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A Ghost's Story
Jenna Lynn Bretz
Copyright © 2019 Jenna Lynn Bretz
All rights reserved
First Edition
NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING
320 Broad Street
Red Bank, NJ 07701
First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2019
ISBN 978-1-64096-831-8 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64096-832-5 (Digital)
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
My existence, if that is what this is. Do I exist? I know that I did, but I am not sure now. I am weightless, formless. I am a thought? A consciousness? I can’t really be sure. I would go mad if that were possible. Hell, maybe I already have. There are times when I live in a memory, and it seems so real, only to awaken to this infinite sleep. My only comfort is to be in this room. The room I once shared with the love of my life. It is empty now. The furniture we once picked out together, gone. The bed we made love in, gone. But I can bring it all back. I can remember it just as it was. My thoughts drift through this house. I think about my daughters sleeping in their rooms, and I am transported there. The scenery changes with each changing thought. What would I do without this house? I believe I would disappear entirely. That thought brings with it a fear that I have never experienced so deeply. I must not stop thinking. I can’t allow myself to forget. If I forget, I am truly gone. I go through this house remembering every detail: The pictures of the girls on the mantle. Stanley’s old burgundy leather chair in the study with the tattered and torn left arm. I hated that chair. I always wanted to get him a new one. But he insisted on keeping it. Now that chair keeps me from fading away. This house keeps me from fading away. I will never leave it. I will hold on to it with all that I am. My house.
I remember the first day I laid eyes on this place. Stanley and I were driving around in my old powder-blue VW bug. What a clunker that car was. Having recently been married, we were in search of the perfect home to start our new life together. I guess you could say that I was somewhat of a wild child in those days. But not Stanley, no. Stanley was the most levelheaded person I have ever known. I met him in his senior year at UCLA. He came from a very conservative family. Money was never an issue for them. They were not overly wealthy. They just worked hard, saved their money, and invested wisely. They never used credit cards. They would save for whatever it was they needed. Before making a purchase, they would compare prices, read reviews, and check consumer reports. Then, and only then, would they buy. That is how they did everything, from cars to refrigerators, right down to socks.
Stanley was the younger of two children. His sister, Audrey, was five years older than him. Once again, his parents had planned carefully, allowing each child the time needed to be given the required attention they felt was appropriate for their formative years. So once Stan’s sister had been accepted into the desired parochial school at the age of four, they began planning their second child.
Stanley was born on June 10, 1965, exactly one year and ten days after Audrey’s fifth birthday. His mother had even planned her pregnancy to avoid the discomfort of the summer heat. He was adored by his mother and big sister, valued and respected by his father. They were all very close. Even his extended family was a big part of his life.
I always admired them…
The feelings were not reciprocated. I was the crazy girl who took their son away. My life was absolutely the opposite of Stanley’s.
I was the only child of an unwed, single mother.
My mother was on the eve of her twentieth birthday when I came into the world.
She was from an average middle-class family in the Midwest. She was smart and beautiful. Her parents never saw the need for her to attend college. She was expected to finish high school, get married, and have a family. But she had plans of her own. She worked hard in school and was awarded academic scholarships. She had applied secretly to several schools around the country and had been accepted as well. But rather than being pleased by the news, her parents forbade her to go. And after a heated argument, she chose to take the money she had saved and buy a bus ticket from Missouri to California. Berkley would be the school of her choice. So she stuffed everything she owned into a suitcase and waited until dark. Then climbed out her bedroom window and hitched a ride to the bus station.
I never realized growing up how brave she was for having done that. I admire her for that now…
She arrived in San Francisco, California in July 1969. Just eighteen years old. She caught several rides until she made it to the campus at Berkeley. She walked into the admissions office and began her new life.
Things were hard for her. Scholarships covered her tuition and dorm room. She worked in the cafeteria on campus to help cover other expenses. She was alone—no friends, no family. She didn’t have time to engage in social life with the other students, which earned her the reputation of being stuck up. Being from a very religious family, she had never worn makeup. Her wardrobe consisted of skirts and blouses. She had never really had a haircut, to speak of, so her hair was well past her hips. But she was a natural beauty inside and out, with sandy blonde hair and pale hazel-green eyes. She really was beautiful. She turned down dates regularly, so most of the