However, today she had kissed the lips of Fortune and witnessed a bipolar phantom on a tirade. She studied the timid-looking ghost again before continuing.
“Why?” Karen finally asked. “Why are you doing this?”
“To make the world a better place.”
“How does getting angry make the world a better place?”
“It serves as a warning.”
“For what? Is the bus in danger?”
“Heavens, no.”
“Who needs to be warned?”
“The bus driver.”
Karen replayed the scene in her mind. Nothing made sense. She knew that Nancy had some sort of issue that kept her from being able to move into the next life, but her answers were ridiculous. Completely disjointed and insane, in fact. She thought back to what Nancy had said earlier, but there were too many missing details to make sense of anything.
“Is this your neighborhood?” Karen asked.
“No, no, no.” Nancy shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” Karen said, her voice as even-toned as if she were conducting an interview, “but I’m having trouble understanding what just happened with the bus. Why are you upset with the driver?”
“I’m not upset with that particular driver. I know that everyone has to work. That’s why I’m here. This is my job.”
“Your job is to scream at the bus?”
“Of course. When I died I realized that my children didn’t need me anymore, because a ghost couldn’t help them. But I could help other children. This is the street where the little boy was killed.”
What little boy? Karen couldn’t recall any children dying on this street. The way Nancy had stated the fact made it seem like everyone was familiar with the incident. Karen studied the woman’s clothes for a clue as to how long she had been dead. However, the skirt and blouse appeared crudely homemade and lacking in any style that Karen could put a date upon.
“When did this happen?” Karen asked after hesitating several times. She wondered why the boy wasn’t there fighting the bus that had killed him.
“1978.”
“Really? That was a long time ago.”
“I can see that even you’ve forgotten,” Nancy replied sadly.
“I was born that year, so I wouldn’t have known about it.” Karen explained. “Things have changed since then.” She paused for a moment and then continued as the thought occurred to her. “Were you hired for this job?”
“No. I just needed something to do after I died. This is sort of a hobby of mine.”
“What year did you die?”
“1978. I died trying to save the boy,” Nancy explained as she craned her neck to peer down the street. Karen felt sympathy for Nancy’s effort to save the boy, but the fact that Nancy couldn’t let go of the death appeared to be an unhealthy fixation. Nancy had been haunting the bus stop for as long as Karen had been alive. Too long, Karen thought.
“Look,” Karen said with a sigh. “I’m not sure if you know this, but safety has improved a lot over the last few decades. There are cameras and sensors on buses to help prevent accidents like the one that happened to you.”
“Cameras. Buses take pictures? How does that help anything?”
Karen explained the safety improvements that had been developed over the past three and a half decades. She even took out her phone and after Nancy marveled at the technology for awhile, Karen showed her a few online videos about how the safety devices worked. The discussion took another twenty minutes and was interrupted each time a bus came to the stop and Nancy had to pause the conversation to engage in her tirade all over again.
“Does that help you understand?” Karen finally asked as she shut down the browser on her phone. “You don’t need to keep shouting at buses. It’s much safer for children on the street now.”
“Sure. But they can still get hurt.”
“But it’s not as likely,” Karen insisted.
“It can still happen. We all pay the price of carelessness.”
“Does what you’re doing make a difference?” Karen snapped as
“Why?” Karen finally asked. “Why are you doing this?”
“To make the world a better place.”
“How does getting angry make the world a better place?”
“It serves as a warning.”
“For what? Is the bus in danger?”
“Heavens, no.”
“Who needs to be warned?”
“The bus driver.”
Karen replayed the scene in her mind. Nothing made sense. She knew that Nancy had some sort of issue that kept her from being able to move into the next life, but her answers were ridiculous. Completely disjointed and insane, in fact. She thought back to what Nancy had said earlier, but there were too many missing details to make sense of anything.
“Is this your neighborhood?” Karen asked.
“No, no, no.” Nancy shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” Karen said, her voice as even-toned as if she were conducting an interview, “but I’m having trouble understanding what just happened with the bus. Why are you upset with the driver?”
“I’m not upset with that particular driver. I know that everyone has to work. That’s why I’m here. This is my job.”
“Your job is to scream at the bus?”
“Of course. When I died I realized that my children didn’t need me anymore, because a ghost couldn’t help them. But I could help other children. This is the street where the little boy was killed.”
What little boy? Karen couldn’t recall any children dying on this street. The way Nancy had stated the fact made it seem like everyone was familiar with the incident. Karen studied the woman’s clothes for a clue as to how long she had been dead. However, the skirt and blouse appeared crudely homemade and lacking in any style that Karen could put a date upon.
“When did this happen?” Karen asked after hesitating several times. She wondered why the boy wasn’t there fighting the bus that had killed him.
“1978.”
“Really? That was a long time ago.”
“I can see that even you’ve forgotten,” Nancy replied sadly.
“I was born that year, so I wouldn’t have known about it.” Karen explained. “Things have changed since then.” She paused for a moment and then continued as the thought occurred to her. “Were you hired for this job?”
“No. I just needed something to do after I died. This is sort of a hobby of mine.”
“What year did you die?”
“1978. I died trying to save the boy,” Nancy explained as she craned her neck to peer down the street. Karen felt sympathy for Nancy’s effort to save the boy, but the fact that Nancy couldn’t let go of the death appeared to be an unhealthy fixation. Nancy had been haunting the bus stop for as long as Karen had been alive. Too long, Karen thought.
“Look,” Karen said with a sigh. “I’m not sure if you know this, but safety has improved a lot over the last few decades. There are cameras and sensors on buses to help prevent accidents like the one that happened to you.”
“Cameras. Buses take pictures? How does that help anything?”
Karen explained the safety improvements that had been developed over the past three and a half decades. She even took out her phone and after Nancy marveled at the technology for awhile, Karen showed her a few online videos about how the safety devices worked. The discussion took another twenty minutes and was interrupted each time a bus came to the stop and Nancy had to pause the conversation to engage in her tirade all over again.
“Does that help you understand?” Karen finally asked as she shut down the browser on her phone. “You don’t need to keep shouting at buses. It’s much safer for children on the street now.”
“Sure. But they can still get hurt.”
“But it’s not as likely,” Karen insisted.
“It can still happen. We all pay the price of carelessness.”
“Does what you’re doing make a difference?” Karen snapped as
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