Narrow Hallways, Hauntings
“Would you like a coke?” the ghost of Frank O’Hara may say, a shell of himself. Robert Frost’s ghost may say nothing at all and slink off into the shadows of New England Oak trees. You may only make out the ghoulish light that lingers in the darkness. You may not even realize it is him until the light diverges and you know he has taken the path less traveled by.
The lady of my hallway does none of these things - is a ghost of ghosts. Stares blankly out double glass doors in the light of the full moon and the emptiness of a new moon. I know this: she is a lady of extremes. To you, who may come next, take caution and watch your step. To feel her is to feel nothing at all, and for a moment the allure of standing, staring at extremes will appeal to you. There will be little else for you to do but stay, you may think, and before all hope is lost you will see the coyote from the dunes who will pierce you with yellow eyes and you will know you cannot live in a world of black and whites. You will step away from the doors and set your saddest record and laugh madly on the floor before weeping, naked in every sense, feeling pain in your gut and the wash of tears across your cheeks. You will use all of your noise and your head will spin and you will wake in the morning with the record spinning and lifeless. You will know the lady of the hallway is gone for now and you will know the coyote will not stand in your path again. This was no escape, preordained by fate for you, and you alone.
You will carry your passions with you into death now. Through life with renewed vigor. Will hold the touch of death in your bones like birds hold nothing in theirs and you will remember the light of life in the coyote’s eyes. In nearing death you will return to the narrow hallway on a night where the moon is empty and the stars are traceable and you will step into the lady’s form again for she knows death best - matches the indifference of the world, and she will hold it at bay for you in this blinking moment. She will turn and you will look on at your body in a heap behind you, eyes like coal, only now ringed with blue flame, and she will walk with you out onto the terrace, and below, where the coyote waits to lead you in one final effort to the shores where inky midnight fills the Atlantic Ocean.
And in the end you will know I am sure of this.
