ARTHUR & ME

by

FrankWestcott

"Hi! My name is Penelope. I'm a ghost. Now, most people wouldn't think a ghost could write. Heck, now you know.

I wrote Shirley MacLaine the other day to tell her what a good job she did on her books. They weren't even ghost written. I liked Out On A Limb the best. Maybe Shirley and I should set up branch plants! I'm reading It's All In The Playing, now. It's slow going though. Arthur turns the pages so slowly.

Arthur's the guy I live with. He's thirty-five and rides a bicycle. I like Arthur. I loved Arthur once. That was before I became a ghost.

Arthur won't accept the fact I'm a ghost. I live in his house. I rattle pots. I shut the stove off when he's cooking. He broils everything. Potatoes. Carrots. Peas. Onions. Tomatoes. Beans. Beef. Pork. Left-over pizza. He tried eggs once. Awful, let me tell you! Broil, broil, broil. One time, I took his food out of the oven and put it in the microwave his mother gave him. Arthur's so no-brained, he didn't even notice! He didn't hear the dinger, ding! So..., he got everything out of the cupboards and fridge again, and re-made his meal! He thought he'd only thought he'd made dinner, and did it again. What a goof! Don't know why I ever loved him. The food I put in the microwave started to smell after nine days of no cooking and no refrigerating, so I had to take it out and put it into the garbage pail under the sink.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that if she can do all that, she could turn the pages in Shirley's book. Well, I'm not allowed. You see, ghosts have certain things they're allowed to do and certain things they're not. Well, I can't flush toilets and turn pages in books. Most everything else I'm allowed. My friend, Sally, she's not allowed to pass through walls or go swimming. She doesn't mind not passing through walls, but she misses the swimming.

Arthur's from the old school. He dresses conservatively. Not like a president. More like a cartoonist. Arthur wears dark, black plastic glasses and slicks his black hair back like he's out of the fifties. There's one of those mouse trap carriers on the back of his bicycle.

Arthur's a math teacher at Drysdale Collegiate. You've probably seen him riding along on Drysdale's main street. When it's windy his long trench coat flaps at his sides. I rode on the carrier a few times. The bumps got to me. Almost killed me. Well, not really, but I got jostled about and I don't like that. Don't like trains either, so I stay home most of the time.

Arthur lives in an old house in town. It's just a few blocks from the stores and such. He's got a nice porch and a staircase that zigs then zags down to the main floor. I slide down the banister a lot. Kind of tickles. It's not much fun laughing when no one can hear you. I wish I could talk to somebody, but Sally's gone to Florida for the winter and I didn't want to leave Arthur alone. I pass the time on Arthur's typewriter when he's not around. He wonders where all the paper goes. Maybe someday I'll tell him. I'll write him a note.

Dear Arthur,

This is Penelope. I'm a ghost now. That's why you haven't seen me around lately. I live in your house. I can't flush toilets.

Love,

Penelope

Arthur would probably think it was his mother playing tricks. Arthur's mother visits twice a week to make sure he's living right. Heck, he goes to church every Sunday. He says Grace before every meal. No wonder he can't get a wife. His mother has had dibs on him since he was hatched.

That's what I'll do. Get Arthur a wife! Fix him up right. Get him a real live woman. You know, one that can flush toilets and stuff.

A man shouldn't live alone. He's got me. A live one would be better though. One that walks and talks. Maybe he'd have kids. I could write them stories, rock their rockers, put their thumbs back in their mouths, pick up their bottles when the bottles slip and roll dripping formula onto the floor and into the rug. I could do that. Now let me see. How shall we go about it? What do you think? Write a Companion Ad? Never thought of that. Yup! Perfect! I can do that. I can write. I'll do that. Yup, that's what I'll do. I was a good looker in my last life, I'll have you know. I had long, honey blonde hair and a slim waist and legs you could dance on all night and oh, I could dance. The Charleston. The Mashed Potato. The Twist. I was a ghost before they got to Disco and Break Dancing. Never was much for sliding around on the floor anyway.

I became a ghost young. Twenty-three. Car accident. My boyfriend was driving. His name was Arthur. He had dark hair and black glasses and wore his hair slicked back like he was out of the fifties. He rode a bicycle after the accident. Never drove a car again. That's okay. I was a ghost and we weren't going to be going anywhere anymore. Besides, with insurance rates what they are, you gotta be nuts to drive. The accident wasn't Arthur's fault. The signals for the train weren't working. Arthur swerved to miss the train and hit a pole and the pole got me. Poof. I was a ghost. And now I live at Arthur's house. Neat, eh?

Arthur will be home soon, so we better get a move on with that ad. I can slip over and mail it tonight. Maybe he'll have a girlfriend for the weekend. Arthur's got stamps in his desk drawer. I can moisten a stamp with a drip from the kitchen faucet. I can drip taps. I like pinging drips from a faucet in the middle of the night when Arthur leaves a pot turned over in the sink. He'll lie in bed for a long time deciding whether or not to get up. When he's about to get up I stop the pinging. I wait 'til he's settled again, then ping a good one off the pot. We go on like this for hours sometimes.

Oh, yes, the ad. Well, let's try this.

Lonely man. 35. Bachelor. Seeks woman.

Must be able to cook, clean, and stop

dripping taps. Bicycle riding an asset.

Call Arthur: 439-5991, after dinner.

Gotta run! Arthur's on his way home. Ah...stamps. Got 'em. Envelope. Here we go. I'll slip out when Arthur slips in. I could do a wall pass, but I like tickling Arthur's nose when he comes in and making him sneeze. He thinks he has allergies. What he's got is me, Penelope! Well, gotta run. Catch ya later, sometime when Arthur's gone out and I can get at his typewriter. Be good 'til then. See ya."

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