“Well it seems you always get in the way of yourself,” Tucker says after listening to my sad, pathetic stories. My life is very mundane and boring. After the time I spent on this earth, the victories are few and far between and the defeats are numerous. Tucker was the only name he gave me. I am not sure if that is his first or last name. Or maybe he is just like a one name guy, you know, like Shaq, Cher or Bono. He twists a lighter in between his hands. He flips it open and ignites the flame and places the lighter standing between to provide some light. Tucker is a guy not much older than me dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and thin leather jacket. He wears heavy boots. We have been talking on this park bench for quite awhile. The night air seems to give me a calm, soothing state of mind. The perfect time to be outside. Not too cold and not too warm. Right after it rained. Rain cleanses the soul. The outdoors after a rain storm is like wrapping oneself with a blanket fresh from the wash. Things seem better when cleaned. No one wants to live in filth. But right after it rains, ah, bliss. The moisture is still very much still in the air, but it is no longer raining, therefore one does not get wet. The air is brisk and chilled. Not cold chilled. The right temperature to rest upon one’s face. A relaxing cleansing bath of chilled mist. Calms the nerves and the soul. It had finished raining a few hours ago and the heavenly post-rain environment is afoot. The late night sky is calm and starless. The Moon is full and bright. The flame between Tucker and me dances in the moonlight.

“Life is precious,” Tucker says, his pale white skin matching the color of the white misty fog. The thin coat of water-air covers the park, hence the lighter. Even though the Moon is full and bright, the night is hard to see. The fog makes it impossible to see. As if the city was engulfed in a flameless fire, the fog spreads like smoke. Life is precious, that’s what he tells me? I've heard that one before. As if my side is stabbed by a fake spear, the pain is so bad.

“It certainty is, as I have learned. I never know whether or not when I go to bed at night that I will wake up in the morning.”

“Everyone in the world can say that.”

“Yeah. But not everyone has a disease eating them.”

“That’s true, but you like puzzles right?” Okay. Weird question. Tucker is spot-on for a guy that I've met tonight on this park bench. I am a puzzle master. Hospital beds are notorious for being boring. So after the first few stints in the hospital, they found it. My mom brought me a puzzle to solve, just as something to past the time. A puzzle master was born. Two thousand pieces, no problem. Do the corners last? Piece of cake. When you spend weeks and sometimes months in the hospital, a hobby is a good thing to have. These painkillers are really not working.

“Yes, of course I love puzzles.”

“Life is a puzzle.” Tucker pauses and looks at the flame. “Imagine life as a puzzle when we are not given the box. We have no idea what the picture will be when we are done. We do not know how many pieces we have. Each puzzle piece is different and unique. So imagine that each piece is one moment in time. No two are alike. And every moment to special and made for a purpose so hold on to them because you will never give another piece like that one ever again. So we must solve this puzzle. God only gives us the pieces one at a time. We may want to solve the corner first, but He does not give us the corners. The pieces we are given are the pieces we must solve. We just keep going. Solve a few pieces here and there. Then the pieces start to connect and a clump is formed. Once a bunch of pieces come together a picture forms. We do not know how this picture fits in the grand picture at the end. The clump of piece may be flipped, turned or changed by the end. We have no say in the final picture. As much as we try to jam pieces into slots that they do not fit, it is not our call. We must trust that the puzzle maker made a good puzzle. That once the puzzle is solved it will form a picture that make sense and is beautiful.”

The fog has gotten thinker. “So just blindly accept life as it is, never question or make an effort?”

“I never said that. We must think and guess what the picture will be before we finish the puzzle. Constantly questioning whether or not that certain piece belongs or fits. Theorizing about the final end-game finished puzzle. But ultimately accepting the puzzle we were given.”

His words make sense, and the pain in my side goes away. The silent flame in the Moonlight disappears. The fog grows so think that the bench seems to be in a bubble with the outside world being invisible. When did we get to London? A knife could have cut through these clouds, no need for calling it fog anymore. “But I love puzzles, and I never want mine to end. They found this tumor ten years ago and my life has not been fair. In and out of hospitals and doctors’ offices. When does my puzzle became happy?”

“A picture is worth a thousand words. Each piece has a picture and the pieces form together to make a larger picture. Photos themselves carry no emotion. It is the soul that gives the pictures emotions like happy. It is up to us to make those thousand words happy ones, depending on how we look at them.”

“Not going to lie Tucker, death scares me and I never want my puzzle to end.”

“All puzzles end, but you haven’t been afraid all night.” The fog clears for a moment and I see the park bench in all its glory. Just as quick as the vision comes, the fog thickens back up as Tucker stands and leaves, and I come to grip what I am. As weird as this night has been, I feel fine. I know now why my side did not hurt. I leave too, because it’s time to go home. Now that I realize who I am... a ghost.