The following morning, I was in the bathroom minding my own business when Orson came floating in. I was mid-poop, actually. Seeing Orson cut it off halfway. Very unpleasant.

  “Hey, I’m trying to use the bathroom. Do you mind?” I asked, irritated.

  “I don’t,” he said, sighing. “I miss pooping.”

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, a little less irritated and a little more confused.

  “I don’t remember any specific poop, per say,” Orson explained, “but I remember the feeling.”

  “Gross, dude,” I said, because what else was there to say. In fact, I’m going to take a real brave stance here and say it—I’m anti-poop.

  “You don’t get it,” he continued. “You lifers take that shit for granted, literally. When you don’t feel anything, the thought of a good poop is just a nice little fantasy.”

  “Ew, poop fantasy,” I said.

  “Come on, you’re gonna shit there and tell me you don’t like the sensation of a good poop? That feeling when you stretch after a good night’s sleep, but for your b-hole? Or like you just dumped out everything bad inside of you and now you’re a new person, a better person even?”

  I thought about it and conceded. “Okay, yeah, but I still can’t go with you in here.”

  “Come on. I was inside of you yesterday,” Orson said. “You don’t need to be weird about it.”

  “Yeah, we need to talk about that,” I said, “after I poop.”

  “Fine,” Orson said before floating away.

  Just as I relaxed again and things got moving, he popped his head back in with a “BOO!”

  I screamed and farted at the same time.

  “Ha! Gotcha!” Orson said before vanishing again.

  Okay, enough about poop.

  When I left the bathroom, he was hovering over the couch, waiting. I asked him, “So how much did you see while you were inside me?”

  Orson paused, then looked at the floor. “Everything,” he said. He sounded more serious than I’d ever heard him sound.

  “I see,” I said back, not exactly sure what to say next. I didn’t realize I was opening a can of worms until there were worms everywhere. I finally settled on, “So, maybe we should talk about it?”

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  “We don’t have to,” he said back. “I just. I don’t know, man. I guess I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I was genuinely confused.

  “I don’t know, your whole life?” he said. “I didn’t realize how lonely it was for you. You were kind of... already a ghost. I know what that feels like.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, because it really was. Animals are great at getting used to things, especially if it’s all they know. Then again, if it’s all they know, they never had to get used to it.

  “It’s really not,” Orson continued. “I’m lonely, but at least other supernatural beings can see and hear me. And I know you could talk to ghosts and crap too, but it’s not the same, is it? We aren’t like you.”

  “I’ve always been here for you, buddy!” Greg shouted from inside the closet.

  “No one’s talking to you!” Orson yelled. He paused before adding, “but thanks.”

  He looked at me again, “See?”

  “Yeah, well, since you were inside me, I think it’s only fair I get to know you a little better,” I said. “I know you said you don’t like to talk about it, but what happened? What exactly do you remember from your life?”

  Orson nodded, then asked, “You mean besides pooping?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, besides pooping.”

  “I don’t remember much, but I feel like there was something important about my life. I remember my eyes hurting, then being afraid, but then it all stopped. After that, I remember not knowing where I was. Then I was dead.”

  “Well, maybe where you died is a clue?” I suggested. “Can you describe it?”

  Orson shrugged, then shook his head. “I don’t remember. Mostly, I remember feelings. What it feels like to be full, to be warm. Rested. To touch and taste and smell. All things I don’t get to experience anymore. Don’t get me wrong, being a ghost has plenty of perks, but it’s an empty existence, even when it is fun. I don’t have to tell you that, though.”

  “No, you don’t,” I said. Then I just sat on the couch and stared at the wall across from me. Orson hovered beside me.

  “Being a ghost sucks,” we both said together. Then we laughed for a little while. In those crap moments where you wonder what the point of anything is, a little laugh really helps.

  It was then, while we sat there like a couple of dead-eyed zombies (wow, I’m turning into my parents), that Calista knocked.

  “Hey, you guys up?” She asked from outside.

  “Yeah, come on in,” I answered.

  She walked in, looking as frumpy and lovely as ever. She seemed excited until she looked at us.

  “You two look like someone sucked your souls out, and I know it wasn’t me,” she said.

  “Yeah, just thinking about life,” I said.

  “And afterlife,” Orson added.

  “Oh,” Calista’s mood soured a little, and she plopped down on the other side of me. “That kills the vibe. It really is a shit sandwich, isn’t it?”

  We all kinda sat there for a bit. Eventually, I broke the silence. “So, what’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Calista said. “I was just coming over to see you had any more jobs. I had fun. It’s been a while since anything exciting’s happened to me.”

  “Nope,” Orson said. “Nothing. But we made rent, so I’m not worried about it.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way,” I said to Calista. “You really milked ’em.” Then I turned to Orson, “And I don’t think I thanked you for saving my life. Thanks, dude.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Orson replied.

  “Yeah,” Calista added. “I’m just happy to help. I always have a good time when I’m with the two of you. Even when it gets dangerous.”

  We spent the day hanging out. Just talking, and not talking, about anything and nothing at all. It was my first real “hang”.

  It was nice.

  Amir wanted me to note that “if you’re reading this, and you have poop fantasies of any kind I’m not trying to put you down. These are just my own personal feelings around poop. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad about yours.”