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A Happy Ghost

Book by Karl Kristian Flores · 16 quotes · Society, Loneliness, Life

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A Happy Ghost Quotes

“What a vibe! Do you wanna walk with me? I’m headed this way.” “No,” said Andrei. “But thank you.” David shifted his arms and laughed. He did not expect rejection. David considered himself friendly and a young man of great energy and there could be no possible reason why anybody should deny his invitation. “Oh, why not?” “David...” Andrei started on an effortless admission. The comet knew exactly how he felt and did not measure his blow. It was fair this way, so he locked his eyes kindly on David and shared: “I do not want to walk with you. There’s nothing wrong with that. We don’t need to be friends. And this is okay.” “Oh. Did I...say something bad earlier?” “Mate, it’s just who you are. And who I am. I don’t want to pretend that it’s pleasant to be with you.” “Dude, that really hurts me that you said that, Andrei.” “What can we do, honestly, David? Lie instead? That’s how it is. It can’t be changed. It’s nothing on you—just the both of us combined Not every person we meet is right for us. If we treat everyone like friends, nothing is earned, you know what I mean?” “Alright, dude. Whatever. That’s totally your choice, so all good. But that literally makes no sense, so.” Andrei looked down the road, which he owed, and not David, and so withdrew. “Then let me make no sense. Cheers. Good luck with everything.”

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“Andrei felt that this day with Raphael, while short-lived, was the equivalent of being Raphael’s friend for many, many years. Nothing could, of course, replace time devoted to another. They would have enjoyed drinking in the desert, taking a road trip to Arizona, a good street fight or two—though this required time which they did not have. But in an immeasurable sense, one true conversation and a friendship were the same. The heart asked its only ever test: Did you give me away? Ah, good. The correspondence of souls begged for existence and never for “longer.” Raphael’s departure did not depress Andrei, but immortally fed him. He may not have Raphael to speak with, and Raphael may not have Andrei to sit down and talk to, but they had spoken. Given. Lagers in the desert, the fantasy of an Arizona escapade, and bar brawls were already offered between their looks, heart allowance, and exchange of truth. Certainly, one wants those years, but they don’t need them. That’s the beauty of the real. There was no such thing as “enough” of someone or “more” or “less”—there were only happenings.”

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“No one cares about anyone else’s life, but their own, bro. That’s the thing. We’re just selfish," said Raphael. “Some surprise us though. Those unique ones who interest us— they do something new with their body. They mean words differently. They bring us in. The people who amaze us are how we know that the selfishness inside us all along was never selfishness. We were only far from certain people.”

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“Our circumstance at birth is that we are placed on a planet with no prior choice and appointed sensation and awareness—and then nothing after it. There won’t be an opportunity to look back or to be ashamed. What to do? Walk the rock and see more of the earth? Fill our playtime with the current inventions? No, I want to go toward other people. Other moving humans. No technology or machine in the world could match the pricelessness of life. It’s a universally precious. It can’t be saved and so has the most value.”

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“It was hard to invest in a person when one saw how things passed. Take the ball player, for example, who dedicates his life, gets injured, and then watches the sport proceed without him. He sits on his leather couch, watching better athletes run across his television screen, younger ones on renovated fields. And he, who sacrificed his sweat, youth, and sanity to the sport and knew coaches, teammates, and even janitors at the stadium like brothers—is forced to still live afterward. His teammates said kind words before a match, hugged him after a goal, but now seem to be focused on new seasons and new goals. He gets left behind. Did none of it mean anything? He cries for the fast world to stop and says, “Slow down. This pains me. We were just here. I used to joke with you. We said we loved each other. Wait for me. Will you just wait for me?” Those hands he shook after a victory could not care for the weeping, broken-footed man hiding in the shadows of his home, once lit by the sun, once the life of the party. When Andrei walked into a job now, or even met someone for the first time, he thought: How long will it take you to forget me?”

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“People had tried to reel Raphael in from his silence. Their attempts were precisely why he felt so uncomfortable. He did not want to be saved or included. He liked to listen. When he asked a question, it was because he wanted to know the answer. But then they turned it around to ask, “What about you?” and this bothered Raphael, who believed the speaker only returned the question out of manners and so was never a real inquiry. Raphael would be pressured to respond and endure the painful seconds of saying something someone did not want to hear. He would trace their faltering eyes, then his words would crumble into sand, and his listener would never notice because they were not interested in the first place.”

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“This blond Brett boy was very tall. And in his disposition seemed an incompleteness. People who talked to Brett usually first referenced his height. Thus, a compliment or statement regarding his figure was the first thing he heard. Andrei could imagine that the first fraction of every conversation in his life had to do with how tall he was. And since conversations did not last that long, Brett had mastered the form of receiving the compliment, but compared to folks with a shorter body, had a considerably lower percentage of conversations in his life about other things. It was merely the way it had turned out. The world acknowledged Brett’s height and Brett monopolized this attention and innocently adjusted by mentioning his height for all sorts of topics—for being the butt of jokes, for flirtation, to compete in the quiet dance of masculine dominance in rooms that men knew so well. Andrei located the offness to him—a certain naïve, boyish way Brett spoke and moved. If Andrei and Brett had been the same age, not in a hotel restroom, and most importantly, friends, Andrei would have offered him some advice: “Accept comments on your height quickly, my friend, and then never address it again. Change the topic fast and carry on. You don’t want to lose out on the higher picture.” And the same words would apply to every living thing: “Rather than be swayed, strike through everything you do. Your mighty sword is your identity, not mirrors, reflections, or other eyeballs.”

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“Look at her,” he said to himself. “Holding hands! She’s probably already camped in the woods with him! Exchanged supernatural stories. Dinner dates. Shared food! Sex in the car! Concerts! I can never reach a woman like that. She’s too experienced. What new could we do? Even if we were right for each other, I’d always feel small.” Once lonely, it seemed the evolution of lonely was getting lonelier, as if sad heads boarded a lifeboat in an ocean that naturally pulled one farther and farther apart from the coast of love. Andrei still hoped though. For that coast. That was the thing with this sailor—nothing was waiting for him, but maybe there was. Every time he met someone, his eyes were slightly far away, as if asking in his head: “It’s nice to meet you, but are you there? Did you suffer and reach that place yet? You know that place. Those in that place know that place. After Tolstoy? After a thousand movies? Will you say an honest sentence?” Oh, did he beg, secretly, for strangers to meet him on that lonely floor of life—where life, still hard, was earned, and true, and golden. The place, he cried, we recognize in media, binging in our beds, but don’t dare reach on sidewalks.”

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“It was a situation sincere hearts find themselves in of raw, dirty discomfort they cannot share. A day-to- day, on-the-ground, actual trouble of skin and reality—like flat tires, psychotic parents, immobilized brothers—a pain that the restless world would have no patience for and so was kept secret in the shadows of tragedy along with lost people, lost things, and real life.”

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“He thought about doing more reading. It seemed the most comforting activity to do, except for one issue. Unlike a new movie, there was no one to immediately turn and talk to about a book. All books are strays. Books were read at the same time they were unknown at the same time they were revived at the same time they were forgotten. There was no agreed-upon trend of a novel. People found them on their own and all at different stages of life. This was why it was special to have the same favorite authors as a stranger, since both souls were in need of and privately searching for the same thing. A chapter could mean so much. But because Andrei could not share his excitement with anyone without misunderstanding or respectfully feigned interest, he ruled out reading as an activity. And it takes too long to find someone who lived for the same page as you.”

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“It was difficult to point these folks out, to put them on trial. How could one dislike a nice person? They said all the right things. Some people like David even went to the extent of being self-deprecating. It was a strategy of invulnerability. For example, they might apologetically acknowledge they were “talking too much” or sprinkle phrases like “Ah! I’m so self-absorbed” so as to exclude themselves from any claim of narcissism. Or when they achieved things, they perfectly said they were grateful and honored. Though at home, they hungrily harbored self-interest and greed. People praised their humility and, lacking the patience to notice that tiny bullseye of falseness, called those people humble. All it took for the humble people to be humble was to break the fourth wall of ego. To announce there was a snake in the room allowed them to never be suspected of being a serpent. No one saw the serpent. But one detected when it was there. It bothered a listener quietly. Some blockade prevented Andrei’s soul from resting.”

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