My Best Friend is a Ghost

My best friend is a ghost. This is the story of how that happened.

The tiny green traffic light blurred by the wintery mist, glowing in the distance like a beacon of hope. Its light cut through the dark expanse of the night sky, a stark contrast to the glistening white frost that covered the ground. The irony of its meaning weighed heavily on me. The green light promised a future and whispered of freedom, urging me to take that leap and finally escape the pain and guilt that had held me captive for so long. Yet, the memories of laughter and carefree adventures with Susan, before that one fateful night, were frozen in time, like the snowflakes that twinkled under the moonlight, reminding me of what I had lost. They conflicted within me, chaining me to the past, making my plans feel like a distant dream, unreachable and icy.

The same frosty air that created the beauty of the diamond dust on the ground had turned our beloved summer pond into a treacherous frozen trap, a silent witness to tragedy. The haunting echo of shivering moans, carried by the howling winter winds, could drive even the strongest mind to madness. Or perhaps it was my own guilt that twisted the sounds into a ghostly orchestra, taunting me with memories of Susan, who had once talked about hearing the voices in the wind. I had always thought her vivid imagination was just a manifestation of her grief over her father's passing. But now, in the depths of my despair, I wondered if love could conjure such illusions, especially for someone as deeply imaginative as she was. We were opposites in many ways—she was the vibrant spark, while I was the quiet shadow—but we balanced each other perfectly.

I first met Susan through our mutual friend Melinda in seventh grade. Melinda, a wild, fiery redhead, was a force of nature, drawing people in with her magnetic personality. I was shy and reserved, struggling to find my place among my peers, so when Melinda took me under her wing, it felt like a dream come true. But when she introduced me to Susan, I felt a pang of jealousy. I had finally found a friend, but now I had to share her. Little did I know that our trio would become a lifeline, a bond that would shape our teenage years.

That summer, when I first spotted Susan walking in the grocery store parking lot while waiting in the car with my parents, I called out to her, and our friendship blossomed. We spent countless hours at the pond, a local gathering place where we swam, laughed, and dreamed. It was our sanctuary, a place where we could escape the pressures of school and our everyday lives. But as summer faded, the nip in the air was a reminder that school was approaching, and soon the thaw of the pond would give way to a frozen grave, calling forth spirits from beneath the ice.

I often pondered what drew so many to risk their lives on that treacherous ice. Was it the enchanting beauty of the glistening snow, or the ghostly whispers that seemed to beckon them toward the abyss? That question gnawed at me, especially after Susan’s father had fallen victim to that very allure. On the morning he left for the store, he could have taken the longer, safer route, but he chose to cross the pond, ignoring the icy warning signs. I would later learn that this choice haunted Susan, consuming her with questions that she could never answer.

Despite her radiant positivity, Susan was burdened by tragedy. She wore her smile like armor, but underneath, she grappled with grief that threatened to overwhelm her spirit. I admired her strength, but it also made me feel small and inadequate. I wanted to help her, but I often found myself lost in my own insecurities, struggling to bridge the gap between us.

Then there was Ken. He was everything Susan adored: charismatic, adventurous, with a passion for life that mirrored her own. They had been together since middle school, and he understood Susan's eccentricities, giving her the space she needed to grieve. But the winter of my senior year shifted everything. The anniversary of her father's death loomed, and the winds howled ominously, a warning of the storm to come.

I hated winter, especially when it trapped me inside. Susan’s absence on that day felt suffocating. It was a day she needed me, yet I was too consumed by my own loneliness. When Ken called, looking for her, I felt a flicker of hope. We decided to search for her together, both of us driven by a mix of concern and the thrill of being in each other’s company.

As Ken drove me to the pond, a tension hung between us, thick and electric. We parked at the edge of the make-out point, the very spot that had once been our refuge. In that moment, the boundaries blurred, and our emotions tangled together, leading us down a path of betrayal that neither of us anticipated. It was only after we succumbed to that momentary lapse in judgment that we remembered why we had come. Panic gripped me as I wondered if Susan had seen us, if her heart had shattered like the fragile ice beneath her feet.

I was consumed by guilt as we searched for her, the darkness of that night enveloping us. Had she stepped onto the ice, driven by despair, or had she heard my laughter, my betrayal echoing through the cold? The questions tormented me, and I felt the weight of my actions anchor me to that place forever.

For twenty years, I wandered back and forth beneath that traffic light, its red glow a constant reminder of the life I had left behind. Each time I approached, the voices of the past would rise, pleading with me to turn back, to face the consequences of my choices. The absence of my hero, my confidante, made every return feel like a cruel joke. There was no Susan to rescue me from my thoughts, no adventure waiting beyond the horizon.

But this time was different. I found myself standing at the edge of the frozen pond, the wind biting at my skin, whispering secrets only I could hear. I took a tentative step onto the ice, my heart pounding with fear and anticipation. As I looked out across the expanse, I saw her—a translucent form, shimmering in the moonlight.

“Susan?” I gasped, disbelief giving way to hope.

She turned to me, her smile bright and warm, radiating a light that pierced through the cold. “You finally came for me,” she said, her voice enveloping me like a long-lost embrace. “I’ve been waiting for you. I want you to know that everything is okay now. I’ve found my dad. I know what happened that night with you and Ken, and I felt the connection between you both. I forgive you. It’s time for you to live your life.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as the weight of her words settled in my heart. I could see her clearly, feel her presence as if she were standing right in front of me. She looked just as she did in life, full of light and laughter, and for the first time in years, I felt a sense of peace. I couldn’t deny what I was seeing; it felt too real, too profound to be mere illusion.

“I thought I lost you forever,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I didn’t know how to move on without you.”

“You never lost me,” she replied, stepping closer, her ethereal form blurring the lines between reality and the spirit world. “I’m always with you, in every memory we shared, every laugh we had. I’m here now because you need to let go. It’s time to free yourself from the guilt and embrace the life that’s waiting for you.”

As her words washed over me, I felt the shackles of guilt dissolve, the weight I had carried for so long lifting from my shoulders. In that moment, I truly believed I could see her—her laughter, her light illuminating the darkness that had consumed me for so long. I wanted to reach out, to hold her hand, but I knew she was no longer bound by the physical world.

With renewed determination, I made my way back to the traffic light. For the first time, it glowed green—a signal that the past was no longer a prison. As I crossed under its emerald hue, I saw Susan beside me, guiding me forward. I could see her smiling, a radiant presence that reassured me that I could move on, that she would be with me as I embraced the future. My best friend is a ghost.