Ain’t it just like rain?
And love, love, love is only heaven away.”

Jane kept a picture in the inside pocket of her backpack, a black-and-white shot, a silly pose and pucker type shot that was meant to look “vintage“. They used to play around like that, two girls trying on costumes and side projects, ever vigil in their attempt to be “anywhere but here“. Hannah was a few years older, and she wore that extra time on her skin in a way that made every move she made seem as natural as breathing. Jane longed to be at ease that way, to bend and smile and be just that way.

Hannah believed in ghosts and heaven, she believed in pixie dust dreams and double cheese burgers, too. Jane always said she did not believe in anything much at all. They would talk about things like that, lying close together on Jane’s single bed, listening to scratched records they had bought together, treasures from that church thrift store on Sullivan Street. Jane loved the ones from her own adolescence, the ones that could have easily been her own. All that “new wave” sentiment said all the things she could never say, confessed all the things she would never dare to speak.

Late night conversations filled the spaces between them, Hannah emptying another bottle of cheap wine into the McDonald’s character glasses that Jane had collected when she was just a little girl, as they toasted everything from last week’s poetry assignment to the existence of Montgomery Clift and their shared love of A Place in the Sun. Jane thought that Hannah could have played opposite him, her alabaster skin and indescribable dark eyes were made for the silver screen of old Hollywood. Hannah laughed at the notion, sliding her sleeve up to show off her newest tattoo, reminding Jane that “starlets never inked angels on their skin“.

Hannah left a half smoked pack of clove cigarettes, a dog-eared copy of Kerouac’s On the Road, and her All of This and Nothing album behind. Jane put them all together on the second shelf of her bookcase, with a postcard of Montgomery Clift and matches from Astro Burger. On nights when it hurts too much she lights a candle with one of the matches and plays that Psychedelic Furs, and in that flickering light she swears she can hear Hannah singing-a-long to The Ghost In You.

Maybe now is the time for Jane to start believing in something.

The Ghost In You :: The Psychedelic Furs

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