That Time I Died Does everyone have a morbid fascination to be at his or her funeral service and to see for them selves how people react? I hope it is not just me. Although I am sure that my fascination is a little more persistent and a little more morbid than that of the average Billy Joe Bob. If it wasn’t, then this story would have never happened anyway. I have been blessed with an eccentric personality since I was a child. I don’t think this makes me all bad though, in fact most people find my antics rather amusing. I am that person, that story, that people use to entertain others waiting to use the fax machine, at luncheons, to fight off boredom, and to show others how interesting their life really is (no matter how vicariously it is so). And I am sure that this story will be no exception. Many a straight shooter will feel the excitement of vicariously straying into the grayness of semi-moral land. So my tale begins with a conversation and an agreement. I was a wee youngin,’ probably didn’t even have my driver’s license yet. It was one of those late sleepover nights where you know it is very late and you should go to sleep but fits of giggles and odd topics keep you awake. Out of the blue I confessed to my dearest friend that I couldn’t wait until I died so that I could watch everyone at my funeral and see how they act. This did not illicit a giggling fit out of my fellow insomniac, as a matter of fact it didn’t illicit anything but silence. Maybe I needed to clarify that I didn’t want to end my life. I was just curious to see the aftermath when that time did come…. still the crickets chirped on. So I began to describe the scenario with all of the imagination that a morbid teen has…me, stiff as a board, probably some pretty candles, some boring music that isn’t going to make anyone feel better…and then right in the middle of my self-conjured image was something unexpected and worse yet, unwanted…some of my classmates, crying! I said classmates, not friends. We had a mutual and understood dislike for one another, so why are they at MY funeral service and why are they crying. Some may say they must have really liked me deep down, and I would say that is a load of b*llsh*t. They are here to get attention! I hear them now saying how we were best friends, what blasphemy is this!? My own fantasy has become my nightmare. I must take preventative measures now to see to it that this ghastly scene never really takes place or I will never rest! But the question is how. My friend, knowing my odd nature had by now regained her composure and in light of my frantic and newfound fear had been once again infected with a terrible case of those damned giggles, only this time it was her who heard the chirping crickets. I was not laughing. I was truly perturbed. Through her fits of laughter she tried to offer solace. She said, as she fought for air, "Maybe ….I can…stand guard at…. the door." She reeled even harder with laughter but my eyes lit up and my heart lifted as I saw in front of me the answer to my problem. I would need a bouncer. As I thanked her so much for her brilliant idea she laughed harder thinking I was furthering her joke, what she didn’t realize was, as my best friend this duty would be hers. She finally calmed down enough for us to discuss this most important issue. We poured over all the details, me, because I meant it, her, because she chose to humor me. Years went by and I stuck to my ideals of what my funeral should be. I even had a legal will drew up when I was 18 and had all the details that we had discussed put in legal writing. And as I had said, she was to be my bouncer. I am not sure, but I think this may have been the first time when she really knew I was serious. It wasn’t one of those silly childhood pacts, like ‘we are going to marry two boys who are best friends and live next door and barbecue together blah, blah, blah.’ This was business. My story took a very unexpected turn, unexpected both to me and to everyone that knew or had ever known me. I met a guy, and not just any guy, but one who I didn’t want to get rid of. And I never did, we got married and are living happily ever after. However, this made me acutely aware of something, I was no longer looking forward to dying. I never wanted to die because my life sucked or anything, I just wasn’t afraid to die, so therefore it was something that I could kind of look forward to. But now I have something that I don’t want to lose, something that I would never want to hurt. This became an area of much internal conflict for me. Time went on by but I still had not gotten over the discrepancy that my self-exploration had uncovered. So there I am sitting at my computer checking my e-mail with no bad intentions what so ever, when one finds me anyway. I was simply looking through my e-mail address book with the idea that I should clean it out. There were a lot of addresses that I didn’t need or want anymore. And that’s when it happened. I have been so good since I met my husband, I have hardly stirred up any messes, but here it was, a potential mess staring me in the face, and it gave me chills. Not the creepy kind that tell you someone is standing behind you…run. But the kind that tells you that you will be handsomely rewarded if you just keep doing whatever it is that you were doing when they started. So I did. I clicked on a particular name, that showed me a certain address…. and then…. I double clicked! I couldn’t stop myself now. I was foaming at the mouth and trembling with the lost delight of mischievousness. Perhaps this would be a good place to give you a little background. The particular name that I was looking at was that of a past admirer. He was a semi-cyber friend and a semi-in-the-flesh friend. He had however had the misfortune of going to prison a couple of years ago. I used this as an opportunity to end the communication…. until now. So lets pick up where we had left off. The glow of the "compose" screen lit up my face and highlighted an eerie delight. I knew that he should have gotten out a few months ago so his account should be reactivated by now. I began my warped message. I said that I was writing to everyone in my sisters address book to inform them, if they did not already know, that she had passed away. Yes, I have finally died, and I didn’t even have to leave my husband to do it! As I typed the words I became a giddy teenager again, trying to keep my laughs under wrap so I wouldn’t wake my parents, except now, I am trying not to wake my husband! I played ignorant, because none of my family, except my brother who was also a past acquaintance knew him. I simply stated that if he had known (me) that I was just trying to let him know, and if not I was sorry to have bothered him. Well, I really thought that this alone would have been enough to squelch the curiosity, but it wasn’t. I was drawn to the computer, the anticipation of a response was driving me mad, and not that it would have been a long drive. And FINALLY, the following morning it came. My husband was away at work and I could indulge myself in my sick new hobby. The e-mail was full of condolences, closeness to hearts and talk of tears! And then as I read on my jaw dropped, he wanted directions to my burial site so he could visit me and pay his respects! Just like in the movies, beads of sweat gathered on my brow. I wondered what in the hell I had gotten myself into, when, just like in the cartoons, a light bulb conveniently appeared above my head. I reached up and pulled on the string and voila there was light so I wouldn’t strain my eyes anymore. Well actually I realized that if there was no burial site, which of course there isn’t, he couldn’t visit it. So I hit the reply key. And it went a little something like this, actually I can give you verbatim, I was there. "I was deeply moved by your feelings for my sister and I would gladly tell you where the burial site is, except there isn’t one. She had a legal will drawn up that among its stipulations stated that she was to be cremated, her ashes were to be disposed of, not given to anyone, that there was to be no burial site and that there was to be no funeral service." He knew my eccentricities, so there really is no reason not to believe it, as a matter of fact I am thinking about changing my will as it is! It wasn’t until after I hit sent that a cataclysmic event occurred. I felt an odd sensation in my stomach, a kind of weight. I thought that it must have been what I had for lunch or maybe I had to use the washroom, but no, this was all denial. I felt kind of bad for toying with him. This is odd because I have never felt bad like that before. A little square box popped up in the lower right of my screen to serve as my savior. It said "****" has signed in." I needed to cleanse myself. It was time to confess. I instant messaged my dear friend with the urgency that only a juicy confession could spur. My friend was the straight arrow, the square, the goody two shoes, anyway you get the idea. I was sitting in front of my computer with a little red devil straight out of Looney tunes dancing on my shoulder and chanting "lets play dead…(laughter)…lets play dead!" over and over. I knew I was in need of a sound mind and good advice, so I looked to the other shoulder…. it was empty. No angel in a long flowing white robe, no glowing halo and no beautiful music being strummed on the harp, just a void and some crickets again. "****" must be the voice of reason, she must tell me to stop this insanity! I am a bad person, other people are not my playthings, and they are not here to be instruments of my sick mind. She however, chose not to be the voice of reason today. I couldn’t see or hear her, but she was typing badly, a sign of laughter I believe, and she was typing a little "lol" after each sentence. To those who have not read the Handbook on Internet Chat Jargon, this means, "laughing out loud." Even though she did not try to reason with me, she did concede that I was a "psycho." I also came to understand why she could not bring herself to try and reason with me, it dawned on me that if I didn’t do stupid things, she would have nothing to talk about, refer to the second paragraph. So I remained unscolded. I had tainted my own sanctuary. She did also bring up a potentially hazardous scenario that I had previously overlooked. How exactly would my brother respond to an e-mail full of condolences over the death of his beloved sister whom he knew damn well was alive and living in Chicago? This meant that I had to warn him and beg him for one of those "no questions" favors. But again I thought this might be a good opportunity for me, I would tell him what I had done, and he would not only scold me but also refuse to comply with my outrageous request. He too tended to walk not so close to the wild side. So now we pan away from the computer and go to the kitchen where I sit at the table ready to be condemned as a moral lacking heathen. I called, he answered, I confessed, and again, my right shoulder stood unmanned. Not only was he highly amused, he greatly anticipated the e-mail so that he could play too. There was a time when I believed that I must have been adopted, but this pitiful display by my dear brother proved convincingly that we had the same warped genes wrapped through our DNA. Who then will be the light to guide me out of this moralistic mess? Who is left but my mother and my husband? I tell my husband everything, but this one he may not like. I think I will wait to tell him until I have figured out the right thing to do. So it must be my mother then. I call her on her cell phone and just my luck she is at the grocery store. I can’t wait to tell her, and she won’t let me, so I spit out my story the way one spits out liver and onions to hide behind the washing machine when they don’t want to clean up their plate. She behaved in her typical fashion, and I don’t understand it to this day. She can’t give you guidance on any matter until she has repeated the whole thing back to you aloud. Did I mention she was in the grocery store? "Well honey you can’t just go telling people you are dead, I mean I don’t think it is illegal, but it certainly isn’t very nice" is what she had to say. I have been reprimanded worse for forgetting to put the toilet paper back on the holder, and that didn’t even involve anyone dying. And to cap it all off she said that if he did happen to find out where they lived and came to offer condolences she would certainly be able to muster up a few tears in honor of her beloved daughter. And they wonder why I am the way I am.
Copyright © 2002 Gina Jauregui |