Tombstone Tourist

“Is that a problem or?”

“N-no, it's fine. I just, in my senior year of h-high school, that's how people found out that I w-was g-gay. I t-thought it would be the perfect time to c-come out and it, uh, it wasn't.”

“We don't have to do that, then. I just thought that we should probably know a little more about each other if we're living together.”

“It's okay. I'll start, o-okay?”

“That's fine.”

I gave him a smile that I hoped came off as reassuring and he took a bit of pizza while thinking, presumably about what he would ask.

“How old are y-you?”

“I'm 22.” I smirked at him before I asked my own question. “Is your hair actually that color naturally?”

He leaned back against the arm of my couch and groaned heavily, almost losing the plate off of his lap.

“Fuck you, man. Yes, it is. Who the hell would dye their hair this color on purpose?”

I raised my hands in defeat and laughed. I then realized something had changed but didn't say a thing about it. I decided right then to do a small experiment.

“Your turn, then.”

“The scar on your chest, I can see it from the top of your shirt,” I looked down at the neckline of my white v-neck and noticed that at least three inches of it was visible to anyone close enough. “What is that from?”

“Oh, uh, about six moths ago, I had surgery on my heart. I have Marfan's Syndrome. My mom had it, too, and it's uh, it's what she died from. I was actually dead for a few hours while they operated, but now I'm obviously not. The condition is what makes me so lanky, thin, awkward, and also why I look older than I am.”

Alan looked sad and worried, so I sent a small smile in his direction.

“I'm okay now, really. The surgery was just to make sure everything is okay and stays that way so that I live into my lonely old age.”

“You're the last person that deserves to be lonely.”

“Thanks, Alan. You're stutter is gone, did you notice? My turn again, right?”

“It's really only when I first meet people or if I get nervous. Yep, it's your turn now.”

“Okay. Why did you come to me in the cemetery? I mean, plenty of people visit their loved ones graves. I'm nothing special or anything.”

“Don't get freaked out?”

“There's a ghost boy sitting on my couch and you think I'll get freaked out? Really?”

He laughed shortly and nodded, seeming to be thinking something important.

“They told me. The people down, you know, there. They told me you would help me even if you didn't really understand the whole thing. They said that Satan knew about people like you, that you're the kind of person he hates because he knows he'll never have you. They all knew that you had a genuine and kind heart, so you would be willing to help.”

Alan spit all the information out as quickly as possible and my mouth fell slightly open in shock. He looked up at me nervously and I tried desperately to process all of his rushed words. That couldn't be true, I wasn't any saint of a person, I just wanted to help anyone in whatever way I possibly could, apparently including dead boys that weren't necessarily dead.

“That's a lot, I'm sorry. I just, you asked and I thought that you should know.”

“No need to apologize, but yeah, it is. I just didn't want you to go through all of this by yourself.”

“I appreciate it a lot, really. There is, uh, there's one thing I forgot to mention though.”

“Okay? Shoot.”

“I have to do something other than the whole love thing to stay here, normal again. The kid, uh, the one kid that really pushed me to kill myself? I have to, uhm, send his soul down, down to hell.”