the thing that's so gripping is that ghosts is fundamentally about the fact that people will change your life forever. like. I can't stop thinking about how lonely the ghosts must be now, how much more the lively events at the hotel sting, now that they don't have a foothold with the living. because they existed for years, decades, centuries, without alison. and were mostly fine. they had clubs they laughed they played games, they were content if not thriving. but now that they've had a taste of what it's like with alison around, with a companion in the material plane, with a direct connection to the land of the living, the lack of her must hurt so much worse. but what are you supposed to do other than just. carry on. people come into and out of your life and you have to suck up all the joy you can from them being there and know that they won't stay forever. "I hate to be the one to tell you this patrick, but eventually, no one will come." and you have to find a way to be okay with their absence. and your memory of them remains even if they don't. that art with different relationships as lines intersecting with each other. "I miss a lot of people." can anyone hear me.
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(Push Away the) Lonely Times
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
“Just this, please,” Steven says politely the next time he rolls through Melvald’s.
Jim stops, looks for a second, then sighs. “Y’know how Jim wann’ed me t’look after ya?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’s a-thinkin’ there’s a conversation we best be havin’. Nuthin’ bad, not t’you, but we gotta get all the duckies in a row, huh?”
“Okay,” Steven agrees, slightly nervously. “Um. Now?”
Jim shrugs a shoulder. “Now. Or you’s could come over after work. Or I could come by yers.”
Steven considers it. “Now?”
“If you wanna,” Jim agrees. “‘Ere’s the whole of it. Yer folks ain’t lookin’ out for ya the way they’s supposed ta. Could mean lotsa trouble for ‘em. Could mean you get taken ‘way, put inna fos’er er summin’.”
“Oh,” Steven says quietly. He looks vaguely nauseous.
“Or you could stay wi’ me,” Jim continues. “No trouble. O’course, there might be when yer folks come back inna town, but Hop’s got ‘em.”
“Oh,” Steven says. “And… I can’t just keep living in my house?”
Jim shrugs. “Not the way we figure.”
“Oh.” He sighs. “I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”
“You ain’t,” Jim says, a tad harshly for the situation, but the kid needs to know. “I’unnow who tol’ you yer an inconvenience, kid, but it ain’t true. You needa place t’stay. I gotta empty house, jus’ me rattlin’ ‘round in there.”
“Just you?” Steven parrots, in awe, like he can’t believe someone else would befall the same fate he did. Jim wants to hug Steven, punch a wall about it. He does neither, takes a slow, deep breath. Lets it out.
“Yeah, kiddo. Y’wanna keep me comp’ny?”
Steven thinks about it. Fidgets with his fingers, looks down, back up. “Y-yeah. Um. When?”
“Soon ‘s yer ready. I c’n pick up you ‘n yer stuff after m’ shift.”
“Okay,” Steven agrees, then looks at the groceries between them. “Should I buy this?”
Jim leans down to smile at Steve. “Long as yer in m’ house, y’don’t gotta buy nuthin’ y’don’t wanna. I’ll get groceries. You be a kid.”
Steven blinks. “But I’m not, sir. I’m ten. Practically an adult.”
The way he says that is metered, stilted, and Jim grits his teeth. “Yer father tell y’that, boy?”
“Yes, sir, he did.”
“Yer father’s wrong. Yer a kid ‘till y’ c’n get a job. By my math, y’got six years still.”
“Oh,” Steven says, eyes wide. “Okay. Um. I’m gonna go pack.” He hesitates. “Should I put these back?” He motions to the groceries.
Jim laughs. “‘S m’ job, kiddo, not yers. Y’ go pack.”
“Okay,” Steven agrees, running out of the store after another small smile directed at Jim.
Jim sighs, rubs a hand over his face, and starts to put away the groceries Steven had brought up. He pauses mid-reach and considers the brownie mix in his hand before changing course, stashing it behind his register and resolving to get a tub of ice cream after his shift. He’s a kid, after all, and kids deserve brownies and ice cream.
So do adults, Jim reminds himself, smiling a little. Not without humor, thinks, especially adults who take in ten-year-olds who are too young to be living on their own.
Jim Bronsaw doesn’t pretend to be a saint, but he knows he’s a decent person. Maybe even more than decent, sometimes.
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