he slowly strolled through the crowd. all around him were joyous shouts of laughter and fun. Happy shrieks from children being hoisted up onto Dad's broad shoulders; little girls in colorful cotton dresses with bright big bows in their hair; little boys with plaid shirts and dark trousers; smiles; cotton candy; tea and soda; beer for the big guys; popsicles and popcorn; a ferris wheel; the fun house, carnival rides and booths, fancy chickens in cages and cows mooing from the livestock barn. The day was warm and beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky. The sun's brightness sparkled and dazzled as it lavished its warmth on everyone. Old Glory was hanging from every possible place. dark blue stripes, crisp white and deep red. you could hear the muffled sound of cloth as the soft summer breeze gently caressed her. several men were leaning up against a building having a smoke; young couples were seen, walking hand in hand. he was really enjoying himself, and happy to be back here, again. he curiously scrutinized the heavy cables laying on the ground. there was really no reason to be alarmed in any way as he could move around, over, and above them, with ease. but they had always amused him as to what their real purpose was. "well, i could always ask", he smiled. he stopped by a small booth with two little boys trying very hard to knock down a row of ducks and leaned against it, watching in amusement. He removed his tri-cornered hat and knowingly held it in his hands, all the while studying it. it was such a part of him. badly stained and spotted with remnants of clotted dirt and sweat, here and there, deep, dark stains from a long ago event he continued to anguish
over and knew all too well. slowly he moved his fingers over it, remembering a time, very long ago. long fingers ran through sandy brown hair that was pulled back and tied with a piece of blue yarn. his eyes were the color of the atlantic ocean on a cloudy day. he wore a long dark jacket and light grey breeches. black buckled shoes and a white shirt with frills at the throat. around his waist a worn leather belt and his ever faithful knife, securely tucked away. even though he could not feel the sun nor the breeze, he was happy just to observe all that surrounded him with much contentment. He was an unseen spectator. He was back where he had grown up. he had found that over the years, he was destined never to leave this place. he would always be coming back, time after time. how many years had it been? he had lost count. suffice it to say it was at least over two-hundred. he never really knew exactly why and just what it was that kept drawing him back. how things had changed. the place where his home had been was long gone. the forest where he used to play was now a large subdivision. neat houses and manicured lawns; mailboxes and backyard barbecues, SUVs and Little League. little did it matter to these people that the ground they were standing on, surrounding their homes, had been a battlefield; oh, there was an historic sign that marked the site but few bothered to read it anymore. and it had been a fight to the finish. it was them or us. we either won this war or there would be no United States of America, no liberty, no justice, just a loathsome continuation of tyranny. there had been a terrible slaughter with many killed, on both sides. British and American bodies littered the field from one end to the other. he remembered all too well and was never able to rid his mind of the gruesome scenes he witnessed nor the wretched sounds he had heard. dense and acrid smoke filling the air, the sounds of muskets and bayonets ripping flesh. shouts of anguish and the death cries of men in mortal pain. after the battle he had sought out the company of a local girl but she had sickened from disease and died shortly thereafter. he could find no other. if only his circumstances had been different he would have had a family, someone to carry on his name, but, as it turned out, this was not to be. he put his hat back on and continued surveying the crowd, soaking in everything. the rattling of the pins turned his head as he watched the two young boys score a hit and eagerly retrieve their prize. they ran off, yelling happily, through the crowd, as he lost sight of them. slowly turning back to his post he saw something that caught him completely by surprise...a lovely young woman with her back to him, standing in line waiting for something to eat. she had long brown hair that fell to her waist and it flowed like the waves on an ocean. the sun was hitting her strands just right and they radiated a brilliance he had never seen. he stood transfixed and was keenly aware that he was beginning to be caught up in something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. he was feeling emotions that had long been stowed away. he could have walked over to her but decided to wait. what good would it have done, anyway?... she couldn't see him. yet the suspense was welling up. did he know her? what was this feeling he was experiencing? it seemed like an eternity but finally she made it to the window and turned around with a hot dog and glass of lemonade. he already knew, he had already suspected, just how he would feel when he was able to see her face. he couldn't move as he studied her features. she appeared to be by herself and moved with such grace it took his breath away. he hurriedly looked through the crowd for any one approaching her but he could see no one. he couldn't take his eyes off her. she reminded him of some one so very long ago. for him there was no reality like time but this moment was very, very different. Dirk Glenning had long ago adjusted to what he was; this new essence that was his being; years ago the physical body had died and left in the ground to decay, but not the memories. they were always with you. the memories of what you did right, what you did wrong, leaps of faith; courage; trepidation; fear; frustration; remorse, pain; happiness; sorrow. he had resolved, personally, within himself, that if ever he was allowed the chance to come back, that he would become a steadfast Watcher and Instructor of Men, even though he was a long-ago, lost to the ages, American; someone who had personally witnessed and endured the suffering and pain forcefully meted out by a tyrannical English King. he was therefore forced to make a choice...either live under authoritarian British rule and face a bleak and dismal future, eventual enslavement and death, or take a stand against it, even if it cost one his life. "My Friends, I beg you to look up the word Liberty" "Then, please inquire as to the meaning of the word Freedom." These are not just words but have breadth and substance to them. However I fear that to many Americans, these days, those two words have lost their meaning. but to those people from all over the world who have been forced to flee their countries, their homes, because of grave injustices, those two words are deep and abiding. they know all too well that Liberty and Freedom are non-existent in the lands from which they come. and that they are seeking these two opportunities in another land...America. They also know that these two come with a price tag. "So, what happened here, he wondered?" He thought, many of my fellow Americans do not recognize this fact nor do they even care anymore. Maybe, in some way, my being here, in their midst, will be able to set them straight. His face darkened as a look of sadness came over it. He pursed his lips..."I must firmly ensure the sanctity of this hallowed ground, and somehow gain the trust of the people that are now firmly ensconced on it." one thing you realized, being a Ghost, was that any longing, any deep feelings could still be resurrected. they were always with you as they were a permanent part of you. These memories made up who you were and still were. he made his way through the crowd so he could keep his eyes on the young woman. she was definitely on a mission of some sort but what that mission was, he could not discern. reaching up he slowly smoothed the ruffles on his shirt and squared his hat. keeping sight of her was not difficult as the radiant strands of her hair sparkled and moved effortlessly as she made her way through the throng. she headed toward some wooden tables and benches, dipping her head to avoid a striped umbrella. sitting down, she unfolded some napkins and started to eat. the glass of lemonade was weeping and leaving rings on the table. she ignored them as she was definitely intent on savoring her lunch. dark eyes darted about as if she were looking for someone. He hoped not. no one came toward her. the local high school band was playing and he listened as the choo-choo of the kids locomotive as it made its clackety way down the clackety tracks. the afternoon was wearing on and the sun was getting more intense. people were removing their sunglasses and wiping their foreheads with anything they could find...their sleeves, a napkin, etc. funny, though, she was neither wearing sunglasses, nor a hat and did not appear to be troubled by the heat. as he moved closer, he came to a halt by a tall and wispy willow. he started...he now knew where he had seen her before. but this couldn't be... this had to be some sort of dream. he stared in disbelief. Alphia..... this has to be some kind of mirage, some kind of mistake. maybe my mind has been addled by some unknown malady, he thought. but the closer he got to her, the more he was sure of who she was. Alphia Browne had died many, many years ago. Alphia, the girl he had courted for a very short time. all of a sudden, memories, feelings came flooding back. and suddenly, she became aware of something, of someone, close by. she stopped in midair, holding her glass of lemonade in one hand and her hotdog in the other, brown eyes looking this way and that. then she turned her head in his direction and it appeared that she was looking straight at him. it took her a moment before she could make out his figure. at this point, they were both frozen in time. he stared at her as she was staring back. she put down her food and shaded her eyes with her hands. then she stood up, moving slowly around the picnic table and out into the open. a half-eaten hot dog and a glass of lemonade were left on the table as her mouth was open in disbelief. she walked trance like, toward him. she moved with ease through the crowd. it was truly remarkable. he stood, transfixed. her beauty was unimaginable. there was a soft sheen to her entire being. "how is it that she can apparently see me?" while just a foot away from him, she stopped. never before had anyone looked at him like this. she was staring right into his eyes and he was staring back. she then studied his face with intense interest. he could not believe what was happening to him. it appeared she was perceiving him. she glanced around, wondering if anyone would see her and puzzle as to what she was doing. She obviously didn't care as she extended her arm out in front of her, just inches away from his face, feeling the air this way and that. a look of futility and pain suddenly came over her face. she quickly withdrew her arm and for several seconds the two just stood quietly, facing each other. she slowly inched closer. he caught a whiff of an unforgettable and lovely scent of roses. she was now so close to him that she was actually invading his "space." a tingling sensation overcame him as the two bodies...one physical the other transparent, slowly grew together. she could feel his coldness as it surrounded her and permeated her. Yet, she did not turn way. suddenly, as quickly as she had moved forward toward him, he felt an enormous pressure. she must have felt it also as she quickly closed her eyes and started to swoon. the sky had darkened, the earth was melting away, her head was spinning and she could feel herself starting to lose consciousness. multiple vortices were whirling overhead...soft murmers of some distant past. she felt that her time on this earth was ebbing. as quickly as the sensation overcame her, it passed. she raised a trembling hand to her forehead. small beads of perspiration had formed. there was a thin wood post she hadn't noticed before and she quickly reached for it to steady herself. her eyes were starting to re-focus but everything was still a blur. "what had just happened"? "did i imagine this"? "i'm certain i saw someone standing right here." still unable to move, her eyes darted left, then right. she was clinging tenaciously to the post, not wanting to let go and now aware of people, milling around her. "what was this thing she had just experienced"? this person, this man, this something was no where to be seen. suddenly she felt hands reaching out to her, consoling words, "are you alright?" a faint siren could be heard in the distance. there was soft scuffling and shuffling as she felt her body grow limp. she closed her eyes. the hospital room was serene and quiet. the blinds were half drawn and it was late afternoon. small playful, darting figures of spindley tree branches kept popping up and down on the soft green wall. the door to the bathroom was half open. a lovely landscape was hanging on the wall. she tried in vain to grasp her situation as she couldn't remember anything. her head hurt. she tried to giver herself several moments. she was hooked up to some type of plastic bag and her eyes followed the long tube as it dripped, dripped, dripped. she was too fatigued to move and had to be content with just surveying her surroundings. the quietness was very comforting.
out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw something move. The room was overcome with the smell of sweet mown hay, sweat and dampness. It permeated the air and surrounded her, penetrating her senses. Such a sweet scent she drank it all in. And then, right in the middle of her room something started to form. At first it was soft and hardly discernible but as it took shape she could see its image. an image her brain just couldn't quite comprehend.
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