A Birth Day God Did Not Plan

“Did I at least make it into Heaven?”

“You did. Just not the way God wanted you to. Not this way. Not on what should have been a happy birth day.”

***

My clothes are wet. My head. Groggy. I feel… Disoriented. Where am I? I looked around for some help. Some answers. But I see nothing. Nothing but the darkness I remember being captivated by before waking up to... whatever this place is.

There’s soft music playing from afar. It’s almost identical to the sounds of that annoying elevator music that always makes me want to jump out and take the staircase instead. But which direction is the music coming from? I moved my neck up and out, as best as I could, to look around some more. Scope the place out. But there’s nothing. Nothing but a freaking somber musical house of organs playing. I don’t see any windows. There’s no furniture. This isn’t even a hospital bed.

Wait.

Right there.

There’s a… Is that a… Is that a door? An exit? Yes! Thank God. I tried to scooch myself up, but I can’t. Get. Up. It’s like I’m stuck. Or strapped in. Or detained. Or paralyzed? I looked back over at the door. To the area where I thought I saw a door. To see if that’s where the sudden knock I just heard came from. The knock accompanied a smell that was unbearable. But there was something else that was different about that area. I squinched my eyes tighter, hoping to clear my nose, protect my ears, and figure out what that figure that wasn’t there a minute ago is.

It looks like a shadow. A shadow of a person. A shadow of a person standing still. A shadow of a person standing still, watching me.

“Ugghh. Hello?”

The stench reeked, but I couldn’t move my hands to cover my nose.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Sir? Ummm, nonbinary hu…human? Can you help me out here? I don’t. I don’t know where I am. Or. How I got here?”

The shadow turned around. There was this aura around it. Her. This glare. A glare that showed a face that was eerily familiar.

“Excuse me? Hi. Ummm. I’m freaking out over here. Can you tell me what this place is?”

The shadow continued to walk slowly toward me.

“Or. How I got here? I’m all wet, with no covers by the way. But. Why? Why am I stuck… here?”

She continued to walk. Emotionless. Still slowly towards me.

“How about how long I’ve been here?”

She stopped at the foot of the bed, then stood there and smiled a remarkably chilling smile.

“Is there like a manager that I can speak to?”

“Happy Birth Day.”

I looked around as far as my head could turn. Maybe there’s someone else in this dark room. Is there someone here, behind me, that I can’t see?

“Ummm, I’m sorry.” I chuckled a bit. Something I normally do whenever I’m nervous.

“My birthday isn’t until tomorrow. You are close, though. Veerrrry, very close. But I’m guessing you have the wrong person.”

I stopped to look at this woman, who, although seen through this dark, looming light, looked so much like me. I mean, a much better version of me. Me, with a major Hollywood makeover. Me, rested, with better makeup. Me, healthier. Just maybe not so much smellier, though.

“Today is your birth day. Welcome. You’ve made it to the other side. Your final home. So, happy birth day. I’ve been waiting for you for 27 years.”

“I’m sorry. You’ve been waiting for me for 27 years? What does that even mean?”

“Waiting for you to give birth to me. Waiting for you to give me a chance to celebrate my birthday and birth day. Waiting for you to take me with you so we can finally rest. Together.”

“Excuse me? I don’t even know you, lady. What type of sick joke is this? Is this some type of prank? Who put you up to this? Where the heck am I? Get me off this bed right now.”

She began to walk from the foot of the bed to the side, staring at me the whole time, with that masterfully strange smile.

“Turn these lights on. Right now!” I tried to force my body up, but I couldn’t move an inch.

“Sorry, I can’t do that. I don’t have the authority.”

“HELP,” I began to scream. I didn’t know what else to do. Here I am, locked in a room that I woke up to, restrained, it seems, in a dark room that only produced light around this figure of a person who looks like the super value me, who claims to have known me since my 30s.

“Somebody helllppppp meeeee.”

“Serena, it’s me. You. I’m. You. I’m the person you created 27 years ago when you brought me to life.”

“Wha-what?” I know that chuckling at this very moment is insane in the membrane, but what in the holy….”

“You conceived me in your mind. You imagined all the wonderful places we could go. We could do. We could be… together. You conceived the image of me, you, in the image of God. Through the vision he gave to you and only you. But you stopped. You stopped dreaming. You stopped believing. You stopped fighting to live outside of the box you were so uncomfortably comfortable in. So, I never had a birthday. I never got to celebrate my birth. The day you were supposed to give birth to me. Not only in your head, Serena, but to the world.”

I began to gasp for air. Heavily.

“I can’t. I can’t breathe. Please stop talking. I’m hyperventilating. Unleash me. I need my. I need my pump, please.” I began to take deep, short, erratic breaths.

“I can’t reach my bag. It's got my pump. I need to move my arms to get to my belongings.”

“You’re not having a panic attack or an asthma attack. You can’t have those things where we are.”

“Twenty-seven… What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I am the version of you who created an invention that would have saved the hundreds of thousands of people who died from the same asthma attack you think you are having right now. I’m the thought. The idea. The reality of Breath Tech, the invention that would have made you a multi-millionaire. A staple in the medical field, just like you always dreamed of becoming. A blueprint for medical students and researchers to use for years to come.”

“But I. I did pitch you. I worked my tail off. I stayed up late nights. Plenty of late nights. And. Early mornings. Plenty of early mornings. I. I. I built you up.”

“Then you broke me down. You stopped believing in me. You stopped believing in you. You gave up after your 33rd rejection. You became so discouraged that you threw Me. You. Us. Away.”

“What was I supposed to do? I had bills. I had a job. I had family members calling me crazy. I had a husband who was ready to leave me. I had… bills. I had… a job.”

“A job that you kept until this day. A job that you hated until this day.”

“But I had… a job. I had... bills. I had.”

“You had one more email to send. One more pitch. One more meeting with an up-and-coming company that was going to say yes and help you give birth to me. But you stopped believing. And now, I have to die with you. With the countless other bodies that died because you stopped believing.”

“So. I’m dead and I died a murderer?”

“No. You’re not a murderer. But you are dead. And you died a much worse death. You died not living your fullest life. You didn’t murder those other people. But you did murder your true self. That, in God’s book, is one of the worst deaths. To give up on your calling and not prepare to leave this room the way he intended.”

“Oh.” I took what was probably the last deep, sorrowful sigh and shed the last few tears that I had left.

“Is this considered one of those deadly sins?”

The shadow turned to walk away.

“Can you please forgive me? God? What about him, or, or her?” I closed my eyes to pray the same way I always saw others do it. “… I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Please give me another chance.”

The shadow opened the door, and suddenly, I was able to lift myself up.

“Follow me.”

I got out of bed and looked at the image of, I guess, what I should’ve looked like this morning when I was signing my divorce papers in my cubicle. Happy. Whole. Fulfilled. Accomplished.

“Well, ghost of my fallen opportunity, birth day in this dimension, huh? Did I at least make it into Heaven?”

The somber music stopped and the lights came on. She placed a check next to my name on her clipboard, then turned to look at me.

“You did. Just not the way God wanted you to arrive. Not this way. Not on what should have been a happy birth day.”

She reached her arm out to direct me towards the door that had turned white and gold, then vanished just like she did 27 years ago. Just before the day that would have been her birthday.