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“It wasn’t anything exciting,” said the ghost who had come to be known as the Lunch Lady. She’d had a different name when she’d been alive, but she’d shed it many years ago, like she’d shed her flesh. “Nothing exciting at all.”
“The BOX GHOST still wants to hear it,” said her suitor, the one known as the Box Ghost, leaning forward across the table to clasp her hands.
They sat together in the attic of a building floating through the Ghost Zone. The space was filled with old dusty crates, spiderwebs hanging off every surface like thick, gauzy curtains. Real curtains fluttered raggedly next to an open window, the cold air making the one candle in the room flicker. That candle, ancient and twisted with rivulets of wax, sat on a half-broken, rotting table. On that table was a feast, made by the Lunch Lady herself. A completely balanced feast, nonetheless.
It was the most romantic setting she could imagine.
“MY MOST BEAUTEOUS ANGEL, I want to know EVERYTHING about YOU.” His eyes stayed fixed to hers, not straying to the boxes all around them, much like how her eyes stayed on his, not dipping to assess the food. That was how she knew this was true love.
“Alright, then, but I have warned you, it’s a very boring death.”
“NONSENSE! It is IMPORTANT because it is YOUR death, and your are the ONE TRUE LOVE OF ME, the BOX GHOST!”
Another reason it must be true love: he wasn’t posturing, puffing himself up to try to be seen and respected as a powerful ghost. He was a powerful ghost, of course, but that was beside the point. He felt comfortable with her, enough to let his guard down.
“Oh, you charmer, you.”
“Yes, the great BOX GHOST is very charming.”
She giggled. Her! Like a schoolgirl with the blush of life still in her cheeks.
“Well, you know that I was a lunch lady all my life.” This was not true, but the Lunch Lady didn't have clear memories of her childhood, so it hardly counted. “I started at the bottom of the pack, when I was a girl, when all we did was heat up some…” She shuddered. She didn't like to call it this, but there wasn't a better word. “Food. I was still a student myself. I needed the job.”
She'd needed it for the money when she'd been alive. For her family. It hadn't been her first choice, to work in the school cafeteria as a thirteen-year-old. In death, however, the reasons had… shifted. The perspective had changed.
The Box Ghost nodded in understanding. “It’s what COMPLETED you.”
“Exactly! So, I stayed there, until they let me actually cook.” And, oh, what a day that had been. A beautiful day, with the smiling faces of so many satiated children. She’d shown them. Shown them that it was possible to serve actual food, even on their budget. It hadn’t lasted, though. Even as an adult, she hadn’t been in charge of the menu. That had been her boss, the head lunch lady, and her boss, the superintendent of the district, and his boss, the school board.
“That’s when I started working on my menu,” she continued. “I tried so many different things, so many different versions to make my boss accept it, but the old harpy wouldn’t budge. Said she knew what was best for the children. The growing children, as if they didn’t need more vitamins and nutrients than whatever she ‘cooked.’”
Oh, the Lunch Lady got mad just thinking about it, ghostly flames licking across her skin, but the presence of the Box Ghost (So solid! So square!) steadied her.
“None of them listened, not even when I showed how my menu covered all the major food groups and nutritional needs, while having good variety and being cost-effective.” She’d spent so much of her life perfecting that menu. Years and years. It had become her passion. It was flawless, a thing of beauty. “So, I went over her head. I went to the superintendent, who didn’t care, and I went to the board, and they didn’t care, so I went over their heads, too. I went to the parents.”
“No,” said the Box Ghost, “not the PARENTS. How BRILLIANT and DASTARDLY, my love.”
The Lunch Lady smiled at the praise. “The parents didn’t want their precious little ones to have to eat that- that slop, of course, so they supported me, and the school board had to give in. My boss… she was furious.”
“Did she MURDER you?” asked the Box Ghost, leaning in further, the candle flame almost tickling his chin. “The TERRIFYING BOX GHOST will not stand for such a TRAVESTY! There must be a PUNISHMENT for such a HORRIBLE ACT!”
“Oh, no,” said the Lunch Lady. “I did say that my story was boring. No, she had an apoplectic fit in the cafeteria kitchen and died.”
“Ah, and then you took your rightful place as QUEEN OF THE KITCHEN!”
The Lunch Lady ducked her head, trying to at least appear modest. “It was more complicated than that… But yes.” It had been a wonderful day, all her hopes and hard work acknowledged. “After that, the kitchen was mine, and everyone followed my menu.” She scowled. “Until the ghost boy’s picky little friend changed it! Growing children need protein! Dessert! No matter how nutritious a meal is, they won’t eat it if it isn’t delicious!”
The Box Ghost bobbed his head in agreement. “Meals must be SQUARE, like the corners of a BEAUTIFUL BOX!”
“Exactly!” The Lunch Lady, slapping one hand flat against the table. A screw or nail on the bottom fell off. She gathered herself. “But, that was my life. Working. Maintaining the menu. Perfecting the menu. Making sure all the children were well-fed. I never married. I had no children of my own… There was no reason for me to ever stop working. So that’s what I did, until I died.”
“In your WONDERFUL KITCHEN?”
The Lunch Lady shook her head sadly. If she had, she might have been able to haunt it, dig her fingers in and keep it. “In bed. In my sleep. I never knew exactly what got me… But it was probably my heart.” She sighed. Remembering her life tended to make her remember the habits of life as well. Breathing and blinking and such. “And that’s it. My death. Nothing, really.”
“No, it’s EVERYTHING,” said the Box Ghost. “You spent your WHOLE LIFE doing what you LOVED. Your whole life, following your passion, up until the end.”
The Lunch Lady felt tears start to gather in the corners of her eyes. She reached across the table to take the Box Ghost’s hand.
“You lived a beautiful, honest, dedicated life…”
He was so quiet, the Lunch Lady had to lean in to hear him.
“That led to an even more beautiful death. What’s more meaningful, more important than dying after a life like that?”
The Lunch Lady couldn’t help but cry at that; big, glowing, tears flowed out of her eyes, threatening to swamp all the lovely dishes she’d put together. No one had ever said something so nice and true to her.
“What about you, dear?” the Lunch Lady said, once she had recovered herself.
“Oh, it isn’t nearly as moving as yours,” said the Box Ghost, a little bashful.
“I still want to hear it.” She mirrored his movement from earlier, leaning further across the table.
He blushed splotchy blue and green, completely adorable. “Oh, if you’re sure… I was murdered by the mafia.”
She blinked, slowly. That wasn't something she did very often these days, being dead and all. “Dear, that's not boring.”
“Sure it is! Just about ALL deaths caused by the mafia are MUDERS, especially deaths of TEAMSTER UNION MEMBERS.”
That didn’t sound… wrong, exactly… but… Well, who was the Lunch Lady to say what was boring or not? She loved this ghost. And all the leaning in had brought their lips close enough to touch. Which they did. Deliciously.