Me and James's Story

We had a good relationship, me and James. A peculiar one, but it was good; we got each other. He always seemed to know what I was thinking, but that’s what made it strange, am I right? I never knew what was going through his head; he was a stone wall with a soft heart. That’s what I liked about him; he was kind, and gentle, and never laid a hand on me, but I was scared anyways. He had a way with things, you know? Like he was two steps ahead of everyone.
We started dating a few days after my birthday. He said, reminiscing, that the day we got into it together should have been my real birthday, 19 years before. He knew this, and told me one night while we were walking along the river, under the moon. He stared up at the sky and told me this, in a strange, but knowing way. He said it like he just found out, like he just read it in the stars; he said it in the way you share some surprising information you just read in a book. ‘Oh, look…today’s the day Napoleon was beat in Waterloo!’, but instead of ancient history, he said today should have been the day I was born….like he read it in the sky. He took my hand that night and I felt the same electricity I felt when we first touched. We had been going out for over a year on that day, when he told me about my birthday. The year before that, when he asked me out in a craft shop, I was picking out decorations for my birthday party…my 18th. He was there, picking up some old bit of reed, dried reed, the things you tie onto wholesome, fun signs to make them look more welcoming. I asked him what it was for. He said he needed to tie some things together. Why not use rubber bands? Or paperclips? He smiled. “I use these because they’re what my people used.”
I was instantly attracted to James. He was very average; average height, average looks, average style, the way he walked, talked, smiled, it was all average, but his eyes. They were yellow. Not light brown, the brown that looks yellow in the sun, but a gold, richer than silk yellow, that sort of took you over. I knew this boy wasn’t average. We had our first date later that day, after I picked out some balloons and streamers. I remember thinking nothing of my birthday, and how it was coming soon, I lost all interest in the decorations. I let my mother pick them out, because all I could think about suddenly was getting together that night with that boy. How I had been so excited to pull of my birthday! I wanted it to be a good party, and with the parents gone, it would be. Jessica was bringing some vodka to make screwdrivers, and Leslie was going to get her hands on some sourpuss. “Whiskey Sours, anyone?” she said, waving the LCBO bag above her head. My birthday was good, but all through it, all I could think about was that boy, whom I had only met a week ago in a craft shop, and started dating minutes after I knew his name. To this day, I still think of that day we went for coffee, both of us talking, conversation flowing like the finest melted chocolate; viscous but smooth and delicious. We filled in the blanks of our lives with words, and by the time that night ended, we knew each other well, like we had all our lives.
My life with James was complete, and void of sorrows. At first he fascinated me, hypnotizing me with those yellow eyes of his; my friends all said he had the most gorgeous brown eyes, and I didn’t correct them; after being with James only a few short months, I knew I was the only one that could see his yellow eyes. How it’s possible, I don’t know. How is it possible that I fell so completely, so utterly in love with him is a mystery too. I thought it might have had something to do with all those spell books in his room, but even if it was witchcraft, I didn’t care. I loved that boy.
I met his family three months into the relationship. By that time, we were already inseparable. Like our relationship, his family was curious too. During dinner, his mother, Jo-Anne frequently got up and walked into the kitchen. Moments later the phone would ring, and she would pick it up after the second. She was always there, waiting for the call, always waiting. Most people don’t wait; they hear the bell, the ring, the horn honking, and then they go to answer it; Jo-Anne was always there before the bell rung, before the ringing or the honking. James said she had the second sight. The woman had the most piercing green eyes, but not a real green, it seemed…I can’t remember, but I think that I never really knew the right green. Either my memory is deficient, or her eyes kept changing. Knowing what I know now about them, I’d say the latter.
Ed was a good man, and James took after him in his personality. Ed was slightly overweight and balding. I still remember the ring of blond around his head, like a horseshoe. But he had a laugh, a deep belly laugh that almost knocked you over when you heard it. He was a merry man, drunk most of the time, but I didn’t really expect anything else from someone who lived with witches. Jo-Anne was a tall woman, very beautiful, and skinny, and intimidating in physical appearance. Her sharp bone structure made her a face not to be reckoned with, her jet black hair made the look more complete. It wasn’t just the way she looked that startled everyone; it was the way she felt. When I first met the woman, I thought I’d faint…it was like all of the strength in me had just left. I stood there, in front of her all but cowering. I was scared. James squeezed my hand; I squeezed his, then I brought my other hand up to shake hers. Her stony face broke into a smile and his enveloped my hand in her large warm ones. I felt something in me, tugging, like she was trying to pull something out of me. Trying to see what I’m like, I suppose I thought. She faltered, then smiled at me. I had passed the test.
I still wonder today, still have thousands of questions that I should’ve asked, but was too scared to. Our love was a turbulent sea. He always would go off in his own world, stare into dark alleyways, then retreat, shaking. He never said it, but I knew; he was scared, scared of the things in his own world, the world of witches. He was afraid of the things he saw in the dark, evil places he frequented. He accepted who he was, and why we was the way he was, but he explored his world cautiously, always ready to run. One night, while we lay in bed he told me of things he had seen as a child, things that still conquered his dreams. “You know, Jules, the dead don’t know they’re dead. Did you know that? That Shamalan guy was on the right track…there are plenty of ghost around, people who still think they’re people but they’re not, they don’t know they’re dead. They just walk around, forgetting, then remembering, but still going around, doing what they do. They don’t understand why they’re friends don’t talk to them, or why people never seem to see them, they don’t ask themselves why, because they just forget and keep going. It’s like they have Alzheimer’s, or something.” He smiled. “Ghosts with mental diseases.”
At first, I thought it was just pure luck, the way he went with things. I had lost my keys one morning, and had to walk to school. James met me halfway, and turned me around, saying that I needed to find my keys before the snow fall, or I’d lose them forever. I hadn’t said a word about the keys. He just knew. Thinking back now, I know that if he hadn’t met me, and even if three feet of snow had fallen, he still would’ve been able to find my keys. He knew exactly where they were, and where they would stay. He found them in my driveway, where they fell the night before. My parents had left, for some reason, and so we stayed in. He knew they would be gone, but he never told me how; I just credited it to pure, stupid luck.