The beginning of a beautiful friendship

This wasn’t the first time that Richard Dickerson felt out of place, but it was the first time he didn’t feel anything, this business of being in limbo somewhere between Earth and what he assumed was the great beyond was very unsettling and for Dick, as he was known to his family, never liked being unsettled. He preferred to be called Richard; somehow Dick Dickerson implied a lack of imagination on his parent’s part, which it probably was in some way as his sister was named Deidre.

To try and settle himself, Richard worked on getting his bearings in his new surroundings. He discovered that he could easily visit some of his “old haunts” although maybe he should use another turn of phrase. He still hadn’t gotten accustomed to the idea that he was a ghost, although he had seen a fair amount of ghosts, some he recognized, few acknowledged him, apparently even in the afterlife there was a class system. He had already been snubbed by Tom Pendergast and his entourage.

It would have been nice if when he left earth he could have left a few pounds behind, it wasn’t that he regretted the pounds, some of his happiest moments in life revolved around food, especially barbeque. He could almost smell the tantalizing hickory smoke of a brisket sandwich, his last meal. Richard smiled fondly until he remembered something else; the lovely vixen with a smear of barbeque sauce on her chin had been there in his final moments on earth. He must find her, but never one strong on confidence, Richard sought solace at the Mahaffie House in the Olathe Memorial Cemetery. It was Sorghum Saturday and as he had in life, Richard enjoyed the harvesting activities as they were reenacted as the family had done in the 1860’s. After a bit he took a stroll along some of his favorite headstones, hoping to find inspiration as how to entice this brown eyed beauty that had so bewitched and distracted him and it took a lot to distract Richard from a plate of barbeque, but she had succeeded. Richard found himself at the grave of George Alger, always a source of comfort; he was the first ice-cream manufacturer in Olathe, Kansas.

For a moment Richard wasn’t sure if he heard his name being called, but yes, there it was again, a bit faint, but his name all the same. Richard looked around, somewhat startled as since his arrival, no one or no ghost to be more precise, had called him by name.

“Richard, why so glum? Whenever you’ve visited me in the past, you’ve always looked so happy, of course you generally were eating a double dip of mocha fudge nut ice-cream in a waffle cone, but there is something different about you?”

Richard couldn’t help himself and retorted, “You mean other than the fact that I am dead and will never be able to enjoy ice-cream again?” After telling his tale of woe, he hoped for some sort of advice as to how he should proceed.

“Well, I suppose you have something there, but you’ll get used to it. Look, it took me a few decades, but I have come to terms with things. This is not to say that I still don’t get a hankering for a scoop of ice-cream every so often.”

Somehow this sentiment didn’t bring Richard much comfort. He was confused about what he should do and Richard never liked being confused, which is why being an accountant suited him to a T. He always felt more comfortable with facts and figures than having to interact with people. That was another reason why he wasn’t on Facebook, he would have to respond and post pictures. Maybe if he had felt more confident about his appearance things would have been different, but after surviving years of being called Pumpkin Head in school, he was resigned to the fact that he would never be a looker or one that would catch the eye of beautiful brunette, but this is exactly what he had done, only it was too late. Richard slumped down against George’s headstone and let out a small sigh.

“You’ve got to stop moaning and plan a course of action. What you need is to focus on the problem and solve it. Look, I sold ice-cream in the summer and oysters in the winter and it worked for me.”

“Well, that’s all fine for you. You knew what you wanted and how to get it. I know what I want, but I have no idea how to get it or get her. It’s horrible, even worse than a mid-night raid on the refrigerator only to find I am all out of double mocha fudge nut.”

George considered this for a moment, “Well, son that is a problem, maybe you might ask Mabel Claire, get a woman’s opinion on this sort of thing.”

Richard had no other options at the moment. Were there really moments where he was, or was it just unlimited amounts of time that would go on forever…? Trying not to dwell too much on that thought, Richard found himself in front of the headstone of Mabel Claire Schmidt. Maybe this winner of prize turkeys would give some sage advice. Ah, turkey with onion and sage stuffing, why did his thoughts always revert to food, especially in times of stress. But it appeared that Mabel wasn’t there. She must be out visiting or whatever ghosts do when they are not at their gravesites.

Richard decided to retrace his steps revisiting the most recent places he’d been. KCI airport was bustling, but he didn’t spy his mischievous minx at any of the terminals. He drifted over the campus of William Jewell College, but as his college days weren’t exactly memorable, he didn’t linger.

Not knowing where else to turn, Richard found himself at his own gravesite. It wasn’t a large headstone but he had wished that maybe there might have been some sort of sentiment; instead it was just his name, birth and death. Richard heaved another sigh.

“Hey handsome, why so blue?”

Richard didn’t look up, knowing the address wasn’t meant for him.

“It’s not nice to ignore a lady, or didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

This time Richard did look up, to his surprise there in front of him stood the lovely brunette vixen, minus the barbeque sauce smear staring at him with luminous chocolatey brown eyes.

He smiled, but found himself unable to respond. Not trusting his vocal cords, he grinned wider; most certain he was living up to the name Pumpkin Head, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Finally, Richard mustered up his confidence, “I have been looking for you, where have you been?”

“Well, you haven’t been looking that hard, I was right behind you.”

Really, that must have been rather a wide view thought Richard, but wisely kept that comment to himself.

“You’re the cat’s whiskers,” she said in a breathy voice. “I thought I had lost you for a while, all that harvesting razzmatazz at the Mahaffie House isn’t my kind of place. I like things that are a little more hoppin’ if you get my drift?”

Richard found himself puzzled by this lady loves’ vernacular. She was quite fetching, but he thought from a much different time than the one he’d just vacated.

“Come on sugar, I know a joint where the jazz is real hot. Let’s shake a tail feather and go boogie”

By now Richard was flummoxed, “I don’t mean to be rude, but when exactly did you, umm, well…”

“You mean, when did I bite the big one? Said sayonara? Popped my clogs? Hopped a twig? Became living challenged?”

“Erm, yes, to all of the above.”

“1927 to be exact, before the crash and while living was still a blast. Since then I just decade surf. But then I saw you and realized soon you would be having your last dinner pail. There was something about you; I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You reminded me of someone.”

“Yeah, the Great Pumpkin.” Richard muttered.

“No, you are amazing, all cuddly and cute, just my kind of fella, in a John Candy kind of way, you’re the bees’ knees.”

Richard’s voice quivered as he asked, “Me? No one has ever been amazed by me, or found me, Richard Dickerson, ‘kind of cute’ in any sort of way.”

“Well Richard Dickerson, Louella Lynn Lindsborg does.”

“Who is Louella Lynn Lindsborg?” Richard asked, now really confused.

“Me, silly, but call me Louie. I never liked the name Louella”

‘“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”’

“Corny, but cute.”

Richard couldn’t resist, “Yep, that’s me, just like candy corn.”

And for the first time Richard felt like a real man, well, a real dead man, but no need to get bogged down in semantics.

This story was originally published October 27, 2015 at 2:28 PM with the headline "The beginning of a beautiful friendship."