Today didn’t begin any different than the countless others that came before it.

“How do you know you’re alive?” I asked myself when the sun crept over the horizon, sending streaks of orange and purple across the clouds in the pale sky.

“I don’t know because I’m dead,” I answered. For some reason, I laugh this morning.

I’ve been dead almost as long as I was alive. Yet I haven’t aged. No wrinkles or gray hair or saggy arms or droopy boobs or a wobbly neck. This saddens me.

Aging is fascinating to me. How the decades change a person, thickening them, slowing them down. Some people age well, becoming more of themselves. Others lose their self in a desperate, pointless battle to remain young. Fillers are fooling no one.

There’s only one way to remain young forever. The secret, my friends, to aging well is to die young.

I know. That’s horrible advice. Don’t listen to me. Morbid and bored aren’t a great mix.

Today is going to be one of those days, I can tell.

Whenever I get the blues, I visit one of three places: a day care, a nursing home, or an animal shelter. I’m less likely to be invisible at these places. Toddlers, the elderly, and cats are always good for a moment or two of connection.

Some days I make my rounds at all three. Babies in the morning, old people during their afternoon nap time, and the kittens in the evening when they won’t freak out the workers with their odd behavior.

Having a schedule helps me keep the blues away.

In the early days of this half life, I could nap away several months or even an entire year. Sometimes I still zone out for long periods of time. Take 2003 for example. No idea what happened that year. Skipped it completely

As a ghost, I can only visit places within a certain range. No popping over to Scotland and wandering the moors or hanging out with the gargoyles at the cathedral Notre Dame in Paris. Pity. Sadly, I’ll never backpack through Europe after college like I’d planned.

The Boston area is where I died, and therefore, it’s home base. Once I tried to sneak down to New York City only to find I felt empty and fuzzy the farther away I got from home. As if I were disappearing altogether but still conscious.

It’s not a sensation I want to experience again. Do not recommend. I’d give it one star on Death.com.

I stand against a hundred year old maple tree near the chainlink fence of a playground. The bark is rough and grooved under my cheek as I lean into the strength of the tree.

Soon enough a little girl with dark hair and round, brown eyes too big for her face toddles over to the fence. About four or five, she’s wearing a fuzzy, red jacket and rain boots with ducks on them. I assume she’s searching for the purple ball in the corner, half-buried in a pile of leaves. Instead, she surprises me when she stares right at me.

“Hi,” she says, her little voice barely more than a whisper.

I know there’s no one behind me because my back is up against the tree.

“Do you want to come and play with me?” She smiles, shy.

When I don’t respond, she continues. “Mommy won’t care. She’s talking to the other mommies. All of the other kids are big and they don’t want me to play with them.”

I glance across the fenced park. A group of three older boys, probably ten or eleven, have taken over the fort, sitting on the railing and trying to push each other to the ground. From this distance, I can tell they’re up to no good.

“Okay,” I tell my little friend. “But let’s stay over on this side.”

She nods, a grin lifting her cheeks. “Are you going to use the gate?”

“I don’t need to. I can do magic.” I step through the fence and stop beside her, squatting down to be on her level.

“That’s so cool.” She’s not freaked out by me at all. Kids are the best. “What’s your name?”

“Alice. What’s yours?”

“I’m Madison.” She studies me. “How old are you?”

“I’m not really sure anymore.”

“Are you more than ten?”

I nod.

“More than twenty?”

I nod again.

“Wow. That’s old.”

This makes me smile. “How old are you?”

She shows me five fingers. “I’m five. And a half.”

“Nice to meet you, Maddy, who is five and a half.” I smile at her.

“Do you want to play a game?” She grins at me, her new friend.

“Sure.”

“What games are you good at?” Her wide, brown eyes shine with excitement.

I think for a moment. “I’m really good at hide and seek.”

She jumps and claps. “I’ll hide and you can find me! But first you have to count to twenty. Can you count that high?”

Confirming I can, I tell her I’ll turn around while she goes to hide.

“No peeking!” she scolds. “Cover your eyes with both hands. If you look, that’s cheating.”

After covering my eyes and swearing I won’t cheat, she runs off.

At twenty, I open my eyes and search for her in the park. It’s not a large area and I quickly spot the toes of her yellow boots behind the slide. Of course, I pretend to look everywhere else while slowly walking the perimeter of the area. The boys laugh and jostle each other, thankfully unaware of me. One of the taller ones in a New England Patriots sweatshirt mutters under his breath about the weird girl hiding under the slide. His sneer reminds me of how cruel children, and people, can be to anyone they see as different. It’s hard not to hate people.

Once I’ve looked everywhere but the slide, I stand at the bottom, tapping my toe. “Wow. Maddy is the best hider ever.”

“I’m here!” Her giggles erupt as she jumps out at me. “You couldn’t find me! I win!”

“You win,” I confirm.

“That means you’re still it. Try to find me.”

We play a few more rounds, Madison winning every time to her endless delight.

“I’m the best at hiding,” she gleefully declares. “We should play something else now so you can win.”

If she only knew how easy it is to hide when you’re invisible.

“Madison,” one of the women calls out from the benches near the gate. “We need to go.”

Maddy’s bottom lip curls into a pout. “I have to go home now. Will you come play with me again?”

“I’ll try to come back.” I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. “I hope our paths cross again someday.”

“Try, Alice. I can let you win next time.” She reaches for my hand before I realize what she’s doing.

Her eyes widen when her fingers pass through mine and then she nods with understanding. “You can be my special friend. Mommy says it’s okay to have imagination friends.”

“Imaginary friends.” I correct her. Plastering a smile on my face, I step away from her. “I hope I see you again, Maddy.”

“Me too. Bye, Alice.” She waves with her whole arm as she runs toward her mom.

“Bye.” I watch as she greets her mom, animatedly telling her about our game.

She turns to face me, pointing right at me. Her mom frowns and narrows her eyes. “Sorry, honey. I can’t see your new friend.”

This truth always saddens me. Most people lose their ability to believe in magic as they age. Imaginary friends are forgotten. Ghosts regulated to scary stories and horror movies.

I wave one more time at the little, dark-haired girl.

“I hope you don’t forget me, Madison,” I whisper, too soft for my voice to be heard by anyone but me.

Guess it’s time to go hang out with some kittens.