thing with cat faces decorating the pleated skirt. I laughed as I remembered the day I got that dress. My boyfriend and I were wandering around the downtown area and he saw it in a store window. I don’t even know how because we were clear on the other side of the street and it was half hidden behind another dress, but he suddenly grabbed my hand and ran across the street to press his face against the glass.

“I’m getting you that dress,” he said matter-of-factly.

Really, it’s not even my style. I usually just wear T-shirts and jeans, but somehow Carl knew that that dress was for me. And, honestly, he’s a damn genius because I am freakin’ adorable in it. I put it on, zipped up the side zipper, and gave my reflection a twirl. Perfect.

“What do you think?” I asked, spinning to face my mom. She simply stared back at me.

“I know, right!” I squealed, doing a little curtsy. I skipped over to my desk to find my make-up bag. It was wedged in the back of one of the drawers and it took some fighting to get it out. I opened it and a puff of powder filled the air. I coughed as I searched through it for my eyeliner and eye shadow palette.

I batted my lashes when I finished doing up my eyes. “Well, aren’t I just beauty on toast!” I mused.

I looked myself over in the mirror again. My smile started to fade as I took in every detail. I sucked in my stomach but the stubborn thing wouldn’t stay flat. I poked the skin hanging from under my arms. The straps of this stupid dress were not flattering. My knees knocked and the skirt was too short to cover them up. I shuffled out of the judgmental mirror’s gaze and looked down at the two remaining dresses. I haven’t worn the Christmas dress in years and I doubted it even still fit and the idea of even putting on the black dress gave me a cold empty feeling.

I humphed and sat on the corner of the bed to put on my shoes. My faded black Converse. The RSVP card said nothing about the kind of shoes I had to wear, just that I had to wear a dress. I threw on my coat and a scarf, shoved a beanie over my hair, and collected my bag and keys. It was cold outside and still pretty early. Hector was asleep, but he usually sleeps Sundays away. It was his only day off and every other day, he pulled a double shift. I’d told him I was going to be out most of the day and he’d given me permission to use his car. I got in and my mom spirited in with me. The party wasn’t till much later but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I got there a few several hours early. And if I stayed in my room any longer, I probably would’ve changed back into my pajamas and curled up in bed.