Well, Sh*t. I'm Dead

So, I died today. Yeah, shitty I know. I was pissed. Wear a helmet they say, it’s the law they say, it’ll save your life in a crash they say. Yeah, but what they don’t say is that it’s not going to do diddly shit if you have an undiagnosed brain aneurysm during your morning commute and it goes Mount Vesuvius right when you’re coming up to a stop light behind a bus. I didn’t try to hold in a sneeze or anything! Just “pop” lights out. Okay, it wasn’t instant lights out. Honestly, it was kinda cool. First, I felt real tingly. My limbs went numb as if I had forgotten to grab my bones next to my keys in the morning. Then I looked down at my right hand on the throttle, but it wasn’t a throttle, it was a hotdog. “That’s weird,” I thought. Then I looked over at the SUV next to me and a unicorn in sunglasses was driving. Mr. Unicorn looked right at me and said, “Hey man, you found my hotdog. Thanks.” I mean, it made perfect sense at the time! I even remember thinking that a Land Rover was a good choice for a Unicorn because it had more headroom for his horn. 

Bam! That’s when I hit the bus. Coming right off the FDR into lower Manhattan on my way to work. And now everyone is going to assume I was an asshole. “Yep, just another dumb kid probably trying to do a wheelie after seeing a pretty girl in a tank top.” I mean, yeah, I did see her but I do anything stupid.

Then I saw my body. Man, shit. If I knew I was going to die today I would have worn something nicer. I hate that I was wearing that t-shirt. Ugh, I looked like such a tool! It seemed really funny and ironic when I bought it. A white shirt with big black bold letters written upside down:

“IS MY 

BIKE 

OKAY?”

People were gathering around me and my body and I could already hear them saying things to each other like “What happened?” “What was he thinking?” “Look at that shit!” “How did he not see that bus?” “He must have been a new rider I saw him lose control.”

I was like, “Listen a-hole, I have 11 years of riding experience! It was a brain aneurysm not-” And then I was like, “Oh shit, he can’t hear me. I’m dead.” Double shit. They probably won’t even find out I had a brain aneurysm. They’ll just assume I was incompetent. The coroner will call my mom and say, “Are you Dexters mom? Your son is an idiot. But thankfully you won’t have to worry about that anymore because he is dead. We’ll mail you the body. Do you want priority or regular mail? Overnight is going to be really expensive.”

And then, I shit you not, I started to float. Like, honest to god I’m above it, me, everyone on the ground, the bus. I got higher and higher and I could see all of NYC skyline. The Brooklyn Bridge was… well, it was total gridlock. Of course. I looked behind me and saw that I’d added quite a backup to the already shitty commute of New Yorkers on the FDR. 

“Hey, so sorry peckerwoods!” I yelled down to them. “Dead kid down there! Better call your boss and tell ‘em you’ll be late! Take the train next time!” Hehe… that was a good one. I don’t think anyone has used peckerwood in a while. 

Up and up then boom, I cut through a cloud and shoomph! I was supersonic! No, I was way faster than supersonic. I felt this unbelievable pull. Like a fat magnet attracted toward a warehouse full of double chocolate metal cake donuts. Out of the atmosphere, out of Earth, I was passing stars. Actual stars, man! Nothing goes this fast! Faster and Faster I was passing galaxies faster than Tweets factchecking Trump during a rally. 

Whoomph, Snap! “And that’s when I hit this grand room with everyone else here,” I said to the woman next to me. “With all the arrivals talking with someone in cubicles I first thought they were applying for loans and I was like, “Oh my god I’ve gone to hell and it’s Citibank. I knew it! You know what I mean, he-he? What number are you anyway?” 

“Je ne parle pas anglais” 

“Shit, man! I tell you that epic story and you don’t even speak English? Ugh, I can’t even get the afterlife right!”

“Next!” Came a booming voice from behind the cubicle.  

“I guess that’s me. Uh, Bonjour and all that jazz.” 

I clear my throat and enter the cubicle. The man there has a perfect nose and cheekbones. The name tag reads, Hi, My Name is: Michael Angel, in comic sans. Ugh, vomit. I looked him right in his big magnificent eyes and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Michael, Mike, M-Dawg. How you doin?” 

“Take a seat,” says Mike.

No sooner than I seit down he takes a deep breath and when he breathed out I somehow had all of these new memories and I instinctively knew that I had been there before and I recognized Michael’s face even without the name tag. I remember not liking him very much. Kind of a know-it-all prick.

“And I recognize you too D-Dawg. Even with the helmet.”

“Oh, shit. I forgot that I was wearing that. Weird that my Spirit would keep that, right? Were you listening to my thoughts? Also, I’ll just call you Mike if you promise to never call me D-Dawg again, okay.”

“Michael is fine.”

“Fair enough, dick” I muffled out with a feigned cough as I removed my helmet. “So, listen Mike-ael. Um, I’m not here to waste your time so-”

And just then Mike reached up to a shelf next to a corkboard that said “Abilities & Skills” with little ribbons tacked to it. Pay attention to that. It will become important later. The shelf held only one book. My book. He grabbed it and dropped this big-ass book onto the desk. And I thought, “Shit. Sure enough they really do open up “your” book and go through your life. Man, this is gonna suck.”

“I’m going to give you something,” Mike said as he gestured towards the book. “It’s going to hurt a little but relax and all will be explained.”

And before I could dish up my perfect sarcastic reply - That’s what she said - Mike opened the book and my brain, body, soul, everything is dipped into what could only be described as an arctic plunge on a February morning right after leaving the comfort of a hot tub. 

“Sweet mother-of-God Fuuuuuuck!” My entire life was absorbed into me, every memory, every thought, every success, and every mistake! Things I didn’t even remember that I had forgotten. Things that you only seem to remember again when you’re high but never remember again until you’re high again -you know the ones - all flooded through me. And then he turned the page and then came the second plunge. It wasn’t just my memories it was everyone I had ever affected. Every friend I helped move, every joke I took too far, every gift I ever gave, every lady I helped cross the street (okay, there weren’t any), and even that girl that said she’d dance with me but I turned away at Summer Camp.  Chrystal, with a Y. I saw her cry remembering that experience on a shitty day after work 7 years, 434 days, 6 hours, and 11 minutes later. But Mike wasn’t done. He turned the page once more and all of my Spirit’s memories came to me as well. And that’s when shit got real. I saw all of my lives. I saw all of my challenges. All that I had learned, sought to learn, and experienced. And most importantly all that I had chosen to experience. “Holy fucking Christ!” I blurted out.

“Knock knock, hey, guys how’s it going?” 

I looked over and I saw a face of pure light, joy, and eternal everything. His smile was pure bliss and I had never seen anything so beautiful and so disarming at the same time. He was eating gummy bears. I looked him straight in his, I mean I guess you could call them eyes but they were more like staring into eternity, and he says, “Yeah, Father, Son, Holy Ghost here. Alpha Omega, all that. Kinda everything just all banged up into one thing, really. Yeah,” he said with a carefree shrug.

I stared at him and I wanted to say something funny, clever, cute, or intelligent. I mean, it’s not every day you get to make an impression with The God. “Hi,” was all I could come up with. Yeah, brilliant I know.

“You want one?” he said to me as he smacked the gummy bears in his mouth. “Go ahead have a couple. These are bloody amazing.” 

I obeyed and of course and they were heavenly. Yes, pun intended! Lay off me, it’s my dead story. He turned the bag to Mike,” You Mikey?” Mike shook his head and said, “No thanks, God. I’ve got a jar full of Mike-and-Ikes here.”

“No? Okay, mate your loss.”

“I was just reintroducing Dexter to his Spirit,” Mike said to God.

“Oh, yeah. Heavy stuff. Okay. Just thought I’d pop by. You kids be good.”

And with that God in all his magnificence and smacking on his gummy bears exited the cubicle while gliding to the next saying, “Knock, knock.”

I snap back to Mike and when I saw his smirking face I knew that he enjoyed those three “ice-plunges” just a little too much. “Okay, Mike-ael. I can see what’s going on now. Let’s cut the shit!”

“Tell me more,” Mike retorted which I was pretty sure were equal parts inquisitive and equal parts sarcasm. What a prick.

“Free will?! Everything that happened to me in my life was destined and now I’m finding out that I chose all of this? This is horse shit! I’m out there in New York Fucking City busting my ass to make something of myself and I can see now that it’s never going to happen… it was never going to happen! It was my life's goal to do comedy, be a comedian, beat the system to get out of the rat race and never have to work because I could do what I loved! What the shit was I even working for?”

And then it happend. Anger turned to sadness. I was reduced to tears. I felt like a kid again having no control. No idea how the world worked and all I wanted to do was go back home to Indiana and cry to my mom while she comforted me and made me tomato soup and grilled cheese. I looked at Mike and someone didn’t even have the energy to poke fun at him by calling him “Mike-ael” anymore. I looked at the board next to the shelf and saw my life skills. My lot. Right there, clear as day in the “Not Blessed With” section” were Luck and Opportunity. My life on Earth was a futile rat race. I had just been too stupid, stubborn, and foolhardy to accept that. So, this is what giving up feels like.

“You think your goals are to achieve? No. They are to learn. In this book are the lives you choose to live. You chose this one. This life, this person, these struggles. You have just forgotten that. Now if you’d like I can turn the page-”

“Stop!” My eyes darted from the book to the board and back to Mike. I looked at him just as his eyes were trying to not let me see one ribbon in particular that was in my “Blessed With” section. It read A Miracle. And something deep inside of me stirred. Something deeper than primal. I felt something. I felt my body lying on the FDR in New York City from across the universe somehow gesture towards me and something inside of me just snapped. I wasn’t going to let life just happen to me this time.

“I’ll tell you what I haven’t forgotten, Mike-ael. You’re a dick! I’m going back and I’m taking Luck and Opportunity with me!” 

I snatched the two ribbons from the wall and Mike leaps across the desk grabbing my leather motorcycle jacket and pinning me against the wall. But I’m not taking it. “I’m going back, Mike-ael!” I yell into his perfect nose and cheekbones. And without thinking I headbutt him right in the middle of his magnificent nose and follow with a quick jab hook combo to the jaw! He’s dazed enough to release his grip and I shove him back over the desk, grab my helmet, run out of the cubicle, and right smack into God.”

“Hey, what’s all the kerfuffle, fellas?”

“Sorry God, I gotta go!” and I politely, but quickly, push my way past him and make a run for it as God steps aside still smacking on gummy bears and sees Michael. 

“Oh, mate, he got you good. That’s epic! You’re gonna feel that one tomorrow!” he laughed.

So, I’m running and I’m running and Mike bursts out of the cubicle past God and yells down the hall, “Close the port! Cloooose the poooort!”

I shove the stolen Luck and Opportunity ribbons down my jacket, secure the strap on my helmet, and run as fast as I’ve run in my life, or afterlife, towards the portal named “Earth.” It’s already closing but I’m only feet away now and I jump-dive head first through the closing door. George Lucas couldn’t have timed it better! 

Swhoompf! I’m taken faster than I can even process back through the universe, eternity, space, and time itself, and hit the atmosphere of Earth. “Ha Ha Ha! Yeah! I did it! I did it!” I yell through my helmet as I see North America, New York, the FDR, and the traffic jam I created. I slow back down to a float and see my body once again. A crowd has gathered around and an ambulance has only just managed to arrive. 

I touch the ground throw my fist in the air and let out a “Shit, yeah!” I walk the few steps toward my mortal coil to rejoin my body. I did it! I’m doing it! But then a hand grabs my shoulder and stops me in my tracks. 

“Hey, mate.” 

Oh, god it’s God. I spin around and sadness takes over me. I was so close. Like everything in life, I get right up to the point but just can’t finish the job. I feel my eyes begin to tear up as I realize that even in the afterlife I am a failure. I’m afraid to look God in the eye and he sees, feels, and embraces my shame and takes me by the shoulders, meeting my eyes with his. I am astonished to see that he Himself is crying.

“The was awesome, mate. I’m proud of ya”

“Wha-, I don’t understand.”

“You don’t remember, Dexter. We decided this. Together. All of this. To see if your whole life of not feeling any success would make you feel like a failure and give up. To come back home. To quit. But ya didn’t, mate. You fought. That part wasn’t written. 

“You mean… I did it?

“Shit yeah, man! Now that you’re fully prepared you can make use of a little Luck and Opportunity. That was an epic punch you gave Mikey. I’m gonna show everybody at the quarterly potluck.”

God then embraces me and lays me down at my body like a father tucking in his son for bed no matter how hard his work day was. He took his hand beaming with love and joy and covered my forehead and I felt my aneurism and body repair. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “I’m gonna borrow your memory now. No cheating.” And with a teary-eyed smile, he adds, “I love ya, mate.”

God placed his hands together and looked toward the sky. As he closed his eyes his eyelids made a sound as if fingers snapping. 

Dexter gasped for breath and coughed as he opened his eyes. An old man is standing over him with scraggly hair and a beard he’s probably had since before Dexter was born. No doubt he drives a van, Dexter thought.

“Aw, shit. He’s fine,” said the old man in a disappointed tone through his remaining teeth. “I thought I was gonna see me a dead body.”

Dexter stood up and is suprised by the number of people around him. “Shit, what happend?” he thinks. Everyone around him is looking at him and pointing fingers and explaining to the people next to them.

“Shit man, you’re okay?” A man in a Land Rover asked as he removed his Gucci sunglasses. “I can’t believe it. That’s a miracle!”

“My bike is toast. That’s not gonna buff out. Good thing I’ve got insurance.”

“Insurance?! Bro, who gives a fuck about insurance? You’re lucky to be alive. You should buy a fuggin lottery ticket today!”

“Maybe that’s a good idea. I feel good. Like a weight has been lifted off of me; maybe it was the bus. But somehow things feel strangely possible.”

The paramedics usher Dexter to their ambulance but somehow he knows that he doesn’t need it. Everything is fine. Better than fine. In the crowd he sees a pretty girl in a tank top and realizes it’s the pretty girl. “Hey, you wanna get a coffee after this?” he yells out.

“Um, okay.”

Dexter exchanges Instagram info while the paramedics take him away and thinks, “Shit, that was lucky.”