One More Day

 He had been going to see an old friend. That’s what he remembered before the white room, and now he sat in a van with two strangers whilst large droplets of rain hammered the windshield. They were parked outside a house. Not just any house.

Sandy’s house. 21^st December 1972. Why was he here again?

“You’re probably wondering who we are,” said Kye. “This is Sam. Plays bass. I’m Kye, the lead singer and guitarist. We’re here to make sure you get to where you need to be.”

“One more day, champ,” said Sam. “You need to make the most of it.”

 “What do I do?” said Harry. “Why don’t I remember anything?”

“Clean slate,” said Kye, as if the answer were obvious.

“Fresh start, Harry. You can be anything you want to be today. You don’t have to be the drummer of Olympia Starr. You don’t have to be in this van with us. Heck, you can go straight home, spend the holidays with your mamma on that porch listening to her ask the same questions again and again because she remembers even less than you do right now. You haven’t got to meet Sandy. Or Drew. Or Vince. All up to you.”

Harry stared blankly at Sam’s profile, but it was his mother’s lost eyes that filled his head. 1973 New Year’s Day was the day he got the call about his mother wandering from the house, the day he and his father decided a nurse who lived with Harry’s mother would not solve all their problems after all as she deteriorated rapidly. January 31st would be the first time Harry’s mother didn’t recognize him.

“You meet the love of your life here,” said Kye enthusiastically, as if he were taking part in a pop quiz. “This is the happiest day of your life but for some reason you regret it.” 

“That makes no sense to me,” Sam said. “So many great things start for you today. Why would you regret such a pivotal moment?”

Harry smiled. Something about the scruffy bass player next to him did not fit right with him saying “pivotal moment” in a voice that resembled a wise old man, but the humor dissolved quickly as the face on Drew Anton flooded his memory and made him gasp as if someone had pierced his heart with ice.

Drew Anton. Her long powder-blue dress. Her golden curls touched the base of her spine. The thin eyebrows. The way her mouth curled up slightly on the one side and a dimple appeared on her right cheek every time she looked at him. 

“The Stack Attacks are here,” said Kye sarcastically. They were the biggest jazz band of the sixties and seventies. Their music was like no other jazz. The Stack Attacks produced the type of melodies that were distinguishable from other jazz bands and musicians, producing a sound far more intricate and soothing than the music of their peers, like a siren call that beckoned those who especially had musical talent and appreciated good music. A warm feeling spread through Harry’s heart as he closed his eyes and let the Stack Attacks take over his mind, body, soul. 

Schi-ta-ta-ta - schi-ba-ta-ta-ta - schi-ba- 

“She’s here,” said Sam. Harry opened his eyes.

“That is her, isn’t it, Harry?” said Kye. “Your wife?”

A lump formed in Harry’s throat, but it crumbled like sandcastles falling into the sea as Sam jumped out of the van and the Stack Attacks played their best-known song “Blue Days in Georgia.” One of Drew’s favorite songs.

I had blue days in Georgia

Hear my hometown blues 

There’s no you in Georgia 

What’s a guy to do?

Drew stubbed her cigarette out and walked back inside. As he watched her walk away, Harry had never wanted anything more at that moment than to hold her body close to his, for her to feel the velocity of his love and his remorse in equal measure, to know that nothing, nothing - was more powerful than his love, even if he didn’t say it often enough, even if there were months, regrettably, where she couldn’t feel it whilst he was halfway across the world on tour, high on more than adrenaline backstage of sell-out tours whilst girls ogled him and he enjoyed the chase. All whilst she grieved for the family life in suburbia they never had. 

He followed Sam and Kye into the hall. Sandy greeted him and told him that he would show him to his room later that night.

Harry and Sandy went way back, but on the day of the party, Harry hadn’t seen the tall, broad-shouldered man since high school. 

“You’re here!” Sandy said, his red hair slicked back, looking sharp in his black suit. A group of women behind him stared. Being handsome and wealthy with connections in the music business, he seemed the perfect man - heck, he was the perfect man to Harry, who remembered wanting to kiss him when he said Charlie Hernandez wanted to sign him - but Sandy liked his women, his men, and his drink. Often the drink came first.

Harry remembered Sandy in his final moments, begging his daughters from his death bed to bring him his bottle of scotch. 1999 was the year. Sandy had been his first lesson of how humans work - nothing and no one in this world are ever what they seem, and everyone has a devil on their shoulder who is only silent when it wins.

“You got talent kid, I told Charlie, you should meet this drummer I know, he’s sensational!” said Sandy.

Harry shook his head. He was sure he had been more vocal the first time his encounter with Sandy had happened. But now, he couldn’t stop thinking of Sandy’s daughters at the man’s funeral, or of how much he wanted to knock the glass of sherry from Sandy’s hands. 

“I’m glad you could make it,” said Sandy, smiling from ear to ear. “They’re going to love you here.”

The Stack Attacks - four men in red suits with bright friendly smiles, stepped off the stage and were replaced by Sam, Kye, and a girl with short black hair. They played a fast song that got everyone dancing. Harry lingered at the back with a drink, scouring the crowd for Drew. He didn’t care why he was back, or what he was meant to do, or if the men on stage knew everything he needed to know about his second chance - all he cared about was seeing Drew. He needed to hear her voice, feel the silk of her blue dress in his hands, talk to her, say all the things he should have said the first time around - that’s all he needed to do.

Harry spotted Drew, deep in conversation with one of the members of The Stack Attacks, the piano player. Harry thought his name was Miles but he couldn’t be too sure. The day he played at the Christmas party with Sandy’s brother Stanley Ames and Vince McCall and became Olympia Starr was a memory from another lifetime away - one he most certainly hadn’t expected to relive after the day he died.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He ordered a drink from the bar. It had all come back. The day he died.

December 1st, 2019. His 70th birthday. He had been heading over to Michigan, to see Drew after finding out about her cancer diagnosis. He hadn’t seen her in fifteen years - they had been divorced for around twelve years and Harry still played with Stan every now and then, just two guys - because Vince, God rest his soul, had died three years prior of a heart attack. Stan had warned him, told him not to go see Drew, to ignore her letter. But Harry couldn’t. The message of his heart was stronger than his mind.

He couldn’t help but wonder - would he still be alive if he had listened to Stan?

The room started to blur. It was like his life was flashing before him but in reverse - he could see what would follow in the years to come, the years that would follow the Christmas party that Sandy had arranged for his musical friends in an attempt to scour for new talent, wanting to find the next Queen and having no idea that it would change Harry’s life.

“You should probably go to her.”

Harry looked to his left. Sandy smiled, a drink in his left hand. 

“The best thing about this place is the devil’s juice can’t hurt you. And you can say the word devil. Who’d have thought? Crazy. Don’t worry so much, the sherry’s just for show. Haven’t touched a drop of it.”

Sandy chuckled. He looked around the hall fondly. 

“Everyone is dancing,” said Sandy, nodding. “That’s how I always pictured it. Do you remember?” 

“You said you hope it’s a big party,” said Harry, his voice shaking a little. “With old friends.” 

“With old friends,” Sandy said warmly, his eyes glistening as The Stack Attacks returned to the stage and played “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” 

Harry looked at Drew. She was watching him. Waiting. 

“She died this morning,” said Sandy. “Even if there wasn’t a crash, you wouldn’t have made it in time.”

Harry shook his head. Sandy smiled apologetically and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Go to her.”

Harry stared at Drew. She was now just six feet away from him, standing by the bar. She had come to him. Their marriage had always been that way. Drew making the first move. Drew making more effort than him. 

“Sandy asked for a party with old friends,” said Harry. He blurted out the statement, feeling like a school kid trying to converse with his first crush, no idea what was expected of him or what to do with his hands. He felt self-conscious and sweaty, his heart thumped in his chest as he was suddenly aware that he was talking to the most beautiful girl in the room - then Drew Anton spoke and everything was OK again. As soon as the words passed through her lips, it was like he had become sedated. Everything she did in his presence - that was the real siren song. He felt so safe with her.

Harry looked back at Sandy. The man raised his glass, a sad smile on his lips as he watched them.

“This isn’t a party,’ said Drew. “It’s your Room, if you want it.”

“Room?’ said Harry.

“We all have a Room after we pass on. That’s what the White Woman told me. She carried me from my bed, when my soul left me. Just as she held you after the crash.”

“I loved you more than anything,” Harry interjected.

“I know,” Drew whispered.“My heaven is with my husband and my daughter. I’ve seen it, felt it - you can love two people at once. I understand. I’m supposed to let you chose, but I don’t have it in me.”

It took Harry years, but he let go of Sandy. Of exploring that side of himself, of seeing what he and Sandy could have become. Drew was the only person that made him feel at peace, despite the parts he spent his life concealing.

“How could I not love you?” said Harry. “Impossible.”

“Harry, don’t leave me.” 

Her hands held his face. She pressed her lips to his. His back and neck tingled. 

How could I not love you, he thought. He loved her more than anything. But there had always been a “what if” at the thought of him and Sandy that lingered like a buzzing fly, and suddenly Harry realized why he was here. 

“It’s time,” said Sam’s voice. It sounded like an echo, like it was full of static through a speaker as Drew kissed Harry, pressing her body against his. He had missed the way they physically fit together. The way she made him forget everything. How she healed all the places that hurt. How she knew who he really was but never said because he didn’t want to admit it and realized that there was no shame in who he was and who he loved until it was too late. But instead of yanking him out of the dark, Drew Anton silently crept in and healed all the places within Harry that hurt the most, without saying a word. 

“There’s only one chance to chose your Room,” said Kye. 

“Don’t leave me,” Drew whispered into the crook of his neck as the party disappeared. 

Harry turned to look at Sandy. The man said nothing, his face impassive, his skin smooth and his eyes bright. Harry had missed him. Always regretted never telling Sandy how he felt. Even when Sandy was lying in his death bed, and Harry wasn’t with Drew anymore. Sandy waited for Harry to finally say it. But nothing came. Just silence. 

A blinding light forced Harry to close his eyes. He did not hear the name he called until several minutes later, when he was lying in the white room and at peace as the woman with the sapphire eyes stroked his brow with the back of her fingers, and his voice reverberated around the bright chamber. 

“Sandy.” 

He looked at the White Woman blankly. He had expected to say Drew, but another name had passed his lips. Sandy. 

Because it is in moments that test us we show who we really are.

Sandy. 

Harry had thought that it was the voice in his head that had made him realize this, but it was not. It was the woman with the hair as white as snow. She had whispered it in his ear. 

“One more day,” said the woman. “It’s over.” 

“Thank you,” said Harry in a hoarse whisper. He was old and frail again, staring down at his liver-spotted hands. Nothing lasted forever, and so the things that mattered most to him - age, love, happiness - were fleeting gifts that disappeared within the blink of an eye. It was a cruel joke. To see himself as an old man again so soon after being 21 again was a spiteful joke that didn’t belong in a place such as this. He had asked the woman if this were heaven, but she never answered. 

“What’s your heaven?” The White Woman whispered. 

“A place where I can fix everything and forgive myself,” Harry croaked. The White Woman wiped his tears away. 

“Where will you go, after this place?” 

Harry looked up at the ceiling. It looked as if it were made of cotton wool. The light was trying to break its way through the clouds. He searched the skies for answers like he often did when he was alive, but nothing came. 

“You already know the answer. You’re just afraid of it.” 

Harry looked at the woman’s sapphire eyes. She smiled at him. There was no color to her lips or cheeks. Only her eyes. The windows to the soul. 

He needed to look deep into his soul. Tell her what she already knew. Forgive himself. 

“I spent my life letting her down. I won’t do it again,” Harry said. He felt short of breath. The little reserves left within him were depleting rapidly. He was running out of time. Another cruel joke. He was dead; how was it possible to still need more time? 

“She should be with the man she loves. Have the life I snatched away from her. And I -“ 

He stopped. The White Woman smiled gently. 

“Say it,” she coaxed. 

“I should be with the man I love.” 

The clouds descended. The light broke through. 

“I’d have sent you to where you needed to be,” the White Woman whispered. “I just needed to hear you say it.” 

“Keep her safe,” said Harry. It was his final request. He hoped the White Woman could hear him - the ringing in his ears was deafening as the light from the clouds blinded him. “Please!” 

“You look a little pale, mate.” 

Harry opened his eyes. Kye was sitting next to him in the van. Harry grabbed Kye’s face and kissed his cheek, then turned to Sam. 

“Don’t even think about it,” said Sam. 

“My hands!” Harry cried, looking at the smooth, veinless skin. 

“We’re making sure you get there safely,” said Kye. 

The van stopped. The three men jumped out. Harry walked past the gazebo. It was empty. There was no stubbed-out cigarette on the ground. He could hear The Stack Attack’s rendition of “Walking In A Winter Wonderland.” The harmonies of the singers blended beautifully with the melody of smooth jazz and the tingling of high notes as Miles played the piano. 

Harry entered the hall. It was a Christmas party. Everyone was dancing. Everyone held a drink. One big party with old friends. 

Harry’s mother was sat in a cozy corner of the hall on a red sofa next to Harry’s father. They raised a glass to him. Drew Anton had climbed onto the stage and sat on the piano, singing “White Christmas” with the pianist of the Stack Attacks, looking lovingly into Miles’s dark eyes. And Sandy stood by the bar, a drink in his right hand. 

Sandy had never been a man of few words, but now he hardly said a thing. He just stared at Harry, as if he couldn’t believe that the only guest that truly mattered to him was really here. 

“You look good,” he said casually as if a lifetime hadn’t passed between the two men, and this was the first time they had lived through the 1st December 1972, from the top, Maestro. 

“I’m glad you could make it,” Sandy said, smiling from ear to ear, just like the first time around. “They’re going to love you here.”