“I don’t know, Izzy,” said Ophelia.

“Oh, come on,” I complained. “He wasn’t spooked by a crazy bulldog, he won’t be afraid of a harmless ghost who he can’t even see.”

“Yes, he will.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Ophie, he’s a cat!”

“So? I’ve been having nightmares, Izzy. Nightmares.” A drop of water emerged from the mist Ophelia was. A tear. “I, who never sleep, have been having nightmares.”

“Oh, Ophelia,” I reached out to the mist, the equivalent of giving her a hug. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” More tears were spilled. “Something is going to happen.”

“We’ll be okay.” I insisted. The mist wrapped around me. Ophelia needed comfort.

“Come on,” I whispered. “How about you meet Cody now?”

She sniffled. “Cody the kitten.”

“Yes, Cody the kitten.”

“Not . . . Not that Cody.”

I sighed. “No, not the Cody from that story you wrote that was stolen.”

“Right.”

I bit my lip. “Sorry. I guess I can be sarcastic at times.”

“It’s fine. You’re the best friend I could ever ask for.”

I was not. I never was.

But at least she had someone.

She’d told me what happened long ago. She’d written a book, her pride and joy. She was sure it would be published. But the day she finished editing, her work was stolen. Someone had taken it and published it as his own. And no one was able to prove that it had been she who wrote it.

She desperately wanted revenge on that man. She’d died only three years ago, drowned. But the person who had stolen her work was still alive. I’ve tried to convince her that revenge isn’t the answer. She wouldn’t listen.

Cody had been the name of a character in Ophelia’s book. I had loved the book so much, that when my mom finally let me get a cat, I had named him Cody. When Ophelia found out, she visited me. As a ghost. She’d told me her story, and since then, we became best friends. I had scribbled out the name of the ‘author’ of the book and scrawled in my horrible handwriting, Ophelia the Ghost. And only by gaining revenge could she be put to rest.

Or so she thought.

“Ophelia?” I asked as she swirled around Cody. He didn’t seem to mind Ophelia. Probably because he never noticed her.

“Hmm?”

“It’s been four years. Why do you still hold it against him? It will just get you into trouble.” She knew what I was talking about.

“Because.” she said bitterly. I sighed. No amount of talk would convince her.

But maybe writing would.

I grabbed my pencil and thought. What to write? What could convince her? After a couple of minutes, I knew what to write. A poem.

Around an hour later, I had completed the poem. I went outside and called Ophelia. She swirled down. “What is it?”

I cleared my throat and recited my poem. Maybe she would listen, or maybe this was just another puny attempt that would amount to nothing.

“Whoa.” she said.

“There’s no reason for you to hold it against him. There’s something called karma, and you don’t need to enforce it. It will probably happen on it’s own.”

“Probably,” she echoed.

“Come on, Ophelia.”

Tears leaked from the mist. “Izzy, if I let go of the rage—” she choked up. “I’ll never see you again.”

“Oh, Ophelia, I know,” I whispered. Tears rolled down my cheeks. “But you have to move on. You can’t spend your whole life here. Besides, what happens when I move on? What if you’re still here?”

She swirled around me one last time. “Kid?”

“Yes?”

“You’re really something.”

And she merged with the breeze, disappearing into the afterlife.

“Farewell, until we meet again.”