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Lydia could remember now. Remember the morning her parents woke her up to tell her that they’d taken the job offer in New York.
At the time, she really didn’t think anything of it. Why should she? At thirteen, the only thing she cared about leaving in Peaceful Pines were her friends. But Bertha and Prudence would always want to come visit her in the city and she could just take Beetlejuice with her. He was a ghost, so it shouldn’t be that difficult, she reasoned.
Her parents told her that all the noise the neighbors had made helped them make up their minds. All the red paint on her father’s car that refused to be washed off didn’t help either. Neitherworld paint never came off with a little soap and water. Or even some hardcore buffing.
Why had these memories not been clear sooner? How could all these little details have escaped her for so long?
Inexplicable deep red swathes of color on her father’s car. The town mayor’s sudden freak-out. The new neighbors vacating their house after only a few days. Half-repaired damage all through town. Chunks of road torn up.
Her parents never let her out of their sight the rest of the time they lived in Peaceful Pines. They were constantly in her room, packing her stuff for her or making her help them pack up other rooms. It was as if they were afraid she would disappear when they weren’t looking. Which might have been true if either she or Beetlejuice had known what was going to happen. As it was, she didn’t even have time to call her best friend out into the Living World.
He came to visit her at night sometimes. Half the time her parents were in her room no matter how late he came. Lydia would be passed out on the bed as her parents packed up around her. A quarter of the time, she would be fast asleep in the dark so exhausted she slept through his pounding on the glass. And the rest of the time she would be dazed, in that realm between sleep and waking. His light taps on the glass made her smile and roll over. She would look at him out of glazed eyes and wave before sleeping deeply as if his appearance was all she needed for a good night’s rest.
Every time he watched her sleep. And she remembered now. Remembered the feeling, even in her dreams, of the peace he brought.
So that was it. The night he split himself in two and trashed the town was the last time she ever talked to him. Her last words to him had been nothing but nagging orders. Silent tears slid down her face. Lydia wiped them away quickly, angry at herself. The tears felt awful and sticky; a perfect mirror for her emotions. How could that have been the last thing she ever said to her best friend? “Don’t miss anything! This is your mess. I’m going to get some sleep!”
She ran one hand through her hair until the strands began to stick up.
But why now? Why was she remembering now?