“Please tell me if this story is offensive and I’ll remove it as soon as I get internet connection”
This is one of a few stories that I just wrote for fun, because I felt like it. I saw some post on Tumblr or something that basically the premise for this, I think, and just started writing from there. I like the ending, I think it’s funny, but I’m not sure how everyone else will take it. I’ve got a few stories with questionable parts, and this is one of them. Or, at least, I perceive them as being potentially questionable to some. We’ll see how it turns out. If this story ends up being too offensive, I’ll take it down. Just let me know, so I know what to avoid in the future.
“An Audible Sigh,” by Andy Sima (2017)
Stan Moore was in love with a girl, but, as always, there was good news, and there was bad news. The good news of the matter was that he lived with said girl, Elizabeth Crawford. The bad news was that she had no idea he existed.
The reason for that uncomfortable situation was simple; Stan Moore was dead. In life, Stan Moore and Elizabeth Crawford had never met. They had never once crossed paths on the streets of daylight. It wasn’t until after Stan had died in a car crash and passed out of the waking world that he had the ability and time to move about the earthly realm with impunity. In death, Stan had become a free agent, an untied soul, a world wanderer; Stan had become a ghost.
The idea of being dead frightened Stan at first, but he soon grew used to it, as he was never wanting for company. It also helped that the stories about ghosts were true. Stan could walk through walls, float around the room, go anywhere he chose to, move small objects, and see things he might otherwise never have viewed. One such thing, or such someone, was Elizabeth Crawford.
Elizabeth moved into Stan’s San Francisco apartment about six months after Stan’s death, but Stan had never really moved out, as he wanted to remain in the comfort of home. Elizabeth had no way of knowing this, as Stan could not be seen by mortal eyes, and the only way he could make himself known was through the movement of small objects or changing the temperature by a few degrees. As such, Stan awkwardly attempted to spotlight himself with his limited power. More often than not he failed.
Stan had been a shy man, and even at twenty-five years old, he’d never had a real girlfriend. The fact that he was now dead changed none of that. It could have been said that Stan had a face only a mother could love, except even Stan’s mother didn’t love his face. It was an understatement to call him thin and reserved. If actions speak louder than words, Stan was the silent child in the front of the school bus. But at least he had his own obsessive, unhealthy dedication to his dream of being a jazz musician, through which he expressed himself. He could have made it, too, if he hadn’t died. But death was a door to Stan; he had found a new obsession to devote his un-life to, and this time he set his sights no lower than the Homecoming Queen.
Elizabeth was peppy and about as confident in herself as Stan was not. She went through boyfriends as quickly as a smoker goes through matches, and was about as fiery, too. She burned hot, and then cooled off, only to be ignited by someone else who caught her eye. Stan would see these flashes of passion, and felt ashamed to watch. Yet he was unable to pull his eyes away, and his love for Elizabeth grew.
He began his plan of winning over her heart by writing small notes in the form of pens and desk objects, shaped to spell out his name. “STAN,” the unorthodox love letter said. Elizabeth saw this, and thinking herself a sleepwalker, took it as an omen of good will. She later that day came home with a young man named Stan, completely unrelated to Mr. Moore.
For the duration of Elizabeth’s escapade then, Stan perched on a chair beside the bed of Elizabeth Crawford and her other Stan, watching them sleep and guarding over them. At one point, the other Stan rolled over and began to snore.
An audible sigh from Stan Moore startled the other Stan to attention.
—–
The next day, upon the departure of the other Stan, Stan Moore decided to try an alternative way of attracting Elizabeth’s consideration. He intended to write a letter, but he realized he had no idea what to say. He’d barely been able to express himself in his slipshod English essays back in high school; how could he bare his feelings to a girl who didn’t even know he existed? He decided that he didn’t have the nerve to do it, much like everything he did, and was about to give up,when he noticed Elizabeth drop a glass of milk near the fridge. Without thinking, he stretched himself with dexterity a contortionist could only dream of and caught the glass of milk a mere inches from impact. Elizabeth’s scream caught in her throat and turned to a gasp of confusion as she observed the floating milk glass. Stan gently set the glass down and moved away, thinking nothing of it.
“What the hell?” Elizabeth said, picking up the glass. Stan glanced at her for a minute before turning to move elsewhere. Elizabeth’s crystal-and-glass laugh brought his attention back to her. He lived, or rather, died for that laugh. He wondered what it was she was laughing at.
“I knew it!” she exclaimed. “I’m telekinetic!”
Bamboozlement overtook Stan’s mind. Telekinetic? Surely, Stan thought, she should know I’m here by now; this isn’t the first time I’ve moved stuff.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve moved stuff!” Elizabeth said, and she laughed again, like diamonds falling from the sky. Stan shivered with ecstasy at her laugh, feeling only slightly ashamed. Then, in his reverie of bliss, a thought occurred to him. Maybe he didn’t have to make himself known to her in order to win her heart, and more importantly, her laugh. Maybe there were other ways…
Elizabeth tossed the glass in the air and made a motion with her hands that Stan guessed was supposed to be Elizabeth’s impression of telekinesis. Stan caught the glass in midair and moved it around with Elizabeth’s hand motions, and Elizabeth laughed, diamonds cutting through Stan’s non-ears.
He gave an audible sigh.
—–
“You wanna see something really special?” Elizabeth said to her partner as they lay in bed together. Stan sat at his watchtower atop the chair next to the bed, listening and waiting for a cue.
“What could I see that’s better than what I just saw?” the man said.
Elizabeth laughed, but not her diamond-chandelier laugh that Stan loved so much. “Don’t make it weird,” she answered. “Let me show you.” She removed her hands from her partner’s chest and kicked her legs over the side of the bed. She shot her hand towards the lamp at the far corner of the room. Stan shot over, too, and began lifting the lamp and mirroring Elizabeth’s movements. He flickered the light on and off for good effect.
Elizabeth’s partner’s face paled like fog rolling over the San Francisco bay. He ripped the blankets off his body and moved back towards the window of Elizabeth’s bedroom, away from the floating lamp. Elizabeth’s smile turned upside down, and she lowered the lamp.
“What the hell was that?” He said from the far corner of the room. He struggled to put on his pants and shirt as he spoke.
“I’m telekinetic,” Elizabeth said, disappointment creeping into her voice. “I thought you would find it cool.”
“Cool? That’s fucking freaky. I don’t want anything to do with it,” her partner said. He glanced down at his pants. “Can you hand me my belt?”
Elizabeth sat on her bed, stone faced. She said nothing, but flicked her finger from the belt on the ground towards her fleeing partner. Stan took the belt and threw it full force. It hit the man in the face, and he tumbled out the second story window to the pavement below.
“I’m alright!” he called from below as Elizabeth rushed to the window. Standing up, the man threaded the belt through his pants and limped away, clearly not entirely alright.
“I’m sorry!” Elizabeth yelled as the man rushed off into the distance. Once he was out of sight, she leaned against the window frame and looked out into the night. After a few minutes, she returned to her vacated bed and pulled the blankets around her. The king-sized bed was far too large for just one person. So, completely in spite of himself, he joined her at the bed. He warmed up the air around them to try and make Elizabeth feel comfortable.
She looked around, confused, and then began to cry. Stan gave an audible sigh, which only made Elizabeth cry harder.
—–
Over the course of the next few days, Elizabeth didn’t try to use telekinesis very much, and Stan became distraught. He had no way of hearing her laugh now, had no way of making diamonds flow like waterfalls or make glass tinkle like wind chimes. He would do anything to make Elizabeth feel better; anything, he realized with a start, except ruin the illusion he had created. He lacked the nerve for that.
Elizabeth soon got out of her funk and became her old self again, determined to find a man who would love her and understand her for who she was, telekinesis and all. She knew she couldn’t have one-night-stands forever.
“I’m right here! I’m the man you want!” Stan wanted to tell her. But he couldn’t. The thought of trying to express himself stopped him cold, like he had a pair of iron underpants. This hadn’t been the first time Stan had failed to perform under pressure. He broke down in tears when his physics class bridge broke. His teacher couldn’t get him to stop crying, no matter how many times he told him the bridges were supposed to break. Like then, Stan felt hopeless, but still managed to swallow his awkwardness and move objects for Elizabeth at her command. What she wanted, she got.
As Elizabeth began experimenting with her powers, it became more difficult for Stan to keep up. Making breakfast for her was the most difficult part. When Elizabeth realized that she could move more than one thing at once, she went crazy with power. Making eggs and bacon and toast and pancakes all at once, Stan’s ethereal body was stretched to the breaking point. Though Stan followed her everywhere and could do small tasks as she commanded, Elizabeth apparently lacked the wherewithal to direct her telekinesis at more difficult tasks, such as typing or driving. He dreaded the moment she would try to.
It wasn’t long before Elizabeth became confident enough in herself again to consider showing her powers to others. She invited over a long-time friend of hers, Mary, on the premise that they would have “Girls’ Night,” which Stan could only assume meant sexy pillow fights and too much wine. What it actually meant was sappy, cheesy movies and only as much wine as the two could afford, which wasn’t much.
When Mary finally showed up later that night, the two squealed like dry ice on hot metal and embraced for a minute, saying how it had been too long, how they’d been, what weather they were having, and so on and so forth.
Elizabeth soon led Mary up to her apartment and proceeded to show her the selection of movies for the evening. They had I was a Teenage B-Movie Actor, Way too Many Notebooks, and Talking Passionately in the Rain, among other films that Stan had no desire to watch. The truth was that neither did Mary or Elizabeth, but the movies were just background noise, anyway.
“So, which movie will it be tonight?” Elizabeth said, picking up a stack of about five films. She began to juggle them without Stan’s assistance.
“I like that one, the one with the roses and the envelope on it,” Mary said, pointing to the spiraling circle of disc cases.
“That’s all of them,” Elizabeth laughed with a sound like carbon under high pressure. Mary laughed, too, a quick snorting sound that took Stan off-guard.
“Then I’ll take the one that’ll be in your right hand… Now!” Mary exclaimed. As Mary said it, Elizabeth closed both her hands, and Stan almost missed the cue. He was able to catch all the movies before they fell too far, and he suspended them in the circle that had formed by Elizabeth’s juggling skills. Mary’s smile fell from her face.
“How are you doing that?” Mary asked, circling around Elizabeth and looking for strings or wires or optical illusions.
“Doing what?” Elizabeth asked innocently, and smiled sweetly. Mary returned with a haphazard grin, glancing at the floating array of DVDs.
“I see what’s going on here,” Mary said. “You actresses think you can play your Tinseltown tricks on me, but we San Franciscans are smarter than we look. There’s a catch here, I know it. Just gotta get a little more wine in me and I’ll be able to see it.” The two girls laughed uproariously, diamonds and pigs together.
“There’s no trick. I’m telekinetic, see?” Elizabeth said, and flicked her fingers out. Stan took his many arms and moved the movies in the direction she had pointed. Elizabeth closed her fingers back into a fist, and Stan nestled the movies together into one neat pile and sat them next to Elizabeth’s television. Mary’s eye’s grew to the size of film reels and her mouth gaped in surprise.
“You weren’t kidding! Telekinetic? That’s insane!” Mary exclaimed, her mouth shaping up into a smile as she turned towards the movies. “I bet you can do so much with that!”
“Believe me, it’s a huge help around the house,” Elizabeth said, relieved that someone wasn’t scared away by her purported power. “But you have no idea how difficult it’s been to find someone who would be understanding.”
“How many people have you shown?” Mary asked.
“Only one, but still, when I showed him, he fell out the window,” Elizabeth said, shrugging. Mary snorted again.
“What did you do to him? Throw a chair at the sucker?” Mary said.
“Not quite,” Elizabeth smiled mischievously. “But something like that.”
“You’re a bad girl, you are. Hope he deserved it,” Mary said, picking up the bottle and her glass from the table and pouring herself some wine. “Say, you could pour yourself a drink without ever having to stand up!”
“You’re right, I could!” Elizabeth said, and promptly sat down. She flicked her fingers, and Stan got to work. Mary snorted some more, and sat down next to Elizabeth.
“Remind me to ask you for a refill later!” Mary said, and lifted her glass to her lips. Stan brought Elizabeth her glass, and was about to sit down before he noticed Elizabeth throw the movie case, still in her hand, toward her television.
“Let’s start watching,” she said, and Stan dashed for the case before it hit anything. He opened it up and popped the movie into the reader and started up the show. Elizabeth and Mary sat back and became comfortable, and Stan wiped his nonexistent forehead. He sat back to watch the movie, too, and made the air around the two girls just a little warmer as they chitchatted.
“My dear… I love you!” Someone on the television said.
“I know!” Someone else responded, and the two kissed passionately in the rain under a streetlight while string quartet music played in the background and the smell of roses presumably filled the air.
Stan gave an audible sigh.
—–
Stan began to notice something was different in Elizabeth soon after her girls’ night with Mary. It was something fundamental that had changed in her; it was in the way she walked, it was in the way she talked, it was in the way she carried herself and presented herself to others. Stan caught himself off-guard when he actually managed to put the pieces together. Elizabeth was starting to look for a lasting relationship.
Stan knew that it was going to be now or never; he had to make himself known, somehow. But he had no idea how he was to achieve that. Acting as Elizabeth’s telekinesis had become second nature to him, and he did it more out of habit than out of desire for her. But he couldn’t stop because her laugh was too addictive, and if he did stop, he didn’t know what he’d do with himself. His day was spent tailing Elizabeth and moving objects at her will, and at night, he either acted a heated blanket or sat at his perch on the chair beside Elizabeth’s bed. If he stopped helping her, he’d have to leave, because what else could he do?
The thought once occurred to Stan that he could easily make Elizabeth a ghost, and they would be together forever. The problem with that was that if Stan killed Elizabeth, he’d have to actually interact with her and admit that he killed her. She wouldn’t be happy with that, and Stan dreaded actually interacting with her. So Stan found himself between a rock and a hard place, as it were. He would need some sort of a Deus Ex Machina to save him now.
So he waited, and bided his time, sinking further and further into the sand pit of a situation he’d trapped himself in. With each day that passed, Stan lost more and more hope that he’d find a way out of his predicament. And with each day that passed, Elizabeth’s laugh became more and more infrequent as the novelty of telekinesis slowly wore off and Elizabeth failed to find a guy she thought she could spend the rest of her life with. Something had to change. So Stan finally decided to do something he’d never done before in his life; take control of the situation.
It was in a flash of inspiration that he realized neither of them were going to be happy this way. So one night, while Elizabeth was sleeping, Stan went out into the world and looked for something, anyway, that might help Elizabeth. And for the first time in a long time, Stan felt truly happy. For once, he was making decisions that would actually mean something And it was thrilling. He could make his own Deus Ex Machina.
He looked in every bar that was still open, the same places Elizabeth looked each night, but he soon realized that he was searching in all the wrong places. Stan had to look somewhere else; behind the counter of the bar. When he realized that, he found what he was looking for.
As he floated around a bar, he stumbled upon a straight-backed, clean-cut man of about Elizabeth’s age, pouring drinks and making small talk with the red-eyed depression case who had his head down next to a pint. As Stan listened to the bartender talk, and learned much about him, and liked him more and more.
Stan learned that his name was Frank, and he had been a part of the military, though he never went overseas. He lacked a college diploma, but the bar was his, and he made enough money from it to live comfortably. He had a happy life, good family, good friends, and knew exactly what he wanted to do in this world. He was, to a certain extent, everything Stan had ever aspired to be, and everything Elizabeth wanted in a man. And the man was single, to boot.
So Stan resolved himself to get Elizabeth to laugh again by getting her someone who could make her laugh without magic powers. He was able to let the idea of him being with Elizabeth go, for her own good. He held on to the hope that when Elizabeth died, they could be together then, but it seemed less likely now. It was that hope for the future that allowed his obsessive nature to let Elizabeth go in the present. So Stan let her go, and he felt as if the sky had been lifted from his shoulders.
The next time she went to the bar with Frank tending the bar, Stan did his best to get them to talk. Having never played matchmaker, nor ever really having had experience talking to girls, or boys, for that matter, Stan had only the knowledge gained from late-night sitcoms and jazz musicians to guide him. So, in hoping to create a comedic miscommunication that resulted in a ridiculously misplaced but telling dialogue segment, he spilled a drink onto Frank the Bartender’s outfit when Elizabeth was nearby.
“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry!” Elizabeth exclaimed, hopping up from her stool at the bar to see what she had done.
Frank, sopping wet, wringed his hands out. “It’s quite alright, Miss. Happens all the time.”
“But I have no idea how it happened! I was nowhere near the glass,” Elizabeth said. Stan couldn’t help but smile a little. Stan also couldn’t help but notice the bulging muscles beneath the bartender’s now-soiled work shirt. Frank’s smoldering eyes and slicked, black hair made him look like he could have been somebody, but regardless of who he looked like, an ex-military bodybuilder was certain to get Elizabeth’s attention. And get her attention it did. Things, Stan thought, were going well.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, little lady, it’s fine,” Frank the Bartender said, giving a winning smile with perfectly whitened teeth. Elizabeth’s eyes and ovaries ballooned.
“No, please, let me help you. Do you-” Elizabeth paused to straighten her dress and hair. “Do you need any help getting new clothes, or, or anything?”
Frank stopped moving and glanced at Elizabeth. He looked her up and down. Elizabeth smiled warmly, seductively, and her eyes glimmered like a cat stalking prey. Frank noticed how her eyebrows arched perfectly, and how her golden hair fell down her shoulders like prairie grass in the wind. Her petite fingers tapped the bar with the rhythm of love, whatever that was, and her luscious red lips puckered up in what Stan thought was the most sensual thing he’d ever seen in person. She was giving Frank all the right signals. And Frank was receiving them.
“Sorry, I’m gay,” Frank said simply, and grabbed a towel to wipe up the spilled drink from the floor, turning away from the would-be succubus. Elizabeth blinked twice, and put her head down on the counter. She starting laughing, as if she had heard one of life’s cruel punchlines.
Stan just gave an audible sigh.
