“Arty was an old buddy from high school who had died years earlier.”
Arty and I used to hang out together. We were the best of friends and he used to eat most of his meals with me and my family.
Arty was into motorcycles and tragically was killed when a passing car hit him head on. He died instantly.
Everyone who knew him was devastated because he was the type of person who had no enemies. He was likable, easygoing, and loyal to a fault. It was this latter quality that may have caused his early demise.
You see, Arty sometimes hung out with the wrong crowd. His cousin, Jamie, was not a particularly nice person, and, in fact, had more than one run in with the law. But Arty felt that because he was related to Jamie, he owed him his loyalty and friendship.
I had warned him about getting too close to someone whose character was questionable, but Arty felt he could put Jamie on a straight path. It turns out that the night Arty died, he was running an errand for his cousin, and they had been drinking earlier in the evening.
The autopsy showed Arty had a high level of alcohol in his blood, and the police report indicated that Arty’s motorcycle had possibly strayed into oncoming traffic.
Arty died a little over two years ago, but on more than one occasion, I have felt his presence, particularly late in the evening when I’m alone.
One night, I swear I saw the outline of his figure hovering over me when I was lying in bed. Another time, I woke up to see the end of my mattress sink in as if someone was sitting on it. And another time, the bedroom door slammed shut and I saw the outline of his figure again. Yet the windows were closed and it couldn’t have been caused by a draft.
I miss Arty and somehow I feel his spirit feels it was done an injustice to which I heartily agree.