The Matchmaker's Medium

crash thing, so I think she was talking about the car accident. But, besides that, I couldn’t make head nor tails of what she wanted me to do.”

“Maybe it would help if you tell me the whole story of the car accident. That’s when she started coming to you every night, right? After the accident?”

“Yep.”

“Well, let’s start there, okay?”

“All right, well, I guess the best thing to do is start from the beginning.”

“Good, I’ll just turn on my digital recorder and take a few notes while we talk.”

“Fine by me,” she said, readjusting herself and finally settling in.

I pushed start on my handheld digital recorder, grabbed a pen and flipped to a new page in my notebook.

“All right, go ahead,” I told her.

“It all started about 30 years ago, when I was just a little thing.”

Lord help me.

“I’m sorry, I meant for you to just start with the accident, Victoria.”

“Oh. Well, why didn’t you just say so, then?”

I groaned internally, saw Jamal chuckling in my peripheral vision. Jerk, I thought, making sure to glare at him with my hateful, evil face on. He stopped laughing, smoothed his ‘fro, and tried to act serious.

“Go ahead, Victoria.”

“So, the other day I was coming out of the Food Lion, I had just done my shopping for Mother’s Day. I got some ribs, some barbecue sauce, some ‘taters for the ‘tater salad, a big jug of sweet tea—”

“Got all your food for a Mother’s Day cookout, I got it.”

“Yeah. So, I have all the food in the trunk, and I’m trying to drive slow, so’s not to smash the cake or anything. I’m bein’ real careful, obeyin’ the speed signs and all, when all of a sudden, this big ol’ truck comes up outta nowhere and just plows right into me!”

Starting to sweat already, she pulls a small handkerchief from a secret spot just under her shirt, probably in her bra. Watching as she dabs at her forehead and upper lip, and wipes underneath her double chins, I remember I need to get back to the gym tonight.

“Which direction?

“What?”

“Which direction did the truck hit you from?”

“From the passenger side. ‘Bout scared me to death!” she said, starting to get herself all worked up.

“Did you stop and get out?”

“Well, I was already stopped, after getting’ smashed by a truck.”

“Fair enough.”

“I just pullt my car over to th’ side, and put her in park. Then I got my cellular out, and got the police on the horn. Officer James came right on over, he knows me real good, been friends since we were kids. That terrible man didn’t even have in-shurnse.”

I looked up from my notes, confused.

“What?”

“Which part, what?”

“Who didn’t have the—“

“The other driver, that terrible man. Didn’t even have the common decency to have in-shurnse on his car. Now I have to put it all through mine. Hope it doesn’t make my rates go up.”

Oh. In-sur-ance. Gotta love the south.

“Did the police—did Officer James—give you a ticket?”

“’Course not! It wasn’t my fault!” Victoria yelled, sitting forward on the obviously- sagging couch. I actually felt kind of sorry for the couch, now. Poor thing; never hurt anyone, just wanted me to bring it home from the thrift store.

“Who was the other driver?”

“I don’t know. Richard somethin’ or other. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Only to the in-shurnse company, I thought. Jamal started chuckling again, in my peripheral vision. When I turned and looked, though, he quit.

“So you went home after that?”

“After the tow truck come, I had to get Officer James to carry me home with my groceries. By then, the cake wasn’t lookin’ too good, but I didn’t feel like messin’ with returning it and all that nonsense. So I got the groceries put away and right when I picked up my kitchen phone to call Ruby—she’s my best friend since kindy-garden—my grandmamma showed up. Right there, next to the old stove she used to cook at.”

Finally, we get to the point, only five hours later. I drew a line under my other scratchings, and wrote: Grandma’s ghost in kitchen.

“So, that was about what time?”

“It was exactly 10:31 a.m. on my stove clock. I know, cause I was lookin’ right at it, when her ghost sort of blurred it out.”

I stopped taking notes and put my pen down. Hmm. I wonder if she really can see ghosts?

Looking over at Jamal by the TV, I asked her, “Victoria, do you see your grandmamma in here right now?”

She sat up a little on the poor couch, looking around the room, really slowly. I watched as her eyes went to—and then past—Jamal.

“Nope,” she said, settling back into the cushions with a muffled squeak.

So, maybe she can see her grandmother’s spirit, but not all ghosts in general.

“Or she’s crazy as a loony bird,” Jamal offered, from his spot by the TV.

Ignoring him, I asked, “Victoria, have you ever seen any other spirits? Or just your grandmamma?”

“Lemme think,” she said, looking up to the ceiling while she tapped her chin with a forefinger. “No, I guess not. I thought I did once, but it was just a dream.”

“A dream?”

“Yep. I was small, and it was just after granddaddy died, he was a mean ol’ bugger. I thought I saw him starin’ at me while I slept, but that was just a dream. Well, more like a nightmare, I guess.”

Jamal got up and walked over to Victoria, stood the side of her, leaning over to see her better. For such a tall guy to get that low was almost comical, like he was folding himself in half.

He squinted his eyes, pulled his head back a little, and lifted his nose in the air like he was smelling her. I watched him go through this strange ritual, fascinated and horrified at the same time.

Does he do that to me? I wondered. He glanced over at me and shook his head: No.

Finally, he stood up, unfolding himself back to full height. He walked over to me and whispered in my ear, “She’s got it.”

It. She’s got it. What I have. What only a few other people I’ve been around have. The Spirit Mark. At least, that’s what I call it. There’s no real name for it, and there’s certainly no diagnosis or cure for it. I only call it that, because those of us who have it seemed to be singled out; special, in a way. Usually, we get ‘marked’ when we’re very young, and it stays with us throughout our lives, either constantly or only popping up now and then. She seemed to have the latter. Too bad she didn’t know how lucky she really was.

“Were you scared when you had the—nightmare about your grandfather?”

“Scared?” she seemed to contemplate this for a time, chewing on her bottom lip. “I guess I was a little scared. That’s why I say it was a nightmare, instead of a dream. But he was mean in reg’lar life, too, so maybe I was just scared that he came back and would start cursin’ and yellin’ things at me again. He had the old-timer’s