The day before second semester starts, one of my specialest students (who accidentally showed up to school a day early) tells me that our school is haunted by a ghost named Tabitha who lives in the elevator. He says he gets chills whenever he can feel her nearby.
I am full of ghosts. I have become less sentimental than ever, and this has left swift and deep holes in my social circle as I dig out broken relationships and let them float into ghost territory. I am hauntingly cordial as these people who used to know me inside and out drift into stranger territory and I don’t even bother to watch as they leave. With this unseasonably cold Houston weather, I needed something to warm me up.