Okay, you’ve seen that movie “Zombieland,” right? Wait, what? Seriously? No, no, no, it’s not super gory – it’s a comedy. Okay, it might be a gory comedy, but – wait, I can’t believe you’ve never seen “Zombieland”!

Fine, look, the main character – a pre-“Social Network” but post “Adventureland” Jesse Eisenberg – has these rules for surviving the zombie apocalypse like “Beware of Bathrooms” and “Wear seat belts”. There’s like 33 of them in all. It makes a lot more sense in context – and you’ll appreciate this more, probably, when you see the movie. I mean, okay, I don’t live in a zombie apocalypse – yet, am I right? – but I have my own problems.

I see dead people.

No, really. I know that line is so 1999 (twenty years old! Can you believe that?), but try living it. It’s not all Haley Joel Osment and post-Die Hard Bruce Willis. Nor is it all Jennifer Love Hewitt in nightgowns or Patrick Swayze helping your ceramic skills. It’s, honestly, a pain in the ass.

“Ally said you can see dead people,” said the girl with the pixie haircut and the lip ring. I don’t remember her name – I don’t know if she ever even said her name. She led with that! “Ally said you can see dead people.”

Rule #4: Keep It To Yourself

Yes, I have had the worst crush on Ally since we bonded over watered down margaritas at the company picnic last year. Yes, I was trying to impress her. No, it didn’t work. See, that’s the thing… it’s like if you tell someone you’re a comedian and they ask you to tell them a joke, or you tell them you’re a writer and they ask what your favorite book is. “Can you see any ghosts right now?” Ally asked during happy hour at Applebee’s down the street from work after I told her. I could. Jesus, I spotted like half a dozen – who the hell would haunt a frickin’ Applebee’s. But they’re there!

I knew I’d made a mistake as soon as the words came out of my mouth but you can’t exactly recall something like that, right? How do you explain away “I can see ghosts”? You can’t. So, you know, lie. “No, no ghosts around here,” I scanned the bar too quickly to see the living much less the dead. “Nope. No one dead here. Nope. I mean, geez, who’d want to haunt an Applebee’s right? Hahaha” – see that right there? “hahaha”? That’s literally what I did, a little pathetic “I’m lying” laugh. She bat her lashes in that way she does that just slays me as she took a drink of her Appletini and changed the subject. I figured she bought the lie but I knew she totally didn’t.

“Ally said you can see dead people,” Pixie Lip Ring said.

“What? No, she must have heard wrong. I mean, that’s weird. Who sees dead people? I mean, like Haley Joel Osment in–“

“I need you to talk to my someone,” she interrupted.

“You’re, uh, friend? Like Ally? She’s a friend, right?”

“Ally? No, Ally’s alive.”

“Totally. That’s why I’d love to talk to her. I think she’s outside by the pool. I’m going to see what she’s up to..”

“No, geez, my sister. She’s dead. She killed herself. She’s haunting me.”

I knew that. The second Pixie Lip Ring walked up I caught the slightly taller, tawny-haired version of turquoise-haired Pixie Lip Ring a few steps behind her.

Rule #1: Don’t Make Eye Contact

Ghosts are watching you. Well, not you personally. Okay, well, they probably are. I mean, not right this second, but… okay, probably right this second. But they’re watching to see if you see them. If you give them one glance that tells them you see them and they will bug the shit out of you until you help them.

Even though Pixie Lip Ring’s sister had clearly heard Ally tell her I told her I could see dead people there’s a really good chance she thought I was full of shit. Ghosts are like that – they’re cynical. And who could blame them? I mean, a) they’re dead, and b) they can see all the BS! They see all the people cheating and all liars for what they are.  So, I knew Pixie Lip Ring’s sister assumed I was lying to impress Ally. And that’s okay! One less ghost to sort out.

Oh, but how’d I know she was a ghost if I didn’t make eye contact? First, the way she was dressed. Jake from marketing was throwing a barbeque and we were all dressed for, well, a barbeque – tshirts, shorts, maybe the odd dad jeans or sundress. But not a floor-length midnight blue velvet gown, silver Jimmy Choos, pearl tear drop earrings beneath a perfectly coiffed updo and flawless makeup. Not exactly Tommy Bahama, you know? And, my god, it’s hard not to make eye contact when all you want to do is stare!

Rule #3: Check your mirrors

Maybe Pixie Lip Ring’s shadow wasn’t her dead sister, right? Maybe she was just an unacknowledged eccentric friend standing close behind her – happens all the time.

Jake’s place has exactly seven mirrors: First one on the wall next to the door to check yourself before you leave (he’s married – so for her to check herself, not him – you don’t know Jake). Mirrors two, three, four, and five are arranged on the far wall in the living room; long rectangular strips arranged artfully on the wall to make their thirteen-hundred square feet look like sixteen-hundred. Mirror six is in the guest half-bath by the kitchen (natch), and mirror number seven might be a stretch, but they have one of those under-the-cabinet microwaves in the kitchen and when you’re getting another helping of guacamole the opaque glass makes for a decent surface to see a pixie-haired woman with a lip ring wearing a leather-fringed halter top and cut off jeans coming up behind you, but notably not the statuesque over-dressed woman you clock in your peripheral vision when you do make eye contact – eye contact, boys, don’t be pigs! – with Pixie Lip Ring who says “Ally said you can see dead people”.

Wait, we were past that…

“My sister. She’s dead. She killed herself. She’s haunting me.”

Right, that’s where we were.

“Look, even if I could see the dead – which I can’t – what am I supposed to do?”

“Why would you tell her you could if you couldn’t?”

“I’m a jerk. It’s a personality flaw.”

“And a liar.”

“Well, that’s part of the whole ‘jerk’ schtick. Lying, cheating, carrying on. Did I mention I gamble recklessly, drink without abandon, and regularly perform Sisqo’s ‘Thong Song’ at karaoke unironically?”

“No, you’re a liar about not seeing ghosts.”

“Wishful thinking. I’m afraid I was just trying to score points by flaunting a weird talent after one too many Brewtuses of IPA at Applebee’s happy hour. If I had known she’d talk about my made up skill I would have gone with juggling kittens because I’m guessing you wouldn’t be asking me to toss around a sack full of tabbies.”

You and I know I can see dead people. You now also know that I’m not bad at wielding logorrhea in self defense, because somewhere between mentally cringing at the idea of my Sisquo impersonation (no, I don’t really do that) and how I could even manage to get the kittens in the sack in the first place, Pixie Lip Ring became mentally vapor locked for just a second which was all I needed to gracefully pirouette around her and through her sister, dodge the accounting clique around the kitchen table, set my chips and guac plate on a bookshelf and slipped into the aforementioned half-bath while catching the door with my trailing foot and securing the lock.

I sighed and leaned my head against the locked door in the cool darkness. Hit the lights, lifted the lid, and started to relieve myself.

“You’re a first-rate bullshitter,” the voice next to me said as I peed.

Rule #7: Privacy is Dead

“I am,” I said evenly. “What of it?”

“You’re not going to help me?”

I shook off and buttoned up my shorts before now looking the elegant woman in velvet in the eyes – the jig was up now, right? – and said, “No.” Lid down, I flushed the toilet and walked through her again – ghosts hate that in the first place, but ghosts that know you know they’re there really hate it – and started washing my hands.

I could feel the frustration, the anger, the rage, the fury roiling in her. She’s a ghost, sure, but she was a living human and that’s all still there if just not, well, corporeal. I expected her to let loose an unholy stream of vitriol, but she surprised me with just one word: “Why?”

The word cut. It wasn’t the word exactly, but the way she said it. That anger, fury, yada yada yada? Absent. The way the syllable slipped from her perfect coral-colored lips was more statement than question.

“Why?”

Like, all my excuses were laid bare. She could see all my short comings. All the times I’ve avoided helping ghosts – for really good, valid reasons! I mean, if I helped every ghost that needed something I’d be endlessly finding lost lockets and hidden last wills and testaments, and declaring it was Miss Scarlet in the hall with a revolver. I’m not dead, damnit. And I want a life that’s my own. I didn’t ask to be able to see ghosts. That wasn’t something I wanted and it’s not something I would wish on my worst enemy. These rules aren’t because I’m a bastard – well, I mean, I literally am a bastard, but that’s some psychotherapy ish for another time – they’re self-preservation. Living is for the alive.

Those soft brown eyes that matched her hair peered into the depths of my soul, poured the question in, swirled it around, held it up and inhaled to check the nose. “Why?”

“I…” I had nothing. I stared down at the velvet blue hem in front of me “I don’t know. I’ve got reasons.”

“Jack,” did she hear my name from Ally? “I didn’t kill myself. I was murdered. I need you to help me find peace.”

I didn’t say anything.

She knelt down slowly until her face was in my field of view, like I was a sullen child. Right then I was a sullen child. “Jack?” her words were tranquil, sweet, salve. “You can help me. I need you. Will you help me?”

She straightened up slowly. My eyes, locked on hers, followed her face. I didn’t have a choice. There wasn’t anything else I could say – trust me, my brain tried really hard. It didn’t get any purchase.

As if sensing my inner turmoil, she uttered one word that served as the coup de grace: “Please?”

“I’ll help.”

Rule #5: Don’t Make Promises.

To be continued…