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                                               The Date

        A white object caught my eye as I was pacing thoughtfully on the shore of my lake. It fluttered down like a wounded dove; I snatched it out of the air before it reached the water’s surface.
        “What in the name of—” I exclaimed in surprise. Was I being watched?
        I glanced up at the ceiling of the cellar and turned a whitish shade of green when I saw one of my trap doors wide open.
        “Show yourself!” I demanded, but there came no reply. I felt quite awkward when my own voice echoed back at me. Though I still stayed attentive to the trap door, I turned my gaze to the square, white object in my hand. It was an envelope, and scrawled across the front of it was my name in bold letters. No return address.
Could it be from Chelsey? Who else would know my whereabouts?
        Mephistopheles poked his furry head out of my sleeve and sniffed at the envelope with great interest. His ears perked up in curiosity, betraying the curiosity that we both felt.
        “Well, whatever this surprise envelope may contain, it can’t possibly harm someone who’s already dead,” I said with a chuckle. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”
        And so without any further hesitation, I ran my index finger through the seal and ripped the paper open to reveal a note. I unfolded it and read it aloud:

        Erik:
        I know things haven’t worked out so well, and most of it is my fault. Please don’t throw this into the lake. All I want to do is apologize. I don’t want to intrude on your space or cramp your style… I just want to help you, if you’ll let me. Besides, your friends need you now. Could we all just have a talk? Meet me at the Café de la Paix for dinner… please.
        Chelsey

        P.S. Bring Mephi!

        I was tempted to tear the note to shreds (she didn’t say I couldn’t do that), but something stopped me.
        “Mephi”, as she liked to call him, stared up at me with those red beady eyes, pleading… as if he understood the meaning of the invitation. Per chance Mephi wanted to see Chelsey and the others as much as I did... just to pass the time, of course. It’s not like he really cared for them.
        “Well, you could use a bit of fresh air,” I said with a roll of the eyes, “and I guess I could use a little bit of her input. After all, it isn’t every century that one becomes a ghost along with one’s former friends… and enemies.” Unpleasant memories of my past encounters with them entered my mind, but Mephi’s hyperactivity across my shoulders turned my thoughts to my current situation.
        The choice was mine: I could thrive in this Opera house as I once did, haunt innocent beings out of their minds, gain wealth, instill fear in the hearts of pompous idiots, and remain completely and utterly miserable, or I could allow more turmoil into my life in the wake of this pushy girl and her dim-witted friends as they dissect my very heart and motives… and perhaps—if some miracle occurred along the way—allow them to play a part in “redeeming” my wandering soul.
        “Mephistopheles, we will…go.” There was a hint of reluctance in my voice. “But that doesn’t mean I have to pay heed to every suggestion of Chelsey’s. Why, from now on, she obeys my decisions, or else…”
        My furry little companion glanced up at me, awaiting the words that would finish my sentence.
        “Or else…” I pondered the fact that in my present state I cannot harm Chelsey, nor would I ever want to.
I snatched up my mask on the way out of my lair and allowed Mephistopheles to hop into my pant pocket. One thing I could be thankful for: My pet didn’t seem to care if I wore my mask or not. When he glanced up at me once again I suddenly remembered that I forgot to finish my threat.
        “Oh, right: Or else… she’ll… she’ll wake up one day to find that she’s growing corn on her head instead of hair! There!”
        Mephistopheles shook his head in confusion, as did I.

        The sun was slowly setting over Paris as I made my way to the Café de la Paix—dragging my soul the entire way. The beauty of this arrangement was that the walk wasn’t too far from the Opera House. In fact, I’d been to that quaint little café on several occasions during my actual life on earth. Well, I hadn’t exactly been a regular patron there. I used to enter through the back door, often “borrowing” bundles of food—baguettes, meats, cheeses, wine—in order to keep my glorified cellars well stocked. So it was a marvel for me to see that the restaurant that served meals to hungry rich mouths so long ago was still standing in that very same spot across the square.
                As I trudged through the narrow sidewalks and passed countless staring eyes, I began to notice how much had changed since my time. Cobbler stores and flower shops had been replaced by places like “Video Rentals” and little cafés called “Starbucks.” Why would anyone name a coffee shop after a character in Moby Dick?
        There was a time when music could be heard within a two-block radius around the Opera House. And now, standing just in front of it, nothing indicated that I was near the haven where music reigned. My ears were filled with irritating sounds, like a motor vehicle honking, small metal objects ringing loudly and commanding their owner’s attention, and people shouting and talking above all the dreadful noise. It all gave me a splitting headache. How could these people stroll the streets without feeling that their heads were about to explode? It was rather vexing.
        Mephistopheles had made a comfortable bed in my jet-black hair, and was presently poking at my scalp with his little paws. This irritating gesture meant he was hungry, so I picked up my pace and reassured him, “Don’t worry my little pet; we’re almost there.”
        No sooner had I said those words, we were standing outside the swinging doors of the café—doors I had never walked through. I heaved a deep sigh before entering. Once inside, I was met with several Parisian individuals who could not take their inquisitive eyes off my mask. Perfect.
        “Bon soir, Monsieur,” said the plump host with a thick mustache,         “How many?”
        “How—many?” My ignorance regarding restaurant etiquette came through.
        “Yes. How many will be dining with you?”
        “Oh, I have no idea.”  I paused to make a quick mental count of the people I thought would be present: Chelsey; her annoying friends, Thanh and Heather; Chelsey’s insufferable boyfriend, Alex; my arch-nemesis, Raoul; my dear Christine; Daroga; and his soon-to-be fiancé, Azedah.
        The host stared at me, most likely wondering why I had a far-off look on my face. No, he was probably just staring at it. “Is there a reservation for…uh… Chelsey?” I asked.
        “No,” he mumbled as he peered at his list of names, “there is no reservation under that name. Would you like me to put the table under your name?”
        “Yes, yes I suppose,” I answered. “My name is Erik.”
        “And your last name?” he asked.
        “Um…” because I had no last name, I answered with the first of my many titles to enter my mind: “Fantôme.”
        “Fantôme?” he asked.
        “Yes, that’s what I just said.”
        The host leaned over and whispered in the waiter’s ear: “Monsieur Fantôme—that would explain the mask—can be seated at table five.”
        “Table five?” The waiter shuddered. “No one ever sits at table five! Except—”
        “Tonight we will make an exception.”
        Only I appreciated the irony of this arrangement.
        The waiter led me to a small table deep inside the dimly lit café. It was strange walking in like this—being seated and attended to like a regular individual—and several patrons gave me an odd look, most likely assuming I worked for some charity or an amateur theater. I ignored their glances and sat at “table five” in suppressed pleasure. No sign yet of Chelsey or the others.
        I ran my hands across the silky tablecloth and released a deep sigh. A single red rose in a tall blue vase sat in the middle of the table and sadly reminded me of so much that still made my heart ache. Even the relaxing sound of a harp playing music made little difference. What was I doing here? Was I mad? Just a number of days ago I vowed to never again see the worthless faces of my intrusive companions. Their only goal was to mock me—to blame me for everything they couldn’t explain in this horrible mess. Nothing had changed. Even Chelsey was a dreadful nuisance when she tried to “help” me in every single situation. I didn’t need her help. I could accomplish things on my own, just like I always had. So in all truthfulness, I didn’t see the point in meeting with them again… yet here I was.
Many other things were gnawing at me: I understood why the others thought that being immortal could be a living nightmare, but did they all wish for us to die?
I had already died once—of a broken heart. I never belonged in the world, so I understood the desire to leave it behind—to savor the bittersweet taste of that dreamless sleep! I could hope that a better life awaited me, a life of peace and comfort, where the ills of this world vanish before my eyes, and there is nothing but rest. Yet, what a waste it would be to throw away a second chance at this life! Why was I granted this chance? Christine could never be mine, yet if I could do it all over again, it would only be to gain her love. Was I destined to relive pain and torment? And for what? What lay at the end of this unhappy road that I was forced to tread again?
As if he understood my unhappy state of mind, Mephistopheles rubbed his furry nose against my arm in sympathy. I looked at his sad eyes and pet his head, knowing that he could not understand what storm clouds filled my soul. No one, not even Chelsey understood.
Presently, Mephistopheles suddenly crawled from beneath my hand and grew very energetic with excitement.
“What is it?” I asked, unable to suppress a tiny smile as he hopped from one end of the table to another. He seemed to be urging me to look across the restaurant, and when I followed his gaze I recognized a familiar face in the crowd: It was Chelsey.
She sauntered into the restaurant wearing a miraculous red dress.
Wait—did I just use the word “miraculous” to describe Chelsey? I thought. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t seen her in so long. I watched her as her gaze darted from table to table. She finally caught sight of me as I clutched the table nervously. A bead of sweat rolled underneath my mask as her eyes met mine. Why were my hands sweating profusely? I rubbed them rapidly underneath the tablecloth and forced myself to crack a smile back at her.
It’s not that the body of a woman makes them such jewels, and that’s not what steals my heart in an instant. But I couldn’t stop staring at her long legs as she neared my table. She was simply gorgeous, and I couldn’t deny it. Was I attracted to her? Absurd.
“Sorry I’m late,” she began, “I really thought you wouldn’t come!”
My tongue felt like sandpaper, but I managed the words: “You’re fine. Really—you look… very attractive.” I wanted to rip my mask off and slap myself on the face to where it would hurt, but I resisted the urge. It would be suicide to do such a thing in public. Why was I acting like a complete fool in front of her?
“Why, thank you, Erik!” she said as her rosy cheeks blushed bright pink, “You’re always so kind. Hi Mephi! So glad to see you too!” Mephi rushed up to her and tickled her hand warmly with his nose.
She stood there, ever smiling, and it took me several seconds to realize that I hadn’t offered her a chair. “Oh! Forgive me… Here you go, Mademoiselle.”
“Merci, Erik. You’re such a gentleman…”
No, I wasn’t, and she knew it. What on earth is wrong with me? I thought. I must’ve had too much wine this afternoon… Yes, that’s it. Too much wine! It’s all a matter of time before my idiocy wears off. As I tried to put these thoughts aside, we both sat down. As for Mephistopheles, he had already eaten more than his share of the bread rolls and was lying flat on the table, belly-side up, as content as any spoiled rabbit could be.
“And you look pretty dashing yourself,” Chelsey added with a sincere look, “Black looks very good on you—as always.”
“Water, si vous plaî!” I called hoarsely and a waiter responded in less than ten seconds.
“Is something the matter, Monsieur?” he asked politely.
“No! No, I—I’m only in desperate need of a glass of water,” I explained.
“Certainly,” he replied, “And for your date?”
I hadn’t even bothered to ask Chelsey if she had wanted something to drink. Easy, Erik. You’re overanalyzing… Wait—what did he just call her?
“I’ll take a Sprite,” Chelsey said sweetly.
“Very well. I’ll return with your drinks and take your orders.” And turning on his heel the waiter left.
“So—” Chelsey began, “how was your walk here? I’m assuming you walked.”
“Well,” I said thinking back, “besides the fact that I almost got run-over by a young man on a bicycle… I’d have to say it went pretty splendidly.” I had to admit the small talk was setting my nerves at ease.
“It was so hard finding a parking space, Erik, you have no idea. But by a stroke of luck I found one just around the corner.”
“How fortunate,” I said as I assented to her observation that I had no idea.
“At least it’s not a very busy night. Have you ever been here before, Erik?”
I nodded. “Oh yes, on a number of occasions.”
I ended it at that. I knew where she stood when it came to stealing, and I didn’t want to stir any trouble between us again.
“Here you are, Monsieur et Mademoiselle,” our waiter said as he set my water and her “Sprite” on the table. “My name is Jean-Claude. I will be your waiter this evening. Would you like to hear about our special dish tonight?”
“Sure!” she said in a perky voice.
“It’s a combination of exotic taste and savory sirloin beef. Some people find it strange that we cook the meat in a rare crescent-like shape. In fact, we call it: Le Banane fait de viande solide.”
“A Banana made of solid meat?” I asked in utter disbelief.
“That’s… odd,” Chelsey said with a frown.
“Yes. Quite,” our stout waiter replied proudly.
“I wanna try it!” Chelsey squealed.
“Very well. Shall I bring another one for your date?” Jean-Claude asked, and I was at a loss as to who he was referring to.
“Yes, please!” Chelsey blurted, “This will be such fun, Erik! I always love trying new things.”
The waiter left us alone and all I could do was sit there with my jaw hanging open like a gaping door.
“Erik, are you okay?” Chelsey inquired.
“Ye—yes. I’m—fine. What just happened there?” I stammered.
“I ordered two meat banana dishes for us.”
“Right,” I said dryly, realizing this evening was already full of odd surprises.
One thing baffled me still and it wasn’t the meat bananas. True, the whole concept of a banana-shaped steak was a bit odd to say the least, but what was the meaning of the word “date”? It had been mentioned twice this evening and I had to find out more…
“So… where are the others?” I asked.
“Hm?” she said, looking up from her menu, “What did you say?”
“I said; ‘Where are the others?’” I replied feeling exasperated.
“What ‘others’?” she asked, seemingly clueless.
“The others! Weren’t they coming?” I growled, impatiently.
“I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about,” said Chelsey with an innocent voice.
“You know exactly who I’m talking about! I thought we were all meeting together.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” she asked shamelessly.
“Must I spell it out?!” I said, raising my voice, “You told me in your note that all of you wanted to speak with me. You said, and I quote: ‘Could we all just have a talk?’  I assumed that you were suggesting we all meet here! Christine, Raoul, Daroga, Alex, Thanh… all of them! Not just—you know—you and I… for dinner!”
Chelsey looked at me, clearly shaken by my sudden outburst. It was then that I realized that it was I who misunderstood the letter. Once again, I felt deceived…but I tried being civilized. “Forgive me—I—shouldn’t have—,” and then I just drew silent.
“No, look,” she began, “I’m the one that should be sorry. I really should’ve been clearer. If I knew that’s what you thought… If you want, I can leave…”
“No! Please don’t,” I said, “It’s fine. I’m—how should I put it?—very happy to see you. In fact, I was rather dreading a meeting with everybody else. I’m actually more comfortable this way.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m truly glad it’s just you,” and I reached over and caressed Mephi for fear that I might instead reach out to take Chelsey’s hand.
She smiled as she watched me pet Mephi. “Well… good! I just figured that we needed some time to mend things up. I apologize for how inconsiderate the gang has been treating you lately, and how I’ve gotten in your way. I really just want to get to know you… that’s all! And if I can help, that’ll be extra. I can be such an organizer… I don’t know what gets into me. I hope you’re not still angry with me.”
“No,” I chuckled, “I’m not. Not anymore, anyway. I’ve blamed you for some misfortunes, and that’s my fault. I can be quite stubborn at times, not to mention a bit resentful. I’m surprised you’d even bear with my company.”
“You’re no burden to be with,” she said as she sipped her drink. “Mm! This is delicious!”
I had almost forgotten about my water. I sipped it as Chelsey continued to talk to me.
“So what have you been doing lately?” she asked.
“Nothing grand or special. Mostly reading and composing,” was my reply.
“That sounds like fun! I need to slow down and pick up more books. Who’s your favorite author?” Her voice expressed real interest.
I paused to ponder the question, and replied, “I have many. I enjoy the works of Poe, William Blake, Herman Melville, Goethe, Jules Verne, Stevenson, Dumas, Stendahl, Victor Hugo… and that’s only naming a few.”
“Wow,” she spoke in-between sips, “You probably won’t recognize these names, but recently I enjoy Stephenie Meyer’s and J.K. Rowling’s writings. And how can I forget… Gaston Leroux!”
“Don’t mention that name around me, Chelsey. You know how much I loathe the man for making me a ‘big hit,’” I said in disgust.
“But without his work, I never would’ve found out about you in the first place!”
“Exactly my point,” I said with a smirk.
Chelsey caught on to my sense of humor and giggled. “You know, most of the authors you mentioned sound very familiar… Didn’t Dumas write a story about swashbuckling pirates?
“Swashbuckling pirates?” I echoed, “No, I don’t think so. He wrote abou—”
“Mongoose Pirate!” Chelsey shouted as she slammed her fist on the table and I jerked back. “A mongoose pirate!” she continued, “I read it not too long ago. It had something to do with this mongoose pirate. His name was— don’t tell me! It was… Simon! Yes. In the story, his crew of mongoose pirates fight off savage wolverine samurais on the coast of… Miceland, I think it was. And somewhere near the end of the book Simon rescues the princess Strawberry—she was a hedgehog—and they both ran off to spend their unlimited fortune on berries and magical jelly beans in the rabbit kingdom. Mephistopheles would definitely enjoy it.”
“Perhaps you’re thinking about Rikki Tikki Tavi by Rudyard Kipling, which I’ve managed to pick up recently… although I’m not quite certain where you got the whole ‘pirate thing’…”
“Maybe I got the abridged version,” Chelsey said to herself in disappointment.
“Maybe,” I said, hiding a smile.
“So… what’s your favorite color?” she asked out of nowhere.
“Well, if you haven’t guessed it already, it’s black.”
“I figured, but it never hurts to ask. Mine’s blue,” and her eyes were fixed on mine.
“Ah. Deep blue or light blue?” I asked as I leaned forward a bit.
“I don’t know… I guess somewhere in between.”
“Hm,” I said as I observed her eyes. They were probably the same shade of blue that she was referring to. “Like your eyes…” I said, immediately realizing how awkward I sounded. “I mean—that is to say…”
Chelsey only looked down at the table and blushed. “Hey, Erik,” she began, as she played with her hair, “I know that I only mentioned meeting for dinner in the note that I sent you, but I was also wondering if you would… possibly like to… spend a few more hours with me tonight? I have no plans… and perhaps it would be a good opportunity for you to see more of modern-day Paris!”
Her hopeful gaze and Mephistopheles’ eyes pleaded for a “yes”… and so, I agreed.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…” I said. Mephistopheles hopped about excitedly and Chelsey clapped her hands in delight.
“Oh, Erik, you won’t regret it!”
“I hope not…” I breathed sarcastically.
Very quietly she muttered to herself, “And Thanh said it would be impossible.” But I heard.
“Thanh?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” she said, dismissing my inquisitiveness, “Boy. That waiter is taking forever!”
“Patience is a virtue,” I reminded her.
“I guess it is,” she sighed.
“Chelsey?”
“Yes?”
“I noticed you’ve been asking most of the questions, so now I will ask one.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“What exactly is a ‘date’?”
Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned a bright crimson.
“A ‘date’? Well—a date is a—It’s a—”
“Well?” I asked her insistently.
“Well—The word can have several meanings. It can mean a date on the calendar, or it could mean a fruit date, like the ones they sell at the Middle Eastern market…”
“Yes, but I don’t think Jean-Claude would’ve referred to both of us as days of the week or little fruits from Turkey. I’m sure there’s another meaning of the word.” With all her fidgeting, I could see that she knew exactly what I was talking about. “Out with it, Chelsey!” I demanded calmly.
“All right. Dating is when two people meet and do something together, like eat dinner or watch a movie. People do this so that they can get to know each other better.”
I stared at her, finally putting the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle together. “So, if understand correctly… this is a date.”
“Yes,” Chelsey nodded.
“Interesting,” I nodded back, “But dating doesn’t imply that we’re romantically interested in each other… does it?”
“No. ‘Friend dates’ are very common.”
I was relieved, because earlier in our conversation new images of Chelsey and I frolicking romantically together haunted my already tormented mind. I imagined us in her apartment, complete with furniture and fishbowls that appeared as if they were drawn with pastel crayons. My poor self-image combined with my active imagination caused me to look like a demon—more of a stick-figure demon. Strangely enough, I was deeply obsessed with pickles—in this strange daydream—I consumed them by the jarful, as Chelsey blew kisses at me and stuck daisies in my hair. These images were, no doubt, reminiscent of another disturbing vision I had of Chelsey’s apartment not long ago.
Thankfully these thoughts were quickly forgotten when the food arrived at our table.
“Here we are. Le Banane fait de viande solide,” Jean-Claude announced.
“Thank you,” we said in unison.
“Let me know if there is anything else you need.” And the waiter left as quickly as he came. At last we could eat our meal.
Chelsey placed her napkin on her lap, and I immediately copied.
“I’d like to make a toast,” she said and then cleared her throat, “To us! And Mephi!”
“To us and Mephi!” I repeated.
Our glasses chimed together and we licked our lips in delight.
“It looks just like a banana!” Chelsey exclaimed.
“But it tastes just like meat,” I noted as I whirled a piece into my mouth.
“It’s actually very tasty!” she said, “I guess curiosity pays off.”
“Here, Mephi, try a bite,” I said, waving a chunk in front of his nose. He sniffed it curiously, and then, without warning, snapped his teeth around the morsel along with my fingers.
“Ouch!” I exclaimed, “You little half hork and a half-wax!”
Chelsey smirked at my outdated expression and continued savoring her food.
Mephistopheles had a nasty habit of biting me every now and then, so I forgave him and went on eating. Chelsey and I hardly spoke a word as we filled our mouths with our delicious meal.

As we were dining, my keen ear picked up an argument between two men near the entrance of the restaurant. Had it not been for a sudden mention of table five, I would have ignored them completely.
“But Monsieur, we’ve already seated a couple there.” It was the voice of the host, “We can find you another table if you’d like…”
“Am I asking you for another table?” the angry customer replied, “I demand that those commoners give up their seats! Have you forgotten who it is you’re speaking to?”
“Of course not, Monsieur. But you see—”
“No ‘buts’. You always sit me at table five, and I’ll leave and never return if you deny me my privileges as a celebrity.”
This back and forth argument continued, and when Chelsey spoke to me, she noticed that I was focusing my attention elsewhere.
“Erik? What’s going on?” she asked.
“Shh,” I hushed her kindly, “I’m not sure, but I think that man wants our table.”
“Are you sure?” she said with a look of doubt on her face. When the waiter walked by our table, Chelsey caught his attention: “Jean-Claude, who is that man that’s arguing with the host?”
The waiter leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, “Oh, him? He’s always here.”
I head the shouting get louder.
“He thinks,” the waiter paused for effect, “he’s Bruce Willis.”
Chelsey nearly choked on her drink. “Are you serious?” she laughed, “He looks nothing like him! Well, except that he’s bald.”
“Is Bruce Willis someone I should know about?” I asked both of them.
“He’s a famous actor,” Chelsey informed me. “So what’s his problem?” she then asked the waiter.
“Unfortunately he likes sitting at table five, which you kind people are enjoying.” The waiter shrugged.
“But… he’s not Bruce Willis,” I pointed out.
“But he thinks he is,” the waiter retorted.
“Well someone should tell him he isn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“We would, but you see… he is very hot tempered,” Jean-Claude shrugged again.
“Monsieur Willis” shouted and swept a plate off a table, shattering it to bits.
“That’s a sticky situation,” Chelsey noted.
The host called after Mr. Willis: “Please, Monsieur! Wait—” But he did not listen. I watched as “Monsieur Willis” approached our table.
“Chelsey, I think he’s coming this way,” I whispered.
My keen ears again heard the host mumble to another waiter standing next to him, “The Bruce Willis wannabe versus the Phantom of the Opera wannabe… this should be interesting!”
“Excuse me,” the lunatic who believed himself to be Bruce Willis spoke in a guttural tone. He seemed a bit surprised at the sight of my mask, but carried on nevertheless, “You’re in my seat. The name’s Bruce Willis. Recognize me from any of my latest movies?”
Chelsey covered her mouth to hide a giggle.
“Thought so,” he said, clearly misinterpreting Chelsey’s suppressed laugh as the nervousness of a fan, “Now, why don’t you go find yourself another table, Mr. Gerry B.?” he ordered me insultingly.
Chelsey’s smile turned into a frown; Mephistopheles’ ears flopped backward.
“I’ll have you know that my name is not ‘Gerry B.’” I replied, “It’s Monsieur. le Fantôme to you. And if you so much us try forcing us out of our seats I’ll make you regret forever that you upset a ghost’s evening. So—be my guest!”
Chelsey gripped my arm. “Erik, it’s fine! We can find another table. We were almost done with our meal anyway—”
“Listen, Mr. Phantom dude,” Willis argued again, “Do you even know how much I get paid? I could buy your little girlfriend here as well as your ugly little rabbit and still have enough to buy the country of Thailand!”
“That’s IT!” I roared as I lunged forward to strangle the imbecile.
We both crashed into a table, where plates of delicacies and glasses full of wine spilled all around us. He tried to punch me, but I was quicker. I weaved around him and established a firm stranglehold from behind. He managed to pull us both to the ground, whereupon I lost my grip. Straddling over him, I wrung my hands tightly around his neck. Despite his struggles, I had him pinned to the ground.
That’s when he did the last thing I expected, though I should have made it my primary concern. He swung his fist in my face, sending a wave of pain through my skull. I released him, and realized to my horror that my mask was on the floor. Luckily, he was still on the floor gasping for air and had not seen my face. I reached for my mask before he could look up, but it was too late. He jerked his head up and stared into my two gaping eyes with a look of terror. He stumbled back, trembling, as so many others had done at the sight of me, and bounded for the door as fast as he could. I quickly replaced my mask and glanced around. Everyone else had seen me too.
“This place is nuts!” he cried turning to the host, “Bruce Willis is never coming back, ever again, you hear? No more autographs! Goodbye!”
The doors swung back and forth as he left the restaurant, and an awkward silence followed all of the commotion. Every single staff member and customer turned to me and stared. I stood there, feeling as if all eyes were upon me. And just when I thought they would all demand that I leave, I heard something completely different: the sound of applause and cheers.
I glanced over at Chelsey, who just shrugged at me and smiled.
Jean-Claude ran up to me and shook my hand vigorously and congratulated me, “How can we ever thank you enough, Monsieur? You’ve driven away that psycho who’s threatened and tormented us for so long! How can we ever repay you?” Once again, the irony was unbelievable!
“I could sure use a pair of pants,” I suggested, glancing down at all the food stains that entrenched them.
“No problem!” a lady waitress called out, “I’ll check the closet and see what we have.”
The host then gave me a gift card for the restaurant with a value of 100 francs. “You can come and dine in here any time you like, M. Fantôme. We’ll never turn you away. We can even guarantee that table five will always be at your disposal.” I shook his hand and thanked him.
“We’re sorry about the mess,” Chelsey told the staff.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jean-Claude said, patting both of us on the back, “And now, about those trousers… It seems that Izzy has found some in the back.”
The waitress he was referring to rushed in holding a large sack. “This was all we had,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind a little bit of color.”
Chelsey and I exchanged glances. “Of course not!” said Chelsey, nudging me, “Right?”
“Right,” I said, swallowing a lump in my throat. I prayed it wouldn’t clash with my yellow eyes and abnormally pale skin.
“You can change in there,” Jean-Claude said, pointing to the men’s room.
I examined the paper bag, wondering what could be inside.
Once I was inside the restroom, I took off my food-stained pants and stood tapping my foot, looking at the ominous paper bag that I had placed on the toilet.
“Well,” I said reaching for the clothing inside, “Here it goes…”
What I beheld in my hands made my stomach turn. I blinked, doubting my eyes for a second, only to realize that they did not lie.
“Holy flying sheep in a shipwreck!” I exclaimed at last in disbelief. It was a pair of oversized overalls with stripes of every imaginable color on the visible spectrum. Not only that, but they were embellished with tacky rainbow sequin that sparkled distastefully.
I couldn’t wear this! I wouldn’t—especially in front of Chelsey.
Suddenly I heard a knock at the door. “May I come in?” Chelsey said, poking her head in the door.
Panicking at the thought of her seeing me in my undergarments, I slipped on the overalls and replied; “Yes! I mean—no! No—let me fetch my black pants first—”
“Oh, Erik, you look absolutely priceless!” And she threw back her head and roared with laughter. “Hold on! Stand there just like that. Don’t move.” As she said this, she reached in her purse and pulled out a small metal object, much like the ones I’d seen people talking into on the street, and held it in front of her at arm length. It emitted a bell-like chime, and Chelsey laughed again. “This is so going on my Facebook!”
I failed to comprehend what all this meant and asked her in a rush, “What’s a ‘face book’? And why did you ask me to stand still? And why are you smiling like that?! You didn’t take a photograph of me in this embarrassing attire, did you? I wasn’t even going to wear this!”
“Calm down, Erik! Facebook is a website where you can talk with your friends to share pictures and such. Maybe I’ll make a Facebook account just for you! I was thinking of setting up an account for you on an internet dating site I used to go on… but it always made the wrong matches for me. So—And yes, I did take a picture of you.”
“You what?!” I gasped, “Please don’t show it to anyone! I don’t want the image of me in a clown’s suit permanently engraved on someone else’s mind.”
“Too late. I already sent it to twenty of my friends. Just kidding. So I take it you’re not wearing that outside of this door? No one will care. I sure wouldn’t. I personally think you look fabulous.”
“Chelsey,” I said seriously, “They’re burning my retinas. Now would you please excuse me? I’m going to change back into my own pants. I’d rather smell of wine and linguini than go out looking like this.”

After I changed, we bid the host and waiters a cheerful farewell and left the Café de Paix behind us. Chelsey led the way to her automobile, which she had parked around the corner.
As soon as I set foot in her blue “Renault Twingo,” I felt my stomach begin its ascent to my throat. I’d seen these beasts on the road before and they looked rather unpleasant—definitely not safe. It’s not that I was ever one to fear danger. In fact, I was usually the one to cause it! But this was just risking my life for plain—wait, what was I saying? I was a ghost for Christine’s sake! I could engage in any sort of life-threatening activity I desired! However, I wondered if a ghost might regurgitate his dinner during a very nauseating experience.
I swallowed hard as I sat down in the passenger’s seat. I was a little curious as to why there were two seats in the front and two seats in the back—all facing forward. It made little sense to arrange them in such a manner. How could anyone carry on a healthy conversation with this inconvenient arrangement?
“Buckle up, Erik!” Chelsey said as she sat quickly and yanked a fastening device out of the inside wall of the car and snapped it across her chest. Why was she tying herself to the car? “Oh, sorry, Erik. Here. There’s one for you on your side. We have to wear these for safety.”
“Safety?” I doubted an anchor could keep us from flying out of our seats in the event of a collision… much less a strap of thick cloth… but I did as she said and pulled the “seat belt” tightly over my chest and buckled it. Next I watched as she used a special key to turn on the engine of the car. Then she shifted several knobs and buttons I could not identify.
“So… how long have you been driving these things?” I asked her.
“Oh, since I was about sixteen.”
“Sixteen?” I exclaimed, “You must be jesting!”
“No, I’m not jesting,” she shook her head and smiled, “Everyone learns how to drive around that age. It’s really not that scary once you get used to it. And, I’m not as reckless as I used to be.”
With a deft movement of her hands across the wheel, we reeled out of the parking spot at a speed that made me clutch the armrest. The car stopped. I let out a deep breath.
“Splendid! That wasn’t too horribly fast,” I commented gratefully.
Chelsey glanced at me and twisted another knob. “I was only backing out. Hang on!”
“Wait… what?” I replied in a hurry, but she paid no heed. She pressed her right foot all the way down to the floor, and I felt Mephistopheles cling to my sleeve as the car bolted ahead into the streets of Paris.
My mind went into a state of panic, and I felt terribly ashamed of my constant grunts and gasps as I pressed hard against the back of my seat. Visions of my past life began to dart to and fro as Chelsey sped nonchalantly through side streets and avenues as if it were some sort of a demented race. She drove like a maniac. I could feel stray hairs sticking out of my head filled with static.
I didn’t understand the meaning of passing lights and signs along the road. I could barely focus on objects for more than a split second.
When she made swift right turns, the momentum was so strong that it made me press into Chelsey next to me. This was more gratifying than having my body swing in the opposite direction, plastering my face against the window, when she made left turns. What was she thinking? Was she trying to scare me? I glanced at her to see if she was pensive showing some other sign of concern. I was surprised to find that instead she was laughing! This should have infuriated me but all I could do was pray to God that we would not crash, which I was convinced was bound to happen if we didn’t slow down. The truth was, I was not as concerned for myself as for Chelsey. One false move and she might go flying through the glass and end up in a hospital somewhere looking like me.
“Watch out, Chelsey!” I suddenly exclaimed, “There’s a polka-dotted raccoon on the road!”
“What? Where?” She gasped. As we swerved, I could hear other drivers honking from all sides. I glanced behind us and saw that there was absolutely nothing on the road.
“Well, that was bizarre! I could’ve sworn I saw…” My voice trailed off.  “Oh, I must be seeing things.”
“Is this too fast for you, Erik? I can slow down if you’d like.”
“Yes, yes, that would be preferable,” I said drearily. She was too focused on the road ahead to see the fear in my eyes, but she may have noticed the apprehension in my voice. She switched to another lane of cars where everything seemed calmer. I could finally breathe in and out again.
My shoulders relaxed and I forced my hands to loosen the grip they had on the armrests and I set them on my lap. I breathed a sigh. Clearing my throat, I began a conversation, hoping it wasn’t too much of a distraction for her.
“I suppose it’s because I’ve never ridden in something this fast before, but I could’ve sworn I saw a Polka-dotted Raccoon back there,” I said with a chuckle. “So you said you’re not as reckless as you used to be? I can’t imagine.”
She laughed aloud and I joined in with a chuckle, mostly resulting from my nerves.
“Hey, I have something neat to show you…” Chelsey said with a wink. “I forgot you don’t listen to music like we do. What I am about to show you will blow your genius mind into a million pieces!”  At this she pointed in the general direction of all the buttons in front of us.
“What is it?” I asked, wondering what she was getting at.
“This here is called a CD player, and it plays CDs.”
“And… what is a CD, might I ask?”
“It is a disc that holds music.”
“I don’t follow.”
“There’s music recorded on the CD and you can listen to it. Watch and listen.”
With her index finger she pushed a small button and suddenly a blast of deafening noise emitted from many places inside the car. My eardrums nearly popped with the sound of crashing cymbals and rhythms that were terribly heavy and obnoxious.
“Sorry! That’s one of Alex’s favorite CDs. Here, let’s find something you’ll like…”
As she tried several discs, I began to get the impression that some of this noise was supposed to be music.
“This is music, Erik. Probably not the kind you’re used to. I’m trying to find a CD with classical music…”
“Where is it all coming from?” I asked, perplexed.
“Hush, here we are…Listen!”
At that moment pure, sweet music entered my ears, replacing the random sounds. Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D minor,” being played to perfection, streamed into my soul. Even Mephistopheles’ ears shot up in delight. Chelsey smiled when she saw that I leaned forward in search of the source.
“How are you able to play this in such a tiny space?” I asked as I pushed a random button against my better judgement, which made a gust of wind blow in my face. Chelsey quickly turned it off and began explaining.
“I can’t tell you exactly how they invented it, but songs nowadays are always recorded. You’ve heard of phonographs, right?”
“Yes. Are these CD players like phonographs, then?”
“Yes, only much better. It’s like going to the Opera or the symphony—”
“At the touch of a button?” I asked, beginning to understand.
“Exactly!” Chelsey nodded excitedly, “Go ahead and reach into the glove compartment… I’ve got other CDs in there that we can listen to.”
“And the glove compartment is…?” I asked, clueless.
“Oh, silly me.” She pointed to it and I pulled out the first thing that my hand grasped. In my hands was a transparent box. Inside was a circular disc. On it were inscribed the words: The Phantom of the Opera: Starring Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman.
“Oh no… not this travesty again,” I hissed, ready to stuff it back in the compartment whence it came.
“Wait! Which CD is it?” Chelsey said, stopping me.
“It’s ‘The Phantom of the Opera’: that blasted operetta that tries to reduce the horrors of my life to a trivial love affair.”
Chelsey smirked, “I see… But this one’s the “M.C.” recording. Your character has a better voice in this one. Let’s listen to it.”
I sighed distrustfully as she slid it into the slot. But when the music began, the familiar melodies grabbed me in a way that they hadn’t before. The sound of an organ playing an ode, perhaps to my legacy, began to sink in. Travesty or not—I began to hum along.
“It’s really not that bad, if you give it a chance,” Chelsey remarked, “I mean, it’s kinda cool if you think about it. You’re a legend… even after a hundred years.”
I had to agree and I was flattered. But I still could not understand what attracted so many to my story… or what was left of it.
“Tell me, Chelsey: Why do so many people like it so much?”
“‘Phantom’? Well, there are many reasons why people enjoy it—the music for one. But what really makes people want to see it over and over again is the attraction to your character. People feel sympathy for you, Erik. You’re… the hero of the story.”
This perplexed me greatly. In fact, it was so absurd that I broke out with laughter that even brought tears to my eyes.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing!” I chuckled, while wiping away a tear, “I mean… you can’t be serious! Me, a hero? A protagonist? My dear Chelsey, you can’t possibly think that’s realistic!”
Chelsey looked at me, deep in thought, and she uttered the next words in the tenderest tones possible: “I think you’re wrong.”
Her words left me defenseless. I could see it in her eyes that she truly believed in me. But I could not believe in myself. My heart leapt only for a moment before it fell like a stone with all the weight of my guilt. I felt both vindicated and condemned in an instant.
Deprived of words, my only choice was to stare out the window and watch the streetlights glisten.
“Do you like it?” Chelsey asked.
“Why, yes. The streetlights remind me of stars—”
“I was talking about the music,” she said kindly.
“Oh, the music! Well it’s…actually quite interesting.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she inquired.
“A positive thing. It’s—captivating, is what I meant to say.”
Chelsey seemed to cheer up with my last words. “I love singing along to this song.”  Clearing her throat, she sang: “The Phaaaaantom of the Opera is theeere… Inside my miiiind!”
Though I expected to hear an irritating sound, it was nothing of the sort. Her voice was, in a word, mesmerizing—not the same as my dear Christine’s, but lovely all the same.
“I didn’t know you could sing!” I said in astonishment.
“Well, we haven’t exactly taken the time to learn everything about each other,” she replied, “Oh! Hurry up! This is the part where you sing!”
“Must I sing along?” I asked her moodily.
“It’s more fun that way!” she exclaimed and continued to sing, this time in an exaggerated manly tone, “And though you tuuuurn from meeee, to glance behiiiind… The Phaaaaa—”
“…Aantom of the Opera is theeere…” I joined in, cracking up immediately afterward. Chelsey grinned uncontrollably.
“INSIDE MY MIIIIND!!” we both thundered, completely off-key.
When was the last time I enjoyed myself so such? A strange and unfamiliar exhilaration filled my chest as we continued singing carelessly at the top of our lungs. It was rejuvenating and it made me happy to see Chelsey so glad.
And so we drove onward, singing till our voices grew hoarse with laughter, slowly growing closer to the surprise destination on the outskirts of the city…

“Here we are!” Chelsey announced as she parked the car in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere.
“Where exactly are we?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Out in the middle of nowhere!” Chelsey declared.
“I might’ve guessed.”
“I have to get something out of the trunk,” she said, unbuckling herself (I followed her example), “It’ll be one moment. You can get out, too.”
And so I did. At least I was grateful that we had all made it alive. Mephistopheles hopped out of the car and began to frolic in the spacious grass. Did that bunny ever slow down?
Although it was night, I could see our surroundings. I assumed we were in some kind of park or well-cared-for property. The grass was cut short, and the trees were tall. There were bushes full of flowers (which Mephistopheles had discovered and was now nibbling on guiltlessly). The sky was dark, and because we were far from the city, I could look up and see the stars clearly.
“What in the name of Handel are we doing out here, Chelsey?” I demanded out of curiosity. Apparently she was too busy with whatever she was doing in the back of her car to hear me. She was searching for something in the cluttered trunk.
“Found it!” she exclaimed happily.
There was no point in me standing there, waiting for her; if she had something to carry, I was more than happy to help her. So rushing over to her side, I was suddenly stopped by her hand in front of my face.
“No peeking!” she waved her finger at me, “Here. You can take the blankets. But don’t look at what I’m carrying out.”
“If you insist,” I said, taking the bundles from her hands and trudging over to where the grass was flat. There I spread the blankets over the ground and sat, content within the realm of my own thoughts. Mephistopheles accompanied me and snuggled in my lap.
“Okay now, don’t look. I want both of you to close your eyes.”
“As you wish, Chelsey. But it’ll be extremely difficult to get Mephistopheles’ eyes to close for very long,” I teased.
“You know what I mean!” she retorted, “Now… don’t look!”
I couldn’t help but hear the clanging of metal and her grunts as she made her way towards us. I listened carefully as she set it down, not two feet in front of me, and sighed breathlessly.
“All right. Now you can look... Surprise!”
Opening my eyes, I oddly recognized the surprise immediately.
“A telescope!” I exclaimed. It had many knobs and peculiar tubular appendages… but it was doubtless a fine telescope.
“Yup!” Chelsey squealed, “I mean, it might not be the kind that you’re used to, but it’s still used for the same purpose.”
“What purpose?”
“To look up at the stars and planets!” she said, dazzling with excitement.
I didn’t see what was so exciting about it, but to see her like this put a smile on my face.
Just then, Mephistopheles returned to my feet with a look of satisfaction on his face. He was now as bloated as a mother rabbit bearing a child. He made for himself a little nest in the blanket, ready for a nap. Chelsey giggled at the sight, and we both looked at each other, smiling. Everything about her gleamed in the blue moonlight, especially her eyes. For fear that she might think I was staring at her, I glanced down at Mephi again and watched him doze off into a deep sleep.

“C’mon over, Erik,” she waved, “Let’s have a look through the telescope!”
By the time I reached her side, she was already having a look herself.
“Lookit! I think I found Saturn. See if you can see its rings.”  She made room for me and touching the cold metal with one finger, I peered though the eyepiece.
Sure enough, Saturn, in all its glory, shone brightly and I could make out its rings. It was the clearest I’d ever seen them.
“This is fascinating!” I told her, “And to think that we’re millions of miles away from it!”
“It’s mind-blowing.” Chelsey agreed.
Many minutes passed as we each took turns searching for our favorite planets. I was in the middle of searching for Jupiter’s red spot, when a hand unexpectedly shoved me into the telescope.
“Oh my Gosh, Erik!” Chelsey squealed in my ear, “You still don’t know! I haven’t told you yet about the moon and Neil Armstrong! I can’t wait to tell you!” She nearly trembled with excitement.
“You scared me,” I said, catching my breath, “Now tell me what’s so exciting that you had to shout in my ear.”
“OK, but you’re not going to believe this,” she said, waving her hands about, “If you thought CDs were big, this huge. This is massive news!”
“Tell me!” I said impatiently.
“All right. Are you ready? In the year 1969, an American named Neil Armstrong and two other guys flew a spaceship to the moon… and walked on the surface! Isn’t that neat?”
“That’s--” I tried to find the word that would describe my amazement, “That’s unbelievable! I always imagined it was impossible. Did they all die soon afterward?”
“No, silly! They even brought back moon rocks when the came back.”
“That’s incredible, Chelsey. Thank you for keeping me so up-to-date.”
“No problem. Maybe I’ll get you a history book sometime.” Chelsey paused and sighed. “I’m so glad you liked this. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“I wasn’t either,” I admitted.
“Well! That was fun,” she said, plopping herself on the blanket like a child. “C’mon, Erik!”
I couldn’t see any harm in it. I lay flat on my back next to Mephi, who was sleeping soundly between us. I put my arms behind my head and felt quite relaxed.
“Sometimes… when I look up and see the stars…” Chelsey said wistfully, “I wonder if someone’s looking back down from way up there.”
I stared up with her and couldn’t deny that there was something—almost larger than life—about seeing all those myriads of stars. It made me wonder if one could ever count them all, even if one was given the rest of eternity to live.
“I like to think that they’re the people who have died before us. Watching over us, and praying for us. And God must be there too, watching, waiting for us to glance up… He could be looking down right now for all we know! Sorry, I know it sounds silly…”
“No, it doesn’t,” I told her, “I’ve thought the same all my life. Many times I’d climb up on roofs and stare up, praying for some kind of miracle. But I guess I’m living proof that our prayers aren’t always answered according to our expectations.”
Chelsey looked at me funny and shook her head, “What do you mean?”
“Look at me! I’m a ghost. Shouldn’t I be up there? Watching along with the rest of them? I probably failed miserably in my life, and am now forced to repeat it before I’m worthy of joining them above.”
“Maybe God’s only trying to give you a second chance.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. None of us can know everything.” She was right and she was making much more sense than I was.
“Patience is a virtue, Erik. You said it yourself!” she winked at me.
“I suppose I’m in need of more virtues,” I answered.
“We all are,” she reminded me.
Moonlight beamed down on us, and cast a bluish glow on Chelsey’s face. She was still staring up, unaware that all I could do was stare at her perfect features. She smiled constantly when she was around me, something that no woman had ever done, even my dearest Christine. There was something different about this girl… something that captivated me deeply.
“Oh! A shooting star!” she gasped with joy, “You can have my wish.”
“Your wish?” I inquired.
“Yes. If you see a shooting star, you get to make a wish. But you can use mine,” she explained happily.
“I hope you don’t take this personally, Chelsey,” I said sadly, “but after wasting countless thoughts wishing, I’ve learned that it’s best to wish no more. Wishing never did anything for me.”
“Oh, please, Erik, hope is also a virtue! It won’t do any harm.”
Sighing, I searched the sky, wondering if anyone there would hear. I would probably only waste my words. “I wish… I wish that somewhere… I don’t know where… someday… I’d find that place... that place where I belong.”
“See, that wasn’t so bad!” Chelsey said after a brief stillness.
“No, I guess it wasn’t. But judging from experience, it probably won’t come true.”
“You never know,” she said reassuringly.
Our shoulders touched. The stars smiled down at her and shimmered in her eyes. It was all so beautiful; so beautiful that I couldn’t breathe.
How was this happening? I was lying next to her underneath the stars. It was like a dream. This couldn’t be… happening to me. I wanted to scream some sense into her, tell her what she didn’t seem to understand, yell the ugly truth until she understood that I was a monster—that I was a useless, worthless ghost from the past! She was such a mystery to me… she was beautiful and so full of happiness. She was kind and gracious… and I was not. I realized then that I was still holding my breath.
“What is it, Erik?” She said, sensing my uneasiness, and I sat up, unable to conceal my thoughts any longer.
“Nothing! It’s just—” I stuttered, “It’s just that, I—ugh—I don’t understand…”
“Don’t understand… what?”
“How—you could be so… so kind to me!” I said, looking away. “No one has ever—spent this much time with me. You’ve shared so many things with me tonight! And you’re here with me now… Even now… It’s hard for me to believe that it’s all actually… happening.”
I looked up at the stars to hide the moisture that suddenly filled my eyes. The night sky became a blur and I dreaded the silence that followed my words.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my arm, gently tugging at my sleeve. Before I could react, she approached me from the side and kissed me on the cheek of my mask. When I realized what happened, I whirled my head around, surprised to find her face inches away from mine. I was shocked enough to pull back, but oddly I couldn’t move. I was frozen stiff, a breath away from her sweet face.
“Do you know the real reason why I invited you for dinner, Erik?” she said quietly.
“No,” I replied tremulously. What was she trying to say?
“I’m here, Erik,” she hesitated, “because… I love you!”
My eyes widened in horror.
She leaned back and smiled up at the sky. “I love you not only as a friend,” she continued, “but somehow—it’s also much more than that. You’re very special to me. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
I didn’t know what to say. And when she rested her head against my shoulder, I turned stiff.
“So, thank you,” she added sweetly, and closed her eyes in contentment.
I was terrified, utterly at a loss as to what to do in this situation. I was afraid—very afraid, but I wanted to wrap my arm around her shoulder. Something like this had happened before…  that time I lost courage. But this time, it was as if she welcomed it. Would I lose the moment out of fear again or would I embrace this golden chance?
I closed my eyes and reached, tentatively extending my hand behind her neck. It was a gamble… but I didn’t turn back. Carefully, I placed my arm around her shoulders and when I opened my eyes, she hadn’t run away or shriveled up!
  Chelsey murmured quietly in pleasure, and it was then that I realized… that perhaps this was the place I had wished for. Did my wish come true already?
I shut my eyes and thanked the heavens for this moment of pure bliss; a moment that reminded me of blissful times that had only existed in my dreams…

Description
                                               The Date

        A white object caught my eye as I was pacing thoughtfully on the shore of my lake. It fluttered down like a wounded dove; I snatched it out of the air before it reached the water’s surface.
        “What in the name of—” I exclaimed in surprise. Was I being watched?
        I glanced up at the ceiling of the cellar and turned a whitish shade of green when I saw one of my trap doors wide open.
        “Show yourself!” I demanded, but there came no reply. I felt quite awkward when my own voice echoed back at me. Though I still stayed attentive to the trap door, I turned my gaze to the square, white object in my hand. It was an envelope, and scrawled across the front of it was my name in bold letters. No return address.
Could it be from Chelsey? Who else would know my whereabouts?
        Mephistopheles poked his furry head out of my sleeve and sniffed at the envelope with great interest. His ears perked up in curiosity, betraying the curiosity that we both felt.
        “Well, whatever this surprise envelope may contain, it can’t possibly harm someone who’s already dead,” I said with a chuckle. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”
        And so without any further hesitation, I ran my index finger through the seal and ripped the paper open to reveal a note. I unfolded it and read it aloud:

        Erik:
        I know things haven’t worked out so well, and most of it is my fault. Please don’t throw this into the lake. All I want to do is apologize. I don’t want to intrude on your space or cramp your style… I just want to help you, if you’ll let me. Besides, your friends need you now. Could we all just have a talk? Meet me at the Café de la Paix for dinner… please.
        Chelsey

        P.S. Bring Mephi!

        I was tempted to tear the note to shreds (she didn’t say I couldn’t do that), but something stopped me.
        “Mephi”, as she liked to call him, stared up at me with those red beady eyes, pleading… as if he understood the meaning of the invitation. Per chance Mephi wanted to see Chelsey and the others as much as I did... just to pass the time, of course. It’s not like he really cared for them.
        “Well, you could use a bit of fresh air,” I said with a roll of the eyes, “and I guess I could use a little bit of her input. After all, it isn’t every century that one becomes a ghost along with one’s former friends… and enemies.” Unpleasant memories of my past encounters with them entered my mind, but Mephi’s hyperactivity across my shoulders turned my thoughts to my current situation.
        The choice was mine: I could thrive in this Opera house as I once did, haunt innocent beings out of their minds, gain wealth, instill fear in the hearts of pompous idiots, and remain completely and utterly miserable, or I could allow more turmoil into my life in the wake of this pushy girl and her dim-witted friends as they dissect my very heart and motives… and perhaps—if some miracle occurred along the way—allow them to play a part in “redeeming” my wandering soul.
        “Mephistopheles, we will…go.” There was a hint of reluctance in my voice. “But that doesn’t mean I have to pay heed to every suggestion of Chelsey’s. Why, from now on, she obeys my decisions, or else…”
        My furry little companion glanced up at me, awaiting the words that would finish my sentence.
        “Or else…” I pondered the fact that in my present state I cannot harm Chelsey, nor would I ever want to.
I snatched up my mask on the way out of my lair and allowed Mephistopheles to hop into my pant pocket. One thing I could be thankful for: My pet didn’t seem to care if I wore my mask or not. When he glanced up at me once again I suddenly remembered that I forgot to finish my threat.
        “Oh, right: Or else… she’ll… she’ll wake up one day to find that she’s growing corn on her head instead of hair! There!”
        Mephistopheles shook his head in confusion, as did I.

        The sun was slowly setting over Paris as I made my way to the Café de la Paix—dragging my soul the entire way. The beauty of this arrangement was that the walk wasn’t too far from the Opera House. In fact, I’d been to that quaint little café on several occasions during my actual life on earth. Well, I hadn’t exactly been a regular patron there. I used to enter through the back door, often “borrowing” bundles of food—baguettes, meats, cheeses, wine—in order to keep my glorified cellars well stocked. So it was a marvel for me to see that the restaurant that served meals to hungry rich mouths so long ago was still standing in that very same spot across the square.
                As I trudged through the narrow sidewalks and passed countless staring eyes, I began to notice how much had changed since my time. Cobbler stores and flower shops had been replaced by places like “Video Rentals” and little cafés called “Starbucks.” Why would anyone name a coffee shop after a character in Moby Dick?
        There was a time when music could be heard within a two-block radius around the Opera House. And now, standing just in front of it, nothing indicated that I was near the haven where music reigned. My ears were filled with irritating sounds, like a motor vehicle honking, small metal objects ringing loudly and commanding their owner’s attention, and people shouting and talking above all the dreadful noise. It all gave me a splitting headache. How could these people stroll the streets without feeling that their heads were about to explode? It was rather vexing.
        Mephistopheles had made a comfortable bed in my jet-black hair, and was presently poking at my scalp with his little paws. This irritating gesture meant he was hungry, so I picked up my pace and reassured him, “Don’t worry my little pet; we’re almost there.”
        No sooner had I said those words, we were standing outside the swinging doors of the café—doors I had never walked through. I heaved a deep sigh before entering. Once inside, I was met with several Parisian individuals who could not take their inquisitive eyes off my mask. Perfect.
        “Bon soir, Monsieur,” said the plump host with a thick mustache,         “How many?”
        “How—many?” My ignorance regarding restaurant etiquette came through.
        “Yes. How many will be dining with you?”
        “Oh, I have no idea.”  I paused to make a quick mental count of the people I thought would be present: Chelsey; her annoying friends, Thanh and Heather; Chelsey’s insufferable boyfriend, Alex; my arch-nemesis, Raoul; my dear Christine; Daroga; and his soon-to-be fiancé, Azedah.
        The host stared at me, most likely wondering why I had a far-off look on my face. No, he was probably just staring at it. “Is there a reservation for…uh… Chelsey?” I asked.
        “No,” he mumbled as he peered at his list of names, “there is no reservation under that name. Would you like me to put the table under your name?”
        “Yes, yes I suppose,” I answered. “My name is Erik.”
        “And your last name?” he asked.
        “Um…” because I had no last name, I answered with the first of my many titles to enter my mind: “Fantôme.”
        “Fantôme?” he asked.
        “Yes, that’s what I just said.”
        The host leaned over and whispered in the waiter’s ear: “Monsieur Fantôme—that would explain the mask—can be seated at table five.”
        “Table five?” The waiter shuddered. “No one ever sits at table five! Except—”
        “Tonight we will make an exception.”
        Only I appreciated the irony of this arrangement.
        The waiter led me to a small table deep inside the dimly lit café. It was strange walking in like this—being seated and attended to like a regular individual—and several patrons gave me an odd look, most likely assuming I worked for some charity or an amateur theater. I ignored their glances and sat at “table five” in suppressed pleasure. No sign yet of Chelsey or the others.
        I ran my hands across the silky tablecloth and released a deep sigh. A single red rose in a tall blue vase sat in the middle of the table and sadly reminded me of so much that still made my heart ache. Even the relaxing sound of a harp playing music made little difference. What was I doing here? Was I mad? Just a number of days ago I vowed to never again see the worthless faces of my intrusive companions. Their only goal was to mock me—to blame me for everything they couldn’t explain in this horrible mess. Nothing had changed. Even Chelsey was a dreadful nuisance when she tried to “help” me in every single situation. I didn’t need her help. I could accomplish things on my own, just like I always had. So in all truthfulness, I didn’t see the point in meeting with them again… yet here I was.
Many other things were gnawing at me: I understood why the others thought that being immortal could be a living nightmare, but did they all wish for us to die?
I had already died once—of a broken heart. I never belonged in the world, so I understood the desire to leave it behind—to savor the bittersweet taste of that dreamless sleep! I could hope that a better life awaited me, a life of peace and comfort, where the ills of this world vanish before my eyes, and there is nothing but rest. Yet, what a waste it would be to throw away a second chance at this life! Why was I granted this chance? Christine could never be mine, yet if I could do it all over again, it would only be to gain her love. Was I destined to relive pain and torment? And for what? What lay at the end of this unhappy road that I was forced to tread again?
As if he understood my unhappy state of mind, Mephistopheles rubbed his furry nose against my arm in sympathy. I looked at his sad eyes and pet his head, knowing that he could not understand what storm clouds filled my soul. No one, not even Chelsey understood.
Presently, Mephistopheles suddenly crawled from beneath my hand and grew very energetic with excitement.
“What is it?” I asked, unable to suppress a tiny smile as he hopped from one end of the table to another. He seemed to be urging me to look across the restaurant, and when I followed his gaze I recognized a familiar face in the crowd: It was Chelsey.
She sauntered into the restaurant wearing a miraculous red dress.
Wait—did I just use the word “miraculous” to describe Chelsey? I thought. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t seen her in so long. I watched her as her gaze darted from table to table. She finally caught sight of me as I clutched the table nervously. A bead of sweat rolled underneath my mask as her eyes met mine. Why were my hands sweating profusely? I rubbed them rapidly underneath the tablecloth and forced myself to crack a smile back at her.
It’s not that the body of a woman makes them such jewels, and that’s not what steals my heart in an instant. But I couldn’t stop staring at her long legs as she neared my table. She was simply gorgeous, and I couldn’t deny it. Was I attracted to her? Absurd.
“Sorry I’m late,” she began, “I really thought you wouldn’t come!”
My tongue felt like sandpaper, but I managed the words: “You’re fine. Really—you look… very attractive.” I wanted to rip my mask off and slap myself on the face to where it would hurt, but I resisted the urge. It would be suicide to do such a thing in public. Why was I acting like a complete fool in front of her?
“Why, thank you, Erik!” she said as her rosy cheeks blushed bright pink, “You’re always so kind. Hi Mephi! So glad to see you too!” Mephi rushed up to her and tickled her hand warmly with his nose.
She stood there, ever smiling, and it took me several seconds to realize that I hadn’t offered her a chair. “Oh! Forgive me… Here you go, Mademoiselle.”
“Merci, Erik. You’re such a gentleman…”
No, I wasn’t, and she knew it. What on earth is wrong with me? I thought. I must’ve had too much wine this afternoon… Yes, that’s it. Too much wine! It’s all a matter of time before my idiocy wears off. As I tried to put these thoughts aside, we both sat down. As for Mephistopheles, he had already eaten more than his share of the bread rolls and was lying flat on the table, belly-side up, as content as any spoiled rabbit could be.
“And you look pretty dashing yourself,” Chelsey added with a sincere look, “Black looks very good on you—as always.”
“Water, si vous plaî!” I called hoarsely and a waiter responded in less than ten seconds.
“Is something the matter, Monsieur?” he asked politely.
“No! No, I—I’m only in desperate need of a glass of water,” I explained.
“Certainly,” he replied, “And for your date?”
I hadn’t even bothered to ask Chelsey if she had wanted something to drink. Easy, Erik. You’re overanalyzing… Wait—what did he just call her?
“I’ll take a Sprite,” Chelsey said sweetly.
“Very well. I’ll return with your drinks and take your orders.” And turning on his heel the waiter left.
“So—” Chelsey began, “how was your walk here? I’m assuming you walked.”
“Well,” I said thinking back, “besides the fact that I almost got run-over by a young man on a bicycle… I’d have to say it went pretty splendidly.” I had to admit the small talk was setting my nerves at ease.
“It was so hard finding a parking space, Erik, you have no idea. But by a stroke of luck I found one just around the corner.”
“How fortunate,” I said as I assented to her observation that I had no idea.
“At least it’s not a very busy night. Have you ever been here before, Erik?”
I nodded. “Oh yes, on a number of occasions.”
I ended it at that. I knew where she stood when it came to stealing, and I didn’t want to stir any trouble between us again.
“Here you are, Monsieur et Mademoiselle,” our waiter said as he set my water and her “Sprite” on the table. “My name is Jean-Claude. I will be your waiter this evening. Would you like to hear about our special dish tonight?”
“Sure!” she said in a perky voice.
“It’s a combination of exotic taste and savory sirloin beef. Some people find it strange that we cook the meat in a rare crescent-like shape. In fact, we call it: Le Banane fait de viande solide.”
“A Banana made of solid meat?” I asked in utter disbelief.
“That’s… odd,” Chelsey said with a frown.
“Yes. Quite,” our stout waiter replied proudly.
“I wanna try it!” Chelsey squealed.
“Very well. Shall I bring another one for your date?” Jean-Claude asked, and I was at a loss as to who he was referring to.
“Yes, please!” Chelsey blurted, “This will be such fun, Erik! I always love trying new things.”
The waiter left us alone and all I could do was sit there with my jaw hanging open like a gaping door.
“Erik, are you okay?” Chelsey inquired.
“Ye—yes. I’m—fine. What just happened there?” I stammered.
“I ordered two meat banana dishes for us.”
“Right,” I said dryly, realizing this evening was already full of odd surprises.
One thing baffled me still and it wasn’t the meat bananas. True, the whole concept of a banana-shaped steak was a bit odd to say the least, but what was the meaning of the word “date”? It had been mentioned twice this evening and I had to find out more…
“So… where are the others?” I asked.
“Hm?” she said, looking up from her menu, “What did you say?”
“I said; ‘Where are the others?’” I replied feeling exasperated.
“What ‘others’?” she asked, seemingly clueless.
“The others! Weren’t they coming?” I growled, impatiently.
“I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about,” said Chelsey with an innocent voice.
“You know exactly who I’m talking about! I thought we were all meeting together.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” she asked shamelessly.
“Must I spell it out?!” I said, raising my voice, “You told me in your note that all of you wanted to speak with me. You said, and I quote: ‘Could we all just have a talk?’  I assumed that you were suggesting we all meet here! Christine, Raoul, Daroga, Alex, Thanh… all of them! Not just—you know—you and I… for dinner!”
Chelsey looked at me, clearly shaken by my sudden outburst. It was then that I realized that it was I who misunderstood the letter. Once again, I felt deceived…but I tried being civilized. “Forgive me—I—shouldn’t have—,” and then I just drew silent.
“No, look,” she began, “I’m the one that should be sorry. I really should’ve been clearer. If I knew that’s what you thought… If you want, I can leave…”
“No! Please don’t,” I said, “It’s fine. I’m—how should I put it?—very happy to see you. In fact, I was rather dreading a meeting with everybody else. I’m actually more comfortable this way.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m truly glad it’s just you,” and I reached over and caressed Mephi for fear that I might instead reach out to take Chelsey’s hand.
She smiled as she watched me pet Mephi. “Well… good! I just figured that we needed some time to mend things up. I apologize for how inconsiderate the gang has been treating you lately, and how I’ve gotten in your way. I really just want to get to know you… that’s all! And if I can help, that’ll be extra. I can be such an organizer… I don’t know what gets into me. I hope you’re not still angry with me.”
“No,” I chuckled, “I’m not. Not anymore, anyway. I’ve blamed you for some misfortunes, and that’s my fault. I can be quite stubborn at times, not to mention a bit resentful. I’m surprised you’d even bear with my company.”
“You’re no burden to be with,” she said as she sipped her drink. “Mm! This is delicious!”
I had almost forgotten about my water. I sipped it as Chelsey continued to talk to me.
“So what have you been doing lately?” she asked.
“Nothing grand or special. Mostly reading and composing,” was my reply.
“That sounds like fun! I need to slow down and pick up more books. Who’s your favorite author?” Her voice expressed real interest.
I paused to ponder the question, and replied, “I have many. I enjoy the works of Poe, William Blake, Herman Melville, Goethe, Jules Verne, Stevenson, Dumas, Stendahl, Victor Hugo… and that’s only naming a few.”
“Wow,” she spoke in-between sips, “You probably won’t recognize these names, but recently I enjoy Stephenie Meyer’s and J.K. Rowling’s writings. And how can I forget… Gaston Leroux!”
“Don’t mention that name around me, Chelsey. You know how much I loathe the man for making me a ‘big hit,’” I said in disgust.
“But without his work, I never would’ve found out about you in the first place!”
“Exactly my point,” I said with a smirk.
Chelsey caught on to my sense of humor and giggled. “You know, most of the authors you mentioned sound very familiar… Didn’t Dumas write a story about swashbuckling pirates?
“Swashbuckling pirates?” I echoed, “No, I don’t think so. He wrote abou—”
“Mongoose Pirate!” Chelsey shouted as she slammed her fist on the table and I jerked back. “A mongoose pirate!” she continued, “I read it not too long ago. It had something to do with this mongoose pirate. His name was— don’t tell me! It was… Simon! Yes. In the story, his crew of mongoose pirates fight off savage wolverine samurais on the coast of… Miceland, I think it was. And somewhere near the end of the book Simon rescues the princess Strawberry—she was a hedgehog—and they both ran off to spend their unlimited fortune on berries and magical jelly beans in the rabbit kingdom. Mephistopheles would definitely enjoy it.”
“Perhaps you’re thinking about Rikki Tikki Tavi by Rudyard Kipling, which I’ve managed to pick up recently… although I’m not quite certain where you got the whole ‘pirate thing’…”
“Maybe I got the abridged version,” Chelsey said to herself in disappointment.
“Maybe,” I said, hiding a smile.
“So… what’s your favorite color?” she asked out of nowhere.
“Well, if you haven’t guessed it already, it’s black.”
“I figured, but it never hurts to ask. Mine’s blue,” and her eyes were fixed on mine.
“Ah. Deep blue or light blue?” I asked as I leaned forward a bit.
“I don’t know… I guess somewhere in between.”
“Hm,” I said as I observed her eyes. They were probably the same shade of blue that she was referring to. “Like your eyes…” I said, immediately realizing how awkward I sounded. “I mean—that is to say…”
Chelsey only looked down at the table and blushed. “Hey, Erik,” she began, as she played with her hair, “I know that I only mentioned meeting for dinner in the note that I sent you, but I was also wondering if you would… possibly like to… spend a few more hours with me tonight? I have no plans… and perhaps it would be a good opportunity for you to see more of modern-day Paris!”
Her hopeful gaze and Mephistopheles’ eyes pleaded for a “yes”… and so, I agreed.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…” I said. Mephistopheles hopped about excitedly and Chelsey clapped her hands in delight.
“Oh, Erik, you won’t regret it!”
“I hope not…” I breathed sarcastically.
Very quietly she muttered to herself, “And Thanh said it would be impossible.” But I heard.
“Thanh?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” she said, dismissing my inquisitiveness, “Boy. That waiter is taking forever!”
“Patience is a virtue,” I reminded her.
“I guess it is,” she sighed.
“Chelsey?”
“Yes?”
“I noticed you’ve been asking most of the questions, so now I will ask one.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“What exactly is a ‘date’?”
Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned a bright crimson.
“A ‘date’? Well—a date is a—It’s a—”
“Well?” I asked her insistently.
“Well—The word can have several meanings. It can mean a date on the calendar, or it could mean a fruit date, like the ones they sell at the Middle Eastern market…”
“Yes, but I don’t think Jean-Claude would’ve referred to both of us as days of the week or little fruits from Turkey. I’m sure there’s another meaning of the word.” With all her fidgeting, I could see that she knew exactly what I was talking about. “Out with it, Chelsey!” I demanded calmly.
“All right. Dating is when two people meet and do something together, like eat dinner or watch a movie. People do this so that they can get to know each other better.”
I stared at her, finally putting the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle together. “So, if understand correctly… this is a date.”
“Yes,” Chelsey nodded.
“Interesting,” I nodded back, “But dating doesn’t imply that we’re romantically interested in each other… does it?”
“No. ‘Friend dates’ are very common.”
I was relieved, because earlier in our conversation new images of Chelsey and I frolicking romantically together haunted my already tormented mind. I imagined us in her apartment, complete with furniture and fishbowls that appeared as if they were drawn with pastel crayons. My poor self-image combined with my active imagination caused me to look like a demon—more of a stick-figure demon. Strangely enough, I was deeply obsessed with pickles—in this strange daydream—I consumed them by the jarful, as Chelsey blew kisses at me and stuck daisies in my hair. These images were, no doubt, reminiscent of another disturbing vision I had of Chelsey’s apartment not long ago.
Thankfully these thoughts were quickly forgotten when the food arrived at our table.
“Here we are. Le Banane fait de viande solide,” Jean-Claude announced.
“Thank you,” we said in unison.
“Let me know if there is anything else you need.” And the waiter left as quickly as he came. At last we could eat our meal.
Chelsey placed her napkin on her lap, and I immediately copied.
“I’d like to make a toast,” she said and then cleared her throat, “To us! And Mephi!”
“To us and Mephi!” I repeated.
Our glasses chimed together and we licked our lips in delight.
“It looks just like a banana!” Chelsey exclaimed.
“But it tastes just like meat,” I noted as I whirled a piece into my mouth.
“It’s actually very tasty!” she said, “I guess curiosity pays off.”
“Here, Mephi, try a bite,” I said, waving a chunk in front of his nose. He sniffed it curiously, and then, without warning, snapped his teeth around the morsel along with my fingers.
“Ouch!” I exclaimed, “You little half hork and a half-wax!”
Chelsey smirked at my outdated expression and continued savoring her food.
Mephistopheles had a nasty habit of biting me every now and then, so I forgave him and went on eating. Chelsey and I hardly spoke a word as we filled our mouths with our delicious meal.

As we were dining, my keen ear picked up an argument between two men near the entrance of the restaurant. Had it not been for a sudden mention of table five, I would have ignored them completely.
“But Monsieur, we’ve already seated a couple there.” It was the voice of the host, “We can find you another table if you’d like…”
“Am I asking you for another table?” the angry customer replied, “I demand that those commoners give up their seats! Have you forgotten who it is you’re speaking to?”
“Of course not, Monsieur. But you see—”
“No ‘buts’. You always sit me at table five, and I’ll leave and never return if you deny me my privileges as a celebrity.”
This back and forth argument continued, and when Chelsey spoke to me, she noticed that I was focusing my attention elsewhere.
“Erik? What’s going on?” she asked.
“Shh,” I hushed her kindly, “I’m not sure, but I think that man wants our table.”
“Are you sure?” she said with a look of doubt on her face. When the waiter walked by our table, Chelsey caught his attention: “Jean-Claude, who is that man that’s arguing with the host?”
The waiter leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, “Oh, him? He’s always here.”
I head the shouting get louder.
“He thinks,” the waiter paused for effect, “he’s Bruce Willis.”
Chelsey nearly choked on her drink. “Are you serious?” she laughed, “He looks nothing like him! Well, except that he’s bald.”
“Is Bruce Willis someone I should know about?” I asked both of them.
“He’s a famous actor,” Chelsey informed me. “So what’s his problem?” she then asked the waiter.
“Unfortunately he likes sitting at table five, which you kind people are enjoying.” The waiter shrugged.
“But… he’s not Bruce Willis,” I pointed out.
“But he thinks he is,” the waiter retorted.
“Well someone should tell him he isn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“We would, but you see… he is very hot tempered,” Jean-Claude shrugged again.
“Monsieur Willis” shouted and swept a plate off a table, shattering it to bits.
“That’s a sticky situation,” Chelsey noted.
The host called after Mr. Willis: “Please, Monsieur! Wait—” But he did not listen. I watched as “Monsieur Willis” approached our table.
“Chelsey, I think he’s coming this way,” I whispered.
My keen ears again heard the host mumble to another waiter standing next to him, “The Bruce Willis wannabe versus the Phantom of the Opera wannabe… this should be interesting!”
“Excuse me,” the lunatic who believed himself to be Bruce Willis spoke in a guttural tone. He seemed a bit surprised at the sight of my mask, but carried on nevertheless, “You’re in my seat. The name’s Bruce Willis. Recognize me from any of my latest movies?”
Chelsey covered her mouth to hide a giggle.
“Thought so,” he said, clearly misinterpreting Chelsey’s suppressed laugh as the nervousness of a fan, “Now, why don’t you go find yourself another table, Mr. Gerry B.?” he ordered me insultingly.
Chelsey’s smile turned into a frown; Mephistopheles’ ears flopped backward.
“I’ll have you know that my name is not ‘Gerry B.’” I replied, “It’s Monsieur. le Fantôme to you. And if you so much us try forcing us out of our seats I’ll make you regret forever that you upset a ghost’s evening. So—be my guest!”
Chelsey gripped my arm. “Erik, it’s fine! We can find another table. We were almost done with our meal anyway—”
“Listen, Mr. Phantom dude,” Willis argued again, “Do you even know how much I get paid? I could buy your little girlfriend here as well as your ugly little rabbit and still have enough to buy the country of Thailand!”
“That’s IT!” I roared as I lunged forward to strangle the imbecile.
We both crashed into a table, where plates of delicacies and glasses full of wine spilled all around us. He tried to punch me, but I was quicker. I weaved around him and established a firm stranglehold from behind. He managed to pull us both to the ground, whereupon I lost my grip. Straddling over him, I wrung my hands tightly around his neck. Despite his struggles, I had him pinned to the ground.
That’s when he did the last thing I expected, though I should have made it my primary concern. He swung his fist in my face, sending a wave of pain through my skull. I released him, and realized to my horror that my mask was on the floor. Luckily, he was still on the floor gasping for air and had not seen my face. I reached for my mask before he could look up, but it was too late. He jerked his head up and stared into my two gaping eyes with a look of terror. He stumbled back, trembling, as so many others had done at the sight of me, and bounded for the door as fast as he could. I quickly replaced my mask and glanced around. Everyone else had seen me too.
“This place is nuts!” he cried turning to the host, “Bruce Willis is never coming back, ever again, you hear? No more autographs! Goodbye!”
The doors swung back and forth as he left the restaurant, and an awkward silence followed all of the commotion. Every single staff member and customer turned to me and stared. I stood there, feeling as if all eyes were upon me. And just when I thought they would all demand that I leave, I heard something completely different: the sound of applause and cheers.
I glanced over at Chelsey, who just shrugged at me and smiled.
Jean-Claude ran up to me and shook my hand vigorously and congratulated me, “How can we ever thank you enough, Monsieur? You’ve driven away that psycho who’s threatened and tormented us for so long! How can we ever repay you?” Once again, the irony was unbelievable!
“I could sure use a pair of pants,” I suggested, glancing down at all the food stains that entrenched them.
“No problem!” a lady waitress called out, “I’ll check the closet and see what we have.”
The host then gave me a gift card for the restaurant with a value of 100 francs. “You can come and dine in here any time you like, M. Fantôme. We’ll never turn you away. We can even guarantee that table five will always be at your disposal.” I shook his hand and thanked him.
“We’re sorry about the mess,” Chelsey told the staff.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jean-Claude said, patting both of us on the back, “And now, about those trousers… It seems that Izzy has found some in the back.”
The waitress he was referring to rushed in holding a large sack. “This was all we had,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind a little bit of color.”
Chelsey and I exchanged glances. “Of course not!” said Chelsey, nudging me, “Right?”
“Right,” I said, swallowing a lump in my throat. I prayed it wouldn’t clash with my yellow eyes and abnormally pale skin.
“You can change in there,” Jean-Claude said, pointing to the men’s room.
I examined the paper bag, wondering what could be inside.
Once I was inside the restroom, I took off my food-stained pants and stood tapping my foot, looking at the ominous paper bag that I had placed on the toilet.
“Well,” I said reaching for the clothing inside, “Here it goes…”
What I beheld in my hands made my stomach turn. I blinked, doubting my eyes for a second, only to realize that they did not lie.
“Holy flying sheep in a shipwreck!” I exclaimed at last in disbelief. It was a pair of oversized overalls with stripes of every imaginable color on the visible spectrum. Not only that, but they were embellished with tacky rainbow sequin that sparkled distastefully.
I couldn’t wear this! I wouldn’t—especially in front of Chelsey.
Suddenly I heard a knock at the door. “May I come in?” Chelsey said, poking her head in the door.
Panicking at the thought of her seeing me in my undergarments, I slipped on the overalls and replied; “Yes! I mean—no! No—let me fetch my black pants first—”
“Oh, Erik, you look absolutely priceless!” And she threw back her head and roared with laughter. “Hold on! Stand there just like that. Don’t move.” As she said this, she reached in her purse and pulled out a small metal object, much like the ones I’d seen people talking into on the street, and held it in front of her at arm length. It emitted a bell-like chime, and Chelsey laughed again. “This is so going on my Facebook!”
I failed to comprehend what all this meant and asked her in a rush, “What’s a ‘face book’? And why did you ask me to stand still? And why are you smiling like that?! You didn’t take a photograph of me in this embarrassing attire, did you? I wasn’t even going to wear this!”
“Calm down, Erik! Facebook is a website where you can talk with your friends to share pictures and such. Maybe I’ll make a Facebook account just for you! I was thinking of setting up an account for you on an internet dating site I used to go on… but it always made the wrong matches for me. So—And yes, I did take a picture of you.”
“You what?!” I gasped, “Please don’t show it to anyone! I don’t want the image of me in a clown’s suit permanently engraved on someone else’s mind.”
“Too late. I already sent it to twenty of my friends. Just kidding. So I take it you’re not wearing that outside of this door? No one will care. I sure wouldn’t. I personally think you look fabulous.”
“Chelsey,” I said seriously, “They’re burning my retinas. Now would you please excuse me? I’m going to change back into my own pants. I’d rather smell of wine and linguini than go out looking like this.”

After I changed, we bid the host and waiters a cheerful farewell and left the Café de Paix behind us. Chelsey led the way to her automobile, which she had parked around the corner.
As soon as I set foot in her blue “Renault Twingo,” I felt my stomach begin its ascent to my throat. I’d seen these beasts on the road before and they looked rather unpleasant—definitely not safe. It’s not that I was ever one to fear danger. In fact, I was usually the one to cause it! But this was just risking my life for plain—wait, what was I saying? I was a ghost for Christine’s sake! I could engage in any sort of life-threatening activity I desired! However, I wondered if a ghost might regurgitate his dinner during a very nauseating experience.
I swallowed hard as I sat down in the passenger’s seat. I was a little curious as to why there were two seats in the front and two seats in the back—all facing forward. It made little sense to arrange them in such a manner. How could anyone carry on a healthy conversation with this inconvenient arrangement?
“Buckle up, Erik!” Chelsey said as she sat quickly and yanked a fastening device out of the inside wall of the car and snapped it across her chest. Why was she tying herself to the car? “Oh, sorry, Erik. Here. There’s one for you on your side. We have to wear these for safety.”
“Safety?” I doubted an anchor could keep us from flying out of our seats in the event of a collision… much less a strap of thick cloth… but I did as she said and pulled the “seat belt” tightly over my chest and buckled it. Next I watched as she used a special key to turn on the engine of the car. Then she shifted several knobs and buttons I could not identify.
“So… how long have you been driving these things?” I asked her.
“Oh, since I was about sixteen.”
“Sixteen?” I exclaimed, “You must be jesting!”
“No, I’m not jesting,” she shook her head and smiled, “Everyone learns how to drive around that age. It’s really not that scary once you get used to it. And, I’m not as reckless as I used to be.”
With a deft movement of her hands across the wheel, we reeled out of the parking spot at a speed that made me clutch the armrest. The car stopped. I let out a deep breath.
“Splendid! That wasn’t too horribly fast,” I commented gratefully.
Chelsey glanced at me and twisted another knob. “I was only backing out. Hang on!”
“Wait… what?” I replied in a hurry, but she paid no heed. She pressed her right foot all the way down to the floor, and I felt Mephistopheles cling to my sleeve as the car bolted ahead into the streets of Paris.
My mind went into a state of panic, and I felt terribly ashamed of my constant grunts and gasps as I pressed hard against the back of my seat. Visions of my past life began to dart to and fro as Chelsey sped nonchalantly through side streets and avenues as if it were some sort of a demented race. She drove like a maniac. I could feel stray hairs sticking out of my head filled with static.
I didn’t understand the meaning of passing lights and signs along the road. I could barely focus on objects for more than a split second.
When she made swift right turns, the momentum was so strong that it made me press into Chelsey next to me. This was more gratifying than having my body swing in the opposite direction, plastering my face against the window, when she made left turns. What was she thinking? Was she trying to scare me? I glanced at her to see if she was pensive showing some other sign of concern. I was surprised to find that instead she was laughing! This should have infuriated me but all I could do was pray to God that we would not crash, which I was convinced was bound to happen if we didn’t slow down. The truth was, I was not as concerned for myself as for Chelsey. One false move and she might go flying through the glass and end up in a hospital somewhere looking like me.
“Watch out, Chelsey!” I suddenly exclaimed, “There’s a polka-dotted raccoon on the road!”
“What? Where?” She gasped. As we swerved, I could hear other drivers honking from all sides. I glanced behind us and saw that there was absolutely nothing on the road.
“Well, that was bizarre! I could’ve sworn I saw…” My voice trailed off.  “Oh, I must be seeing things.”
“Is this too fast for you, Erik? I can slow down if you’d like.”
“Yes, yes, that would be preferable,” I said drearily. She was too focused on the road ahead to see the fear in my eyes, but she may have noticed the apprehension in my voice. She switched to another lane of cars where everything seemed calmer. I could finally breathe in and out again.
My shoulders relaxed and I forced my hands to loosen the grip they had on the armrests and I set them on my lap. I breathed a sigh. Clearing my throat, I began a conversation, hoping it wasn’t too much of a distraction for her.
“I suppose it’s because I’ve never ridden in something this fast before, but I could’ve sworn I saw a Polka-dotted Raccoon back there,” I said with a chuckle. “So you said you’re not as reckless as you used to be? I can’t imagine.”
She laughed aloud and I joined in with a chuckle, mostly resulting from my nerves.
“Hey, I have something neat to show you…” Chelsey said with a wink. “I forgot you don’t listen to music like we do. What I am about to show you will blow your genius mind into a million pieces!”  At this she pointed in the general direction of all the buttons in front of us.
“What is it?” I asked, wondering what she was getting at.
“This here is called a CD player, and it plays CDs.”
“And… what is a CD, might I ask?”
“It is a disc that holds music.”
“I don’t follow.”
“There’s music recorded on the CD and you can listen to it. Watch and listen.”
With her index finger she pushed a small button and suddenly a blast of deafening noise emitted from many places inside the car. My eardrums nearly popped with the sound of crashing cymbals and rhythms that were terribly heavy and obnoxious.
“Sorry! That’s one of Alex’s favorite CDs. Here, let’s find something you’ll like…”
As she tried several discs, I began to get the impression that some of this noise was supposed to be music.
“This is music, Erik. Probably not the kind you’re used to. I’m trying to find a CD with classical music…”
“Where is it all coming from?” I asked, perplexed.
“Hush, here we are…Listen!”
At that moment pure, sweet music entered my ears, replacing the random sounds. Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D minor,” being played to perfection, streamed into my soul. Even Mephistopheles’ ears shot up in delight. Chelsey smiled when she saw that I leaned forward in search of the source.
“How are you able to play this in such a tiny space?” I asked as I pushed a random button against my better judgement, which made a gust of wind blow in my face. Chelsey quickly turned it off and began explaining.
“I can’t tell you exactly how they invented it, but songs nowadays are always recorded. You’ve heard of phonographs, right?”
“Yes. Are these CD players like phonographs, then?”
“Yes, only much better. It’s like going to the Opera or the symphony—”
“At the touch of a button?” I asked, beginning to understand.
“Exactly!” Chelsey nodded excitedly, “Go ahead and reach into the glove compartment… I’ve got other CDs in there that we can listen to.”
“And the glove compartment is…?” I asked, clueless.
“Oh, silly me.” She pointed to it and I pulled out the first thing that my hand grasped. In my hands was a transparent box. Inside was a circular disc. On it were inscribed the words: The Phantom of the Opera: Starring Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman.
“Oh no… not this travesty again,” I hissed, ready to stuff it back in the compartment whence it came.
“Wait! Which CD is it?” Chelsey said, stopping me.
“It’s ‘The Phantom of the Opera’: that blasted operetta that tries to reduce the horrors of my life to a trivial love affair.”
Chelsey smirked, “I see… But this one’s the “M.C.” recording. Your character has a better voice in this one. Let’s listen to it.”
I sighed distrustfully as she slid it into the slot. But when the music began, the familiar melodies grabbed me in a way that they hadn’t before. The sound of an organ playing an ode, perhaps to my legacy, began to sink in. Travesty or not—I began to hum along.
“It’s really not that bad, if you give it a chance,” Chelsey remarked, “I mean, it’s kinda cool if you think about it. You’re a legend… even after a hundred years.”
I had to agree and I was flattered. But I still could not understand what attracted so many to my story… or what was left of it.
“Tell me, Chelsey: Why do so many people like it so much?”
“‘Phantom’? Well, there are many reasons why people enjoy it—the music for one. But what really makes people want to see it over and over again is the attraction to your character. People feel sympathy for you, Erik. You’re… the hero of the story.”
This perplexed me greatly. In fact, it was so absurd that I broke out with laughter that even brought tears to my eyes.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing!” I chuckled, while wiping away a tear, “I mean… you can’t be serious! Me, a hero? A protagonist? My dear Chelsey, you can’t possibly think that’s realistic!”
Chelsey looked at me, deep in thought, and she uttered the next words in the tenderest tones possible: “I think you’re wrong.”
Her words left me defenseless. I could see it in her eyes that she truly believed in me. But I could not believe in myself. My heart leapt only for a moment before it fell like a stone with all the weight of my guilt. I felt both vindicated and condemned in an instant.
Deprived of words, my only choice was to stare out the window and watch the streetlights glisten.
“Do you like it?” Chelsey asked.
“Why, yes. The streetlights remind me of stars—”
“I was talking about the music,” she said kindly.
“Oh, the music! Well it’s…actually quite interesting.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she inquired.
“A positive thing. It’s—captivating, is what I meant to say.”
Chelsey seemed to cheer up with my last words. “I love singing along to this song.”  Clearing her throat, she sang: “The Phaaaaantom of the Opera is theeere… Inside my miiiind!”
Though I expected to hear an irritating sound, it was nothing of the sort. Her voice was, in a word, mesmerizing—not the same as my dear Christine’s, but lovely all the same.
“I didn’t know you could sing!” I said in astonishment.
“Well, we haven’t exactly taken the time to learn everything about each other,” she replied, “Oh! Hurry up! This is the part where you sing!”
“Must I sing along?” I asked her moodily.
“It’s more fun that way!” she exclaimed and continued to sing, this time in an exaggerated manly tone, “And though you tuuuurn from meeee, to glance behiiiind… The Phaaaaa—”
“…Aantom of the Opera is theeere…” I joined in, cracking up immediately afterward. Chelsey grinned uncontrollably.
“INSIDE MY MIIIIND!!” we both thundered, completely off-key.
When was the last time I enjoyed myself so such? A strange and unfamiliar exhilaration filled my chest as we continued singing carelessly at the top of our lungs. It was rejuvenating and it made me happy to see Chelsey so glad.
And so we drove onward, singing till our voices grew hoarse with laughter, slowly growing closer to the surprise destination on the outskirts of the city…

“Here we are!” Chelsey announced as she parked the car in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere.
“Where exactly are we?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Out in the middle of nowhere!” Chelsey declared.
“I might’ve guessed.”
“I have to get something out of the trunk,” she said, unbuckling herself (I followed her example), “It’ll be one moment. You can get out, too.”
And so I did. At least I was grateful that we had all made it alive. Mephistopheles hopped out of the car and began to frolic in the spacious grass. Did that bunny ever slow down?
Although it was night, I could see our surroundings. I assumed we were in some kind of park or well-cared-for property. The grass was cut short, and the trees were tall. There were bushes full of flowers (which Mephistopheles had discovered and was now nibbling on guiltlessly). The sky was dark, and because we were far from the city, I could look up and see the stars clearly.
“What in the name of Handel are we doing out here, Chelsey?” I demanded out of curiosity. Apparently she was too busy with whatever she was doing in the back of her car to hear me. She was searching for something in the cluttered trunk.
“Found it!” she exclaimed happily.
There was no point in me standing there, waiting for her; if she had something to carry, I was more than happy to help her. So rushing over to her side, I was suddenly stopped by her hand in front of my face.
“No peeking!” she waved her finger at me, “Here. You can take the blankets. But don’t look at what I’m carrying out.”
“If you insist,” I said, taking the bundles from her hands and trudging over to where the grass was flat. There I spread the blankets over the ground and sat, content within the realm of my own thoughts. Mephistopheles accompanied me and snuggled in my lap.
“Okay now, don’t look. I want both of you to close your eyes.”
“As you wish, Chelsey. But it’ll be extremely difficult to get Mephistopheles’ eyes to close for very long,” I teased.
“You know what I mean!” she retorted, “Now… don’t look!”
I couldn’t help but hear the clanging of metal and her grunts as she made her way towards us. I listened carefully as she set it down, not two feet in front of me, and sighed breathlessly.
“All right. Now you can look... Surprise!”
Opening my eyes, I oddly recognized the surprise immediately.
“A telescope!” I exclaimed. It had many knobs and peculiar tubular appendages… but it was doubtless a fine telescope.
“Yup!” Chelsey squealed, “I mean, it might not be the kind that you’re used to, but it’s still used for the same purpose.”
“What purpose?”
“To look up at the stars and planets!” she said, dazzling with excitement.
I didn’t see what was so exciting about it, but to see her like this put a smile on my face.
Just then, Mephistopheles returned to my feet with a look of satisfaction on his face. He was now as bloated as a mother rabbit bearing a child. He made for himself a little nest in the blanket, ready for a nap. Chelsey giggled at the sight, and we both looked at each other, smiling. Everything about her gleamed in the blue moonlight, especially her eyes. For fear that she might think I was staring at her, I glanced down at Mephi again and watched him doze off into a deep sleep.

“C’mon over, Erik,” she waved, “Let’s have a look through the telescope!”
By the time I reached her side, she was already having a look herself.
“Lookit! I think I found Saturn. See if you can see its rings.”  She made room for me and touching the cold metal with one finger, I peered though the eyepiece.
Sure enough, Saturn, in all its glory, shone brightly and I could make out its rings. It was the clearest I’d ever seen them.
“This is fascinating!” I told her, “And to think that we’re millions of miles away from it!”
“It’s mind-blowing.” Chelsey agreed.
Many minutes passed as we each took turns searching for our favorite planets. I was in the middle of searching for Jupiter’s red spot, when a hand unexpectedly shoved me into the telescope.
“Oh my Gosh, Erik!” Chelsey squealed in my ear, “You still don’t know! I haven’t told you yet about the moon and Neil Armstrong! I can’t wait to tell you!” She nearly trembled with excitement.
“You scared me,” I said, catching my breath, “Now tell me what’s so exciting that you had to shout in my ear.”
“OK, but you’re not going to believe this,” she said, waving her hands about, “If you thought CDs were big, this huge. This is massive news!”
“Tell me!” I said impatiently.
“All right. Are you ready? In the year 1969, an American named Neil Armstrong and two other guys flew a spaceship to the moon… and walked on the surface! Isn’t that neat?”
“That’s--” I tried to find the word that would describe my amazement, “That’s unbelievable! I always imagined it was impossible. Did they all die soon afterward?”
“No, silly! They even brought back moon rocks when the came back.”
“That’s incredible, Chelsey. Thank you for keeping me so up-to-date.”
“No problem. Maybe I’ll get you a history book sometime.” Chelsey paused and sighed. “I’m so glad you liked this. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“I wasn’t either,” I admitted.
“Well! That was fun,” she said, plopping herself on the blanket like a child. “C’mon, Erik!”
I couldn’t see any harm in it. I lay flat on my back next to Mephi, who was sleeping soundly between us. I put my arms behind my head and felt quite relaxed.
“Sometimes… when I look up and see the stars…” Chelsey said wistfully, “I wonder if someone’s looking back down from way up there.”
I stared up with her and couldn’t deny that there was something—almost larger than life—about seeing all those myriads of stars. It made me wonder if one could ever count them all, even if one was given the rest of eternity to live.
“I like to think that they’re the people who have died before us. Watching over us, and praying for us. And God must be there too, watching, waiting for us to glance up… He could be looking down right now for all we know! Sorry, I know it sounds silly…”
“No, it doesn’t,” I told her, “I’ve thought the same all my life. Many times I’d climb up on roofs and stare up, praying for some kind of miracle. But I guess I’m living proof that our prayers aren’t always answered according to our expectations.”
Chelsey looked at me funny and shook her head, “What do you mean?”
“Look at me! I’m a ghost. Shouldn’t I be up there? Watching along with the rest of them? I probably failed miserably in my life, and am now forced to repeat it before I’m worthy of joining them above.”
“Maybe God’s only trying to give you a second chance.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. None of us can know everything.” She was right and she was making much more sense than I was.
“Patience is a virtue, Erik. You said it yourself!” she winked at me.
“I suppose I’m in need of more virtues,” I answered.
“We all are,” she reminded me.
Moonlight beamed down on us, and cast a bluish glow on Chelsey’s face. She was still staring up, unaware that all I could do was stare at her perfect features. She smiled constantly when she was around me, something that no woman had ever done, even my dearest Christine. There was something different about this girl… something that captivated me deeply.
“Oh! A shooting star!” she gasped with joy, “You can have my wish.”
“Your wish?” I inquired.
“Yes. If you see a shooting star, you get to make a wish. But you can use mine,” she explained happily.
“I hope you don’t take this personally, Chelsey,” I said sadly, “but after wasting countless thoughts wishing, I’ve learned that it’s best to wish no more. Wishing never did anything for me.”
“Oh, please, Erik, hope is also a virtue! It won’t do any harm.”
Sighing, I searched the sky, wondering if anyone there would hear. I would probably only waste my words. “I wish… I wish that somewhere… I don’t know where… someday… I’d find that place... that place where I belong.”
“See, that wasn’t so bad!” Chelsey said after a brief stillness.
“No, I guess it wasn’t. But judging from experience, it probably won’t come true.”
“You never know,” she said reassuringly.
Our shoulders touched. The stars smiled down at her and shimmered in her eyes. It was all so beautiful; so beautiful that I couldn’t breathe.
How was this happening? I was lying next to her underneath the stars. It was like a dream. This couldn’t be… happening to me. I wanted to scream some sense into her, tell her what she didn’t seem to understand, yell the ugly truth until she understood that I was a monster—that I was a useless, worthless ghost from the past! She was such a mystery to me… she was beautiful and so full of happiness. She was kind and gracious… and I was not. I realized then that I was still holding my breath.
“What is it, Erik?” She said, sensing my uneasiness, and I sat up, unable to conceal my thoughts any longer.
“Nothing! It’s just—” I stuttered, “It’s just that, I—ugh—I don’t understand…”
“Don’t understand… what?”
“How—you could be so… so kind to me!” I said, looking away. “No one has ever—spent this much time with me. You’ve shared so many things with me tonight! And you’re here with me now… Even now… It’s hard for me to believe that it’s all actually… happening.”
I looked up at the stars to hide the moisture that suddenly filled my eyes. The night sky became a blur and I dreaded the silence that followed my words.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my arm, gently tugging at my sleeve. Before I could react, she approached me from the side and kissed me on the cheek of my mask. When I realized what happened, I whirled my head around, surprised to find her face inches away from mine. I was shocked enough to pull back, but oddly I couldn’t move. I was frozen stiff, a breath away from her sweet face.
“Do you know the real reason why I invited you for dinner, Erik?” she said quietly.
“No,” I replied tremulously. What was she trying to say?
“I’m here, Erik,” she hesitated, “because… I love you!”
My eyes widened in horror.
She leaned back and smiled up at the sky. “I love you not only as a friend,” she continued, “but somehow—it’s also much more than that. You’re very special to me. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
I didn’t know what to say. And when she rested her head against my shoulder, I turned stiff.
“So, thank you,” she added sweetly, and closed her eyes in contentment.
I was terrified, utterly at a loss as to what to do in this situation. I was afraid—very afraid, but I wanted to wrap my arm around her shoulder. Something like this had happened before…  that time I lost courage. But this time, it was as if she welcomed it. Would I lose the moment out of fear again or would I embrace this golden chance?
I closed my eyes and reached, tentatively extending my hand behind her neck. It was a gamble… but I didn’t turn back. Carefully, I placed my arm around her shoulders and when I opened my eyes, she hadn’t run away or shriveled up!
  Chelsey murmured quietly in pleasure, and it was then that I realized… that perhaps this was the place I had wished for. Did my wish come true already?
I shut my eyes and thanked the heavens for this moment of pure bliss; a moment that reminded me of blissful times that had only existed in my dreams…