Kate I saw a car crash before my eyes, and when I woke up, I was wearing a black suit and a tie standing at my own funeral. My funeral was god-awful. It had rained the day earlier so everything was damp and gray, and it was chilly out - heavy wind blowing through vicariously, fucking up everyone's concentration - people were too busy feeling cold that they were forgetting to cry over my death. There are some people who like that kind of weather - you know, that dark cloudy weather where trees, their leaves, and everything else looks as if they're slowly moving back and forth under a dark pool. I mean its nice once in awhile but no one wants that kind of weather on his or her funeral. But anyway, to make things worse, my mother showed up. She was dressed in her usual second hand black dress that she kept ironed in the back of her closet since the last funeral. If my father had been alive, he would have been sitting there blushing, dying to get back home. She was wandering back and forth with her chin nuzzled to her neck, crying all over her fishnet thing she was wearing on her face. People couldn't push her away from them so they were slowly migrating away from her like fish from a shark while she wasn't looking through her fishnet dilemma supported on her face. I remember how she had pulled the same shit on my father's funeral. With her bright red face she ran around my dad's coffin, and her cry was like an ambulance looking for a hospital. She wore the same dress then, except she didn't have the fishnet massacre on her head - she wasn't fashionable then. She was crying incessantly. The embarrassing part is how she drools when she cries. Let me tell you the format of my mother's cry, step by step. At first you see a little sparkle in her eye - just like you actually see the lightning before you hear its thunder. Then her whole face starts to vibrate like a subtle earthquake, and then she opens her mouth as if she's going to vomit fire like a dragon. The next step is an art form in itself, she screams with her whole mouth open as if she's falling through an elevator shaft. Then her tears fall, and she starts grabbing your arm or your clothes and pulls as if they're hers. Then she nuzzles her chin to her neck as if she's trying to hide her tears, but two seconds later she cocks her head back up like a stray dog caught stealing a meal and howls as if she's gone mad. Finally she drools. My second cousin Marty was retarded. He drooled. At the funeral my mother kind of looked like him with fishnets. When you die, death doesn't seem like a big deal. Do you know what it feels like? Let me try to explain. It's almost like bad sex. It's exactly like bad sex actually. Let me explain, for it might sound a bit bizarre to the living. You know how before you fuck that special someone for the first time? You have expectations, you have goals, and you definitely have an agenda. I mean you have never seen this person naked before so you have things to learn, but you accept the challenges and go through the threshold. Then bam, it's over. Bad sex - not good but not awful - just bad sex. You're not tired but you're kind of bummed out. You just lie there and ask yourself, 'what went wrong?' That's what being dead feels like, except right now I'm standing instead of lying down next to a naked woman. There must have been twenty somewhat people at the funeral but no one really spoke. Partly because my mother was doing her own little high-pitched acappella with her out cry and no one wanted to interrupt her, but mostly because they didn't really have much to say about me - nothing nice anyway. My wife Kate didn't show up - I was a bit shocked - maybe she found out about my affair with Gina. It was the most difficult thing to do, the whole affair thing, not because of the fear of getting caught factor, but because I truly did love my wife. We had been married for eight years - no kids. Kate had her tubes tied when she was in Chicago, way before we got married. Although Kate actually wanted to have a baby after we got married, and she always said that tying her tube was the biggest mistake she ever made, she didn't want to adopt. She said, "They all have their own mothers and fathers - even the dead ones." Anyway, she was devoted to me all through our marriage. I had a bit of a gambling problem our first year (I had some debt, so I figured if the bookies killed me, I wouldn't have to worry about it), but she stood by me, watched and pushed me pay off my bills. I had a bit of a drinking problem, but she cleaned the vomit off the floor and locked me inside of an Alcoholic Anonymous building, and waited until I came out after gaining twenty-two pounds. I even hit her once when I was struggling - her nose was bleeding, her upper lip was purple, tears forming a pond around her eyes - I was a bastard. And through all that she never took her eyes off of me for a second - that's how much she loved me - she stood by me through thick and thin. Then after seven years of marriage, after she got me through my debts, drinking problem, and everything else, after we had a decent house, a stable income, and a loving marriage, she stopped looking at me the way she used to. Kate, my loving wife who once fucked in an elevator, my best friend who once ran naked through a meadow in my hometown, seemed tired. I would ask her if everything's okay, and she would simply reply, "I'm just a bit weary lately, darling, that's all." I would think of my old wife, the red headed girl that could be anything at anytime, depending on her mood - the girl that could run seven hundred miles and still have energy. She used to look at me with her blue eyes and save me from anything, but after all that I've put her through, after all the 'hurly-burly had settled' as they say, the blue in her eyes had disappeared with her youth. I would come home and find her in bed sleeping, and when I tried having sex with her, she appeared to be dead until I was done (I hop on top of her, she lay there with her legs spread, a lot of humping on my part, sounds of dead trees from her, then I let out a squeal like someone was stabbing me slowly, then she would miraculously come back to life, walk over to the restroom, come back out, and fall asleep without a word) - but she never said no to me. That's when I met Gina. She was young, energetic, sweet, blonde headed girl with an intelligence level of a young, energetic blonde head girl. She was twenty-one, she was in college, and she never asked questions. One day when I was sitting in a bar drinking and thinking about Kate, this beautiful creature Gina sat next to me and asked me if my wedding ring was for real - we ended up in a cheap motel two hours later. That night Gina gave me her number, and I went home. My wife was asleep until I walked into the room - hair was messy and her face seemed like a desert. Putting on her robe and walking out of the room, she asked me if I wanted anything eat. That's when I realized that I loved my wife more than anything and that I had just made the biggest mistake in my life. I kept the affair going - once every week, sometimes twice or even three times a week - although that year, keeping that lie from my loving wife was the hardest thing that I had ever endured. So I sat there waited for the whole thing to be over. Some religious guy came over and read a sermon over my mother's hollering - thank God Gina didn't show up - that would have been weird, and of course that would have brought on home spitting and cursing over my coffin. Thank God my wife didn't show up. I couldn't handle that. I just wanted this thing to be over with. Then this pale odd looking man that didn't quite fit in with the crowd, a man with a messy hair that somehow remained firm under the heavy wind looked at me and smiled. His black suit made him seem as if he was at my funeral, but I didn't know who the guy was. Then he walked over with a creepy smile that was aimed at me, scaring the shit out of me. I looked around me to make sure that I wasn't standing before a naked woman. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it," he said. "Kind of dark, but lovely." I slowly moved away from him thinking that he was talking to himself - maybe he was a retard. Then he looked over to me and followed. "Where are you going?" I lowered my head suddenly to see if his eyes would follow me, and he did. "Are you okay, Henry?" he asked me. "I can see how you could be confused." He spoke like a drunkard, a little off in the head, but for some reason I could tell that he wasn't. "Who are you?" I asked. "And how do you know my name?" He gave a smile, a creepy one like he was a vampire who was in pain, and said, "You're dead, and I'm speaking to you, Henry. Figure it out." I could tell that he was a wise ass, so I didn't want to answer him right away. "Well, you know my name, you're following my ass around like a leech, and you look like you've been sleeping in that suit for days, well, lets see," I replied with a condescending look. "You're with the IRS." He laughed and it made me jump. His laughter was like heavy breathings of a ninety-nine year old man with a back problem trying to fuck. I ducked my head in surprise. Then he started giggling as if he had just gotten a note from a school crush. It was all very eerie. He looked up at me grabbing his belly. Not knowing what to say or do, I waited for him to say something. "So funny," he said. "So funny. You're funny, Henry. I have to remember that one." "I'm glad that I can amuse you," I mocked. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to make sure that no one is spitting on my coffin." "Good!" he screamed, jolting me again. "That's why I'm here." "All right now, listen, you crazy dead fuck," I had enough. "I just about had enough of your shit. Now, you go dig yourself back into that fucking hole you got out of two hundred years ago or." "Or what," he interrupted. "Or you'll kill me? Who do think I am, Henry?" I looked at him as if he was crazy, and he looked at me as if he was an alcoholic and I was a naked whiskey bottle. "I'm an angel, Henry!" he screamed. "I'm your guide to the promised land!" I couldn't tell if he was serious or psychotic, but I was dead, he could see me, he was weird, and so I took his word for it. "You're kidding, right?" "Okay, we don't have much time, Henry," he whispered, abruptly getting serious. "Where's your wife?" "Hey, you leave my wife out of this," I replied. "How do I know you're not the devil?" "Man, every time I have to go through this," he sighed. "Every single atheist asks me that same question when they're dead. Henry, we don't have much time. It is very important that you listen to me and follow my instructions." He looked at me straight through the eyes, and with the snap of his fingers, I believed him. "Now, how did you die, Henry?" Sitting down in the grass listlessly, I looked up at the sky, and I wondered if it rained I would get wet. "Wait, shouldn't you know this?" "Well, I do, Henry," said the angel. "People always like to talk about their deaths. They always feel cheated - it's good to get it out of your system before moving on." "Well, I was killed by a blowjob," I blurted, not giving a shit anymore. "Don't you fucking laugh at me. I was driving through a school zone, I didn't know I was driving through a school zone, my mistress, oh I'm sure you know about her too, pulled my zipper down and gave me a blowjob from the passenger seat. I was swerving like a blind man with my eyes half-closed, and when I looked ahead, I went straight for the truck, just before I came." "Where's Gina?" the fuck asked. "What do you mean? She survived the wreck?" "Yeah, Henry," he replied shaking his head a little. "She wasn't even hurt that bad. She was stuck in the car for three hours with her head stuck between your crotch though." "That bitch!" I screamed. "So she forgot to show up to my fucking funeral." Sighing my anger out I looked around the scenery - my mother still drooling, forming a puddle around my coffin, bunch of guys from the office whispering things like, "This is a fucking downer - where do you guys want to drink tonight?" Bunch of old people with thick glasses and canes (I'm sure I'm related to them), and some fuck in a church outfit talking shit about me before everybody. I missed my wife. She would pull me over and take me out of this hole. I wished that she didn't find out about my affair with Gina. "Kate knows everything, Henry." "What?" Looking straight into my eyes, the angel fuck said, "She knows about Gina." I wanted to hide under a fucking rock. I actually wanted to jump into that coffin and bury myself forever so no one could look at me - fuck, fuck, fuck! "How did she find out?" "In court," he said. "The poor woman had to find out through an insurance claim court, Henry. The report said that a twenty-year old woman's head was caught between your crotch when you died. And Gina had to tell the insurance agent that she was giving you a you-know-what when you crashed your car. So, Kate heard everything." "Oh, shit." I didn't want to speak anymore - I just looked away. "See your office buddies whispering over there? They're talking about Gina, especially Derek over there with the mustache. You're the reason they're smiling at work." Just then I knew why my mother was crying. Her son was a joke of the town. "Why are you here?" I asked him. "What do you want from me?" Sitting next to me, he put his arms around me - that really felt awkward, but whatever - I didn't really care anymore. "I am here to help you, Henry," he said softly. "It is my job to come here and talk to you even when I know that you want to be left alone. Do you understand what I'm telling you?" "You should know." "Yes, I do," he chuckled. "This is your chance to draw your fate, Henry. Heaven or hell gets decided right here, and if you want to be a joker and be moody, go ahead, but I'm here to do my job. I'm here to show you how things are done, okay?" "Great, talk about a fucking pressure." "Now," he said. "It is very important that these people here at the funeral say nice things about you front of your coffin. Understand now that you are being judged, okay? The eyes are on you as we speak, and well, I pretty much know right now where you're going, but this is your chance to help yourself or this is your chance to help yourself even greater - are we on the same page?" I nodded, although he pretty lost me. "Think of this as your sentencing," he continued. "Actually, no, that's an awful way of putting it - sorry about that. When these people here walk up to your coffin later on, they will say their last words to you or think them, and now I'm telling you that what they say will help the eyes determine where you will go." "So if they say good things, I go to heaven and if they curse me out I burn in hell, right?" he nodded back at me. "So what the hell can I do about it? I can't do anything but wait." "No, this is the good part, Henry," he explained. "You can tickle them." "I knew the whole fucking thing was a scam, you fucking drunkard!" I yelled. "Why don't you go tickle them, you fucking clown? Actually, you know what? Why don't I go kiss their asses? They have to, well they'll have to pretend to like me at least." "I'm serious, Henry," he interrupted. "If you see someone who you think doesn't like you walk up to the coffin, tickle them, and he or she will cry like a baby. So they won't be able to say a damn thing - they just walk away whimpering like puppy." That was a great fucking thing - fucking helpful hint of a lifetime. "Now, your wife, Henry," he continued. "I know you want her out of it you said, but it is very important that she does not say anything bad about you." "Why?" I asked. "Because of the oath you made with her at church, you remember? She's your other half. She's a vital part of the judgment." "That makes no absolute fucking sense to me, for crying out loud," I moaned. "That's just fucking horse-shit. What if I got a divorce, huh? What then? Does what she says become null and void because of the prenuptial agreement, huh? And she's not even here, what the fuck are we." "No time for arguing, Henry, get ready." The fucker by the coffin finished with the sermon, and people were walking slowly over to my dead body as if they were dying to get the whole damn thing over with. Even mother seemed kind of tired - I think she didn't want to get caught up in the traffic - she kept on looking at her watch between her drools. My new angel friend and me walked over to the crowd, and stood by the people who were crossing by my coffin. Victim number one was that fucker Derek. He stood there as if he was a gigolo of some sort - he was the only one who didn't know that he was going bald. His mustache made him look like a goddamn hound, and his belly looked as if he was four month pregnant, but he of course in his mind ladies just loved him. I knew what he was going to whisper under his fucking whiskers, so I just ticked him under his armpits as if I was trying to strangle him. He just started crying - he was worst than my mother - my mother actually cocked her head over to this fucker's direction and sneered at him. He tried to walk away but I kept on tickling him and tickling him until he just dropped to the floor crying. "You want to talk about me and Gina behind me, you cry baby?" I said. "Come on, keep on crying, you fat hound-looking." Then the angel pushed me away. "Come on, enough with that, you're going to give him a heart attack." But that was just a start. Every single one of those goons from the office who were whispering amongst themselves got the tickle, and they all left crying - everyone stared as if I was the most beloved man in the entire world - my mother was stunned. Everyone else pretty much said the same thing about me. 'Good riddance', 'nice knowing you', 'you were always nice to me', and every other words that meant nothing. My mother cried a little more - I didn't even go near her - she said I was her favorite, and walked away. It made me a bit sore. The next thing I knew, it was dark and everyone was gone. I looked over to the angel, who was standing by a tree, and smiled at him. "No one said anything bad about me," I yelled. "Your tickle plan worked." "Well," he said with a smile. "That's great, Henry. Things are looking great for your future. Now, let me ask you one thing, Henry." "What?" "I like asking everyone this," he continued. "Do you have, well, what is your regret? What is that one thing that you wish, you could have, and you would have done or done differently or not done at all? What is that thing that bothers you the most when you think about your life?" "That's easy," I said. "Oh, call me.William." "Well, William," I continued. "That's easy. Cheating on my wife." "Okay, simple enough." "No, no, no, it's not, William," I said, interrupting him. "She, my wife, well, okay let me see how I can explain this, Will. Can I call you Will?" He nodded. "There's an innate connection between any two things, I believe, and I believe I had that with my wife. That's why she stuck with me all these years through every single fucking thing I put her through. That bond, the way a mother feels to her child, Abel feels about Cain, an alligator feels about her baby alligator, and my wife felt about me. The greatest gift that I was given - my wife - I look back I know that, and living with that guilt of cheating on my wife was the worst pain that I ever had to endure. I don't think I could face her now that she knows who I really am." "You're a good man in you're way, Henry." "So, where am I going, Will?" I asked. "What next?" "I don't know yet, Henry," he replied. "What's hell like, Will?" "Well," he answered as he looked towards my coffin. "People have their own ways of dealing with it. Your wife's here, Henry, I think you should walk over to her." There she was, standing next to my coffin, I could barely make her out in the dark. Without even thinking, I started to run over to her screaming her name as if she could hear me and I was alive. "Henry," yelled Will, interrupting my sprint toward Kate. "Remember what I said about the importance of your wife." I nodded, turned, and walked over to my wife. Everything was dark except for her face, her delicately powdered countenance that glowed with the moon. I stood next to her and stared. She cried silently, and I was speechless. She wore her best dress, the black one that her mother gave her. She brought out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "How could you, Henry," she whispered lethargically as if someone was listening and she didn't want them to hear. "How could you, how could you, how could you do this to me, you rotten son of a bitch?" Tears started flowing heavily now and she stopped trying to fix her make-up. She looked at the coffin as if she was ready to lunge for it. "I love you, Henry." She barely said my name and let out a painful cry. I thought about tickling her, but I wanted to hear what she had to say. Then, looking up from her make-up smudged handkerchief, she whispered, "I hope you end up in hell, you son of a bitch." I woke up in a bed sweating - it was hot in here. Everything was dark, and I could sense familiar smell coming from all over. I heard a voice say, "Honey, you okay? You just had a bad dream. Come back to bed."
Copyright © 2001 Thomas J |