Cross Your Heart
by
Owlcroft
Beetlejuice floated angrily into his room, slammed the door shut behind him, and yanked his heart out of his chest. "Get out here," he snarled. "It's time for us to have a little heart to . . . um, face."
His heart – squinty eyes, small blond thatch and goofy grin – tried to look innocent. "Why?" it asked in a voice similar to Beetlejuice's own but two octaves higher. "What have I done?" He grinned mischievously.
"You know what you've been doing. And you're going to knock it off, right now! Bugging me all the time, hinting at me!" The ghost suddenly sighed and drooped, leaving his heart hanging briefly in the air.
"Hey!" it shouted as it plunged to the floor.
"Whatever," Beetlejuice growled as he juiced it back up. "You know what I . . . feel. 'Course you do. And you keep jumping around and saying stuff and trying to get me to do stuff and . . . I just can't take it any more. Okay?" he half-pleaded.
The suspended-in-air, red- and pink-striped heart looked at him sympathetically. "Sure, I know. But I'm just not sure you really get it yet. I keep trying to clue you in but it's starting to look pretty hopeless."
"Hopeless," groaned Beetlejuice. "Yeah, you could say that again." He looked at the heart abruptly. "But don't!"
A brief silence fell broken by a shrug from the ghost and a muttered, "I do get it. And I've been practicing. Trying to figure out how to say it. It doesn't work."
"Maybe," suggested the heart tentatively, "if you said it to her instead of the mirror?"
"How can I? You've heard me – it's pathetic!" He threw his hands wide, almost knocking his heart out of the air. "I'm pathetic!"
"So stop playing around and make a move. Ask her!"
"I will!" Then a muttered, "Maybe."
"When?! You've practiced, rehearsed, for weeks now. Just tell her, for my sake!" the heart pleaded.
"I can't! Don't you think I've tried! You know I've tried!" He turned away, head down, shoulders slumped. "You know I've tried. I've tried to figure out what to say, how to say it. And I can't! I can't," the last words almost a whisper.
"Come on, give it a go," said his heart. "Try it right now, saying it to me. Maybe with an audience it'll go better."
Beetlejuice glared at him suspiciously, then conceded, "It can't go much worse, I guess." He cleared his throat, pulled himself upright and opened his mouth. Then closed it again. He took two deep breaths, then said, "Hey, babes, I've been thinking and –" He stopped, then tried again, "Lyds, I know we're best friends, but maybe we could –" He snapped his mouth shut, then began once more. "So, I've been trying to ask you something – no! This isn't going to work!" He glared at his heart again, then turned away, shaking his head.
"Maybe lead up to it a little more," encouraged his heart. "Start slower and lead up to it. Come on. One last try? For me?" The squinty eyes got bigger and puppy-like.
"Grrr," was the initial response. Then, slowly, with his eyes shut, face averted, "You know, Lyds, we've been friends, best friends, for five years now. And it's been great, really! But, I was . . . sort of wondering, if maybe . . ." he gulped but tried to go on, "if you wanted to, if we could –" He broke off, shaking his head vehemently. "No! I can't – it's just – there's no way –"
The heart interrupted the self-condemnation. "That wasn't bad at all. A little abbreviated maybe but it was going okay. Why can't you get through the whole thing?"
"Because some, even just a little, of her – just her friendship – is better than losing her altogether! You know that!" Beetlejuice turned completely away from his heart.
"But you if want more – hope for more – then you have to ask for more."
"Don't you understand?!" He whirled suddenly, fists clenched, to shout at his heart. "Suppose she doesn't want . . . me? That way? What would I do? What could I do? I could lose her!" He sank to his knees. "I could lose her," he whispered. He pulled his hands in to rest over his chest, where his heart belonged.
"I know." The heart spoke softly. "Did you think I didn't understand? Me?" It paused for a few seconds before adding, "She's just waiting for you to accept what you feel. You realize that, right?"
"You don't know that! In fact, what do you know at all? All you do is feel and that's useless!"
"I know her. And if all I do is feel, I can tell how she feels, too."
Beetlejuice just shook his head, not looking up from his hands clasped over his chest.
"Try it again," urged his heart. "Try it just once more. I know you can do this. You have to do this."
Beetlejuice shook his head hopelessly, then sighed and said softly, "Sooo . . . Lyds, I was thinking – was wondering – it occurred to me that . . . that we've known each other for quite a while now. For five years. And . . . and I don't know how you feel, but I . . ." Then he threw up his hands in despair. "Hopeless!"
His heart was getting irritated by now and its little voice grew sharper. "You kiss each other, for cryin' out loud! You hug each other! You know she loves you, you big idiot! She's said so!"
"Yeah, but the kisses are here," he pointed sadly at his cheek, "and she just feels that way for a friend. It's all just something friends do. And feel." Beetlejuice collapsed to sit on the floor, clutching at his hair. "Please don't say any more, please don't do any more. Don't try to tell her."
"She's giving you all the encouragement she can, all that anybody could want. Can't you see that?"
"I can't be sure – I want so much to believe it, but I can't! And I can't take the chance of driving her away," he said in despair.
There was silence then until the striped heart tentatively offered, "You could just hand me to her. That would work. It would say everything you're finding so hard to get out."
The ghost on the floor, face in hands, shook his head. "Yeah, right. And if she looks at me and says 'What am I supposed to do with this?', if she doesn't want you . . . me . . . then what do I do? And she might start edging away because she'd know how I feel. And I'd rather have her friendship than nothing. If she ever goes away, ever leaves for good, you know what would happen. What I'd do."
Another silence fell, broken by the sound of the bell at the door.
"Well, she's here," said the heart quietly. "What are you going to do?"
Beetlejuice took a deep breath and rose from the floor. "She wants to see Bonehenge this afternoon so we'll go there and have a lot of fun, that's what I'm going to do. And you can just stay here." He scrubbed his face with his hands, pasted on a grin, and vanished.
The forlorn heart watched them leave from the bedroom window, frowning sadly. Then it gritted its goofy teeth and sped after them, not giving up. After all, it was Beetlejuice's heart. It knew what it needed.