Page 1 of Ghost

M ason sighed as he gazed at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

He sighed again, nervously patting the hair on top of his head trying to make it lie down.

No matter what he did, his hair always looked as if he’d just climbed out of bed.

For at least the millionth time, he wished that he’d been born with the straight, dark hair that his sisters had been blessed with.

Instead, he was condemned to have the unruly, sandy blond hair he’d inherited from his father.

“This is it.” There was a sheen of sweat covering his forehead as he turned off the light in the tiny bathroom.

He picked up his duffel bag from the hotel bed and exited the room.

Riding the elevator down, he was glad that he’d chosen to wear the dark navy-blue polo shirt.

Even in the air-conditioning, he was sweating profusely.

The Atlanta summer heat and humidity seemed to permeate everything.

At least he knew that once he got into his truck, the a/c would be cold enough to make his nipples harden.

At this time of day, the traffic wasn’t too bad.

He was glad that he’d insisted the closing time was after the worst of the morning rush hour traffic.

He had to turn the windshield wipers on a few times to wipe away the condensation, attesting to the power of the cold air blasting the cab of his nearly new GMC Sierra truck.

He smiled to himself as he hummed along with Dottie West from the radio.

He was going to miss the country-western radio station he’d listened to, the same station all his life.

He made his way down Boulevard before turning onto Reinhardt Street.

This was where he’d lived for the past seven years.

Where he’d sweated, froze, bled and had the best time of his young life.

He’d been able to take the place from a condemnable, ramshackle dump into a fantastic home for himself and a few tenants.

Granted, he’d had a few learning curves, but it wasn’t anything that he couldn’t handle, and he was glad for the experience.

It’s always good to screw up your own stuff before charging someone to do the same job and then mess it up.

He pulled up in front of 214 Reinhardt Street and stared at the duplex he’d put his heart and soul into, not to mention most of his inheritance from his Uncle Bud.

It looked nothing like it had when he’d first seen the place.

Instead of the hideous Florida green that it was when he’d bought it, it was now a bright white with Confederate green trim.

The front veranda and second story balcony looked inviting, the overflowing planter boxes full of vivid color, waiting for someone to sit and appreciate the view over to Oakland Cemetery, just across Boulevard Avenue.

Mason thought, “ I wonder if Uncle Bud would appreciate all the work I’ve done here?

If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know what I’d be doing now.

I miss him every day. Every time I pick up a hammer or a saw, I think of him.

I treasure all the old tools I inherited, some of which he had as young man my age.

In a way, I feel as if I’m saying goodbye to him by leaving.

” He was proud of what he’d accomplished with the place.

Mason cut off the engine and opened the truck door, moaning when the hot, humid air hit him.

He could feel the sweat breaking out under his arms and across his forehead as he climbed the few steps to the veranda.

After opening the entry door, and then the right side of the duplex, his side, he let his gaze wander before stepping in.

The original hardwood floors gleamed. The windows were clean, not having gathered any of the red dust that seemed a constant in Georgia during the hot and dry summer months.

Mason slowly walked towards the kitchen that he’d labored over.

He couldn’t help but smile as he looked at the concrete counters.

Everyone had told him that he was crazy for doing concrete and proving them all wrong had boosted his self-confidence.

He was a great carpenter and now he’d proven to everyone, including himself, that he was a good all-around handyman.

He peered out the window from the kitchen at the back deck.

It looked just as clean today as he’d left it yesterday.

Pleased with everything downstairs, he climbed the stairs to where the bathroom and two bedrooms were.

Doing carpet upstairs had been a wise choice.

Not only did it feel good when you walked around barefoot, but it also added a bit of noise insulation.

Robbie and her roommate slash on again, off again lover, were obviously at work.

That was okay: he’d already said his goodbyes.

He was going to miss the girls but could do without hearing their arguments through the walls.

If he had any regrets about the way he’d done the renovations, it was that he didn’t do more soundproofing between the units.

They’d been great tenants and always paid their rent on time, so he didn’t have too many complaints.

Mason took one last look downstairs and sighed as he locked both doors. He stood a moment and looked at the exterior one last time before climbing back into his wonderfully air-conditioned truck.

Mason cut over to Carroll Street and drove by Tim’s house.

Tim had bought the little shotgun house not long after he’d gotten the duplex.

They’d shared tools, helped each other out, and often ate together after a long day.

Looking at the cute house made him sad knowing that Tim was no longer around to see how different the neighborhood was now.

It was hard watching Tim waste away as AIDS took him.

He didn’t want to look but he couldn’t help himself.

His eyes cut and then his head followed, staring at the slate-blue house catty-corner to Tim’s old place.

Ross lived there. The same Ross he thought he’d move in with, whom he’d shared a bed with for over a year.

The same Ross who one night, sitting on the veranda, watching the sun set over the cemetery, told him it was over.

He’d met someone else. Someone who was now moving in with him.

Someone younger. Someone who was a gym rat like him. Someone not Mason.

Ross had joined a gym, changed his diet and even changed his looks, waxing his chest hair away, bleaching his teeth white, all to match the new stereotypical look of gay men. Healthy gay men. Men who looked younger. Men who couldn’t possibly be infected with the AIDS virus.

A horn broke him out of his trance, making him realize that he’d stopped moving as his gut wrenched, the hurt making him shiver like someone had just walked over his grave.

Mason waved an apology and hit the gas. With one more glance in the rearview mirror, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

“No regrets,” he chanted to himself. “I can do this. I’m not running away.

I’m running to a new start. A new life. A new me .

” No more wallowing in self-pity as he’d done over the breakup with Ross the past eleven or so months!

Mason wasn’t sure he actually believed all that. He had his doubts, but he couldn’t just sit here and be miserable either. He’d had enough of all that. Had enough of just going through the motions of living. It was time for a major change in his life and he’d damn well decided it would be now.

One good thing about the Olympics coming to town was that property prices had skyrocketed.

He’d gotten a really, really good deal by selling the duplex when he did.

The market was wide open for potential short-term rental properties, and as close as he was to downtown and the new Olympic venue, he’d gotten top dollar for the place.

Way more than he’d ever dreamed of getting.

It was enough to help finance his new start.

It seemed to take forever to drive to the office of the attorney who was dealing with the closing of 214 Reinhardt Street.

From what they had told him, it would only take about an hour to complete the process, not foreseeing any problems. Mason would walk away with a hefty check, which he planned on depositing on his way out of town.

“Out of town”, he whispered to himself. “Out of Atlanta, the gay mecca of the South!”

* * * * *

T he sun was behind him as he drove down Interstate 75. Mason didn’t look back. He was afraid that if he did, he would change his mind. There was a rock sitting in his stomach. So much so that he’d not eaten, scared that he’d only vomit it right back up.

“Gotta stay focused. There’s nothin’ in Atlanta for me anymore.

I’m going to succeed in Savannah. I have a new house and I’ll start my own business again.

” Mason groaned. “I can do this!” He punctuated this last statement by hammering the steering wheel with his fist. “I will do this.” His jaw set, and he focused on the drive, trying to think about anything but leaving his home.

He’d have given anything at that moment to be able to talk to Uncle Bud.

It was nearly five o’clock by the time he crossed the city limits into Savannah, his new home. His stomach rumbled, letting him know he needed food. Mason had survived the day on nothing but coffee and pure determination. He saw a sign for Popeyes Fried Chicken and shouted, “Yes! There is a god!”

He quickly pulled into the drive-through and placed an order for food. When the disembodied voice asked if he wanted anything to drink, he responded, “I’ll take a twelve-pack of Bud Light, please.” He was teasing, knowing full well that they didn’t sell beer.

“Sir, I’m sorry but we don’t sell beer,” the woman chortled.

“No drink, then. I’ll have to make another stop it looks like.” Mason laughed along with the voice.

“Drive ‘round, please.”

Good as his word, Mason stopped at a convenience store, picked up a half-case of beer and headed to his new, temporary home while he worked on his own house.

He’d lucked out in securing a basement apartment close to his new property.

He’d already moved all the stuff he’d need to do the renovations to his new home, mostly his tools.

The apartment was small, but he didn’t need much, and it also provided off-street parking, whereas his new place didn’t.

He planned on spending as much time as he possibly could there.

For now, he just wanted food, beer and sleep.

After that... he was ready to work until he couldn’t think of anything, or anyone, else.

For the briefest moment, Ross and his new boy-toy flashed behind his eyes.

“Nope. Not going there. It’s his loss, not mine.” He didn’t believe a single word of that. Mason then went to his new accommodations, devoured the chicken, had one beer, then went to bed.