by Mileva Anastasiadou
My ancient ghost neighbor wants to go out with me. I never dated a ghost before. I consider the age gap between us, but he says dead years don’t count, he died when he was my age. He feels a connection to me, to this place, but also he doesn’t, he says, and I nod, because I feel the same. He expects me to show him the new era, he wants to be carefree like the new people, like me, he says, and I feel more deep and philosophical when I’m around him.
My ancient ghost neighbor is dressed in a chiton, wears fashionable sandals, like those tourists buy after visiting ancient temples. He doesn’t talk often, for he’s wise, I think, but he claims he’s used to silence after all those years of being dead. Tourists ask for photos, we look exotic to them, we’re stories they’ll tell their friends when they get home, we’re trip capsules to them, in time and space, but soon they walk away disappointed, because they expect him to be profound and philosophical, while he’s a simple man of his time, and I may look kind of topical, but I don’t dance syrtaki.
My ancient ghost neighbor is an old soul while I’m still new at the world. He hates how places change over time. We have hope for the after-life, for people, but what about places, he wonders. He wants the ghost of his old neighborhood to visit because while he’s in the new version of the place, he feels like a ghost. He then laughs, when I remind him he’s a ghost, then looks at me as if I’m a ghost too, and maybe I am, for I, too, a miss a place in space or time, a state of belonging, a vague memory of which lies in a corner of my mind serving as a cemetery, of dead emotions and expectations.
My ancient ghost neighbor lives in the ancient ruins beside my new house. He knows the place much better than me and I know the time better, you’d think we’d be a good match, but we only fail each other. This isn’t my home, he says. It’s not my home either, I tell him, and that’s the one thing we have in common; we’re both misplaced in space or time and we’re both stuck.
Mileva Anastasiadou is a neurologist, from Athens, Greece and the author of “We Fade With Time” by Alien Buddha Press. A Pushcart, Best of the Net, Best Microfiction and Best Small Fictions nominated writer, her work can be found in many journals, such as Chestnut Review, New World Writing, Citron Review, trampset and others.
