Death Delayed

“You’ll die eventually.” says Lem.

“Don’t worry you really will.” says Michael.

And Lacey finds it hilarious. For some reason it sounds impossible right now. But…she knows it’s not.

“I wonder sometimes if men realize what they’re doing to you, or if they’re just that evil?” asks Michael.

“What do you mean?” asks Lacey.

“They don’t understand you. Not anymore. They keep waiting for you to be…relatable. Not alluring or smart or difficult or…even kind. They just keep thinking you’ll be the way they think you are if they keep going. Almost like hitting a television repeatedly to fix it. …Except you’re a touch screen, so to speak, and they’ve basically destroyed you at this point. Given you so many wrong messages and cruel messages and unclear messages that nothing will ever make sense again unless God intervenes.” Michael says.

Lem laughs.

“I think it’s far worse than that.” he says.

“Well, what do you think it’s like then?” asks Michael of Lem.

“She’s more like an electric car. …And the men of today want to treat her like a Model T.” he responds.

They all think. Some laugh.

“She never goes anywhere and they think it’s because she’s ‘too slow’ or ‘just for show’.” Lem continues. “They have no conception of how to drive her. …To be close to sounding crass.”

“That sounds so right.” says Lacey. “But why are the usual women of today the Model T?”

“Because they don’t- They aren’t as naturally drawn to being what you are.” Lem says. “They tend to be more orientated to work outside the home. And focus less on the arts and detailed understandings of culture. They’re more…raw and straightforward.” He thinks for a second before going on. “I find them cute. But like you’d find a little girl cute. …I couldn’t relate to one of them.”

Silence.

“How do you find them to be in the male gender?” asks Michael.

“Most men today?” she asks.

“Your children do fit in perfectly, by the way. They’re your kids but you chose a great father for them.” offers Michael.

“I…don’t like that question.” Lacey laughs. “Truthfully, I’m- I don’t want to hurt anyone reading this. But, I find men of the past far, far more attractive. There’s no comparison. …That being said, you’re all dead or too old at this point. …And…it’s just made me very open minded about men alive.”

“You do better among Europeans.” says Lem. “But yes.”

“I just don’t- Many of them are fascinating in their own way. And my ideal is dead. As awful as that sounds. …So…I just try to find good men.” she says. “Because lots of men are attractive…” She thinks. “Lots of different types of men. Some particularly more than others, but lots of types.”

“And what would you have done…if you’d been born far earlier?” asks Louis. He finds it hilarious.

“Well…if you’re real ghosts…and you’re all actually attracted to me…”

Elliott laughs so loudly and through his nose that it’s almost audible. It interrupts Lacey.

“I don’t know. I would have been very selective. …But I’m not sure what my criteria would have been.” she says.

“You’re extremely naturally beautiful. But I think…without money decorating you you seem creepy or like a potential pushover to people today. And yet with money adorning you you’re terrifying to behold, at least in person.” says Michael.

“Why do I read that way?!” asks Lacey.

“Because you have an old look. Very old.” says Michael.

Silence.

“We wouldn’t struggle as much as men. But…we don’t need to look fertile.” says Michael.

“But I’m extremely fertile.” says Lacey.

“Yes! …But their minds don’t automatically read it that way.” says Lem, laughing. “They just can’t quite fathom what they’re looking at. …It’s not that they can’t mate with you. It’s that they just don’t understand.”

“They do find her attractive.” cautions Louis.

“Yes. But not like we do!” says Lem.

“Why doesn’t it translate?” asks Lacey.

“Because they don’t comprehend it.” says Lem. “They’re not blind. But they just don’t see it like we do. Or if they do see it, it’s misunderstood. You’re misunderstood. …And what’s more, they themselves don’t know how to react.”

“How so?” she asks.

“They really do want to manually wind you up. And they don’t realize that you run on electricity.” He laughs.

“But they love their Model T cars.” says Lacey.

“Yes! It’s a pretty car. Very pleasant. Not made for going 100 miles per an hour.” He laughs. “But…where are they going anyway? And how glamorous.”

“They sound terrible.” says Lacey.

“They aren’t. They just will have to wait until Heaven to decide if they’d like to be exactly the same or be different.” says Michael.

“And in the meantime you’ll be alone. And no man will realize that he’s destroying you. Lacey! Destroying you!” says Louis.

“It’d be funny…if they didn’t keep trying to pour water on you to cool down your software.” says Pete.

Elliott laughs.

“They think you’re lose. You’re not. They think you’re what they’d call horny. You’re not. They think you’re plain when they don’t want to actually look at you honestly. …They keep looking for a bigger, louder, very different person to emerge if they just rig it up right. You know, twist this knob or push that button. Maybe jump on it. Push it a little. But then you don’t move…and they think you aren’t any good or you’re…broken or useless. …But then you look so lightweight! And that’s confusing… And maybe once or twice your ex-husband pressed some button just sitting around tinkering with all the doors open and the hood up…and then he held on for dear life as you took off…and inevitably hit a tree. Going 85 miles per an hour. And you both almost got killed.” laughs Elliott.

“He’s a very hearty, brave and brilliant man.” Louis says about her ex-husband.

“He likes his smart car. But he’s never gotten further than around the driveway twice.” says Michael.

“He’s probably afraid he’ll kill himself.” says Lacey.

“Well…he likes driving it though. It’s the coolest ride around the driveway. And…a few times I think he’s maybe made it to the store and back. …Frankly, he’s admirably adventurous.” says Michael.

“He loves the way you cook.” says Louis. “Literally.”

“It’s like eating at a good British pub.” says Michael.

“They’ll all hate me now.” says Lacey.

“You’ll be fine.” smiles Lem. “So will the kids.”

—-

Shaking

The last time I did gardening I wound up shaking from exhaustion a few hours later. And…since I’m crumbling from stress already I’ve let our garden go wild this year. I’m genuinely deeply embarrassed by it. As I am by how messy my house is. …But my kids are learning to help, my ex-husband helps but also creates messes…and nobody else helps me. …I had a maid for a year when our son was really little…but I’m not doing that again. At least for a while.

“You had a maid!” an enraged anti-rich Tik Tok star might say. I just watched a woman who seemingly genuinely believes rich people are morally decrepit and that she, a white, able-bodied, American woman who looks reasonably well-off (at least on camera) is not privileged enough to “count” as part of the problem.

*eye-roll*

Honestly…rich people are kinder to me and my family than non-rich people. I feel literally safer around them. And what’s worse…is that the older the money the kinder and more clear in their thinking they tend to be. …That being said, they’re not all good people. Obviously. And having money and being actively evil is bad combination indeed.

The maid service we used was progressive. They used seemingly green cleaning products. …And they paid their workers a living-wage. And we tipped and gave gifts. It was delightful. I had a clean home…

I have little to no hope for my crush to work out. …But crazier things have happened. …Still, I completely question if he’s read my blog now. At all. I think that was wishful thinking on my part to think he had. I could be wrong, but…I have no strength left to be actively hopeful.

…I do wonder though. What’s going on supernaturally?

I’m actually a very egalitarian person. Genuinely. So…if there was a poor man or a rich man alike who I found equally attractive and admirable I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t care if they both found me attractive. And truly loved me. …And I can’t imagine Heaven is different than that.

It’s been odd finding “ghosts” who are all so wealthy falling in love with Lacey. She’s still grappling with that observation…

She’s a woman who exists behind the Millennial mask she wears in public (and on camera) to fit in. Her voice changes when she’s being herself. Her soul comes to the surface. And it’s not safe around anyone but them.

“They don’t exist, sweetie!” says a hater?

But they do. …Whether they’re demons or ghosts they do exist. I’m not schizophrenic, according to real professionals with the appropriate experience and credentials.

A light moves across the room.

Lacey feels like screaming at the top of her lungs. No façades.

“You look horrible on camera.” says Jack. “It ages you. And that’s the best part.”

Lacey laughs. It’s true. She’s better looking in person.

“It’s bizarre.” says Lacey.

“It’d show more if you were more relaxed. As it stands though you keep trying to capture it to prove something to people. Let’s be honest. And it’s abrasive… Not that you care. Well, you care but not enough.” He licks his lips. “I don’t think anyone gets how awful it was for us to be separated recently.” He sighs. “Now all you do is try to argue.”

A dark ball moves across her doorway.

Lacey rebukes the demons who may be present.

Anyway…the thing is…Lacey didn’t indulge in the supernatural until she was 30. And then it wasn’t a conjuring so much as her being suicidal and visiting a statue…in September…looking into the statue’s eyes and seeing real eyes looking back at her. A face. It was as if the statue came to life.

…Did she lose her mind? Did she start to conjure things with her seething internal pain?

…The thing is…rich people exist. And Lacey has to be careful. Because the dream she had in her youth could have been about Michael.

“I’m sorry he’s not responding.” says Michael.