Dying is an interesting thing. I imagine it’s different for everyone, of
course. How you take it depends on many
different factors: how old you were, how sick you were, if you had people you
didn’t want to leave, etc. Unfinished
business. Business that’s been finished
for so long you wonder why it took so long for your heart to finally grind to a
halt.
For me, it was bittersweet. I was old, had lived a good life. Nothing remarkable, but it was a good
existence as far as I was concerned. My
only claim to fame was getting polyandry legalized in my country—the grand old
US of A. It was kind of a big deal to
some, but stopped being such a big deal after a couple of decades. There’s always something more sinful to come
along.
I had two husbands. We were together for 70 years before we
started dying. If not for our kids and
grandchildren, I know I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. As it was, I only handled it for face value. When my second husband died, that was it for
me. I told my kids not to take it
personal. I loved them more than
anything—except their fathers. They
understood that. We raised them well. They grew up to form exceptionally tight
bonds of their own. They understood.
Still, as my brain began to shut
down and my heart started to slow its beating, I felt a pang. These were my kids. I fought like hell to bring them into the
world and protect them from it and raise them to be the best people they could
possibly be. I succeeded, of that I have
no doubt, but I was going to miss them.
Just as I would never again see their fathers, I would never again see
them.
I think I cried.
There were some lights, but I knew
that was my brain doing its final shut down mode before “It is now safe to turn
off your computer” flashed upon the screen.
When the final toggle was switched,
a series of interesting things happened.
My life didn’t flash anywhere.
Instead, I was a fox in a glen playing with a wolf and a bear. Then I was a Musketeer except we had
lightsabers instead of swords. I played
guitar and sang in a band that consisted of myself, a bassist, and a
drummer. More soul wrenching music I had
never heard. I was the red center of a
trio of intertwining lights, the other two being green and blue. I was the green light on a stop light at an
intersection I never saw before but greatly enjoyed causing mayhem in. I was happy.
I was secure. Everything I ever
needed was right here surrounding me.
Then I was alone.
I cried.
The crying lasted for quite a
while. Time is weird in places like
this. I may have cried for minutes. I may have cried for centuries. Eventually, I got tired of crying. I got tired of feeling sorry for myself. Yes, I was dead. Congratulations. Me and however many billion other people.
Me and both my husbands.
Everything around me was dark. Like I was suspended in nothing. I had a firmness under my feet and could
probably start walking, but suspected I’d keep walking for quite a while.
There were a handful of things I
was exceptional at when I was alive.
Jill of all trades, sure, but instead of none, I was pretty masterful at
a couple. I was an excellent wife and
mother. I could sing with the best of
them. No one could out gravy my
gravy. And, when I wanted, I could run
my mouth like a river over rocks.
“Well, hello nothing. Nice to meet you. We’re going to get to know each other.”
As I spoke, I realized my voice had
lost a bit of age. I ran my hands over
my body—which I realized was nude—and felt things were a little less saggy, a
little less old. From my best guess, I
was just adult. Novel.
“Sorry about that,” I
continued. “Got a little
distracted.” I patted my breasts. “They always were lovely. I admit I missed them.”
Silence.
“Tough crowd.” I smiled a little. “As near as I can figure this is either all
in my head or some sort of afterlife that our wee human minds could never
really come up with. There’s, of course,
a third option. Something that I could
never think of because it’s just beyond what my meager human brain could
invent. I suppose, first, I need to
figure out a way to communicate with…well, I don’t know. Just a way to communicate. Then a way to travel. And a destination. The first two, I’ve no idea yet, but the
last. The last I know with all my
heart. My husbands.”
The darkness became a dim light and
two images appeared: my husbands. Osborn
(Oz) and Ezo. They were about thirty,
smiling, happy, full of light and love.
Again, I cried.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes.”
Their images changed. They became resolute, determined. They were together wearing clothes I never
knew them to own. Clothes of men walking
in a desert trying to avoid the wind, sun, and sand. Suddenly, they separated. The taller of them, Oz, jogged away as Ezo
knelt and pushed his robes behind his right hip. As I watched, horrified, a scorpion the size
of both of them combined ran scuttling after Oz, enormous stinger raised and
ready. Ezo pulled a weapon from a
holster on his hip—a gun—aimed, and fired.
White hot plasma shot forth into the scorpion’s tail, exploding it. It reared up in anger and pain and, at that
moment, Oz ran it through with a spear.
Blackness fell over me again.
This time, I did not cry.
“Where are they?” I demanded. “What is happening to them?”
Silence.
Anger filled me. Protective, white hot anger. My voice lowered.
“I may just be a speck in the
universe, but I’m a very determined speck.
And, it seems, I have a very long time to hone my determination into
something dangerous. I suggest you work
with me.”
I made sure this threat was not
idle. I embedded it in that thing people
liked to call the soul, filled everything that made me me with it.
“I strongly suggest you work with me.”
For what seemed like eternity, I
had no response. My resolve started to
falter but there was no way I was going to give any sort of jackass higher
being that level of satisfaction. I held
stronger, faster.
“I can wait. I’m a very patient woman and I know my
husbands. I know they will destroy
whatever manner of shit you throw at them until they find me. Because that’s what they’re doing, isn’t
it? Looking for me.”
“Yes, and no,” came a female voice
that seemed familiar though I had never heard it before. It almost sounded like my mother, but not
exactly.
Slowly, a light brightened the room
softly and a woman I had only seen in pictures and, on occasion, the mirror,
stood in front of me. My heart leapt
into my throat.
“Mémère?”
She smiled—a smile she had
graciously allowed me to inherit. “It’s
great to finally meet you.”
I started toward her then stopped,
suspicious. “It is, but this is a little
awkward. As I have no idea what’s going
on here, I have no idea if you are who you seem to be.”
“And I have no real way to convince
you of who I am.”
“Not quickly anyway.” I looked her over, frowning. “But, I don’t really have a choice, do
I? I have to start somewhere.”
She nodded and handed out a bundle
to me. “Getting dressed would probably
be best.”
The bundle contained thick wool
pants and a high neck wool sweater. I
donned it, expecting it to be scratchy on the inside but to find it silken
instead. She smiled a little and I
remembered that my grandmother was one of the best seamstresses to ever walk
the Earth.
“I added in the silk.”
“Thank you. So, I take it this means we’re going
somewhere cold?”
“We’re not, but you are.”
I grinned a little. “Don’t tell me that I got here and hell froze
over.”
She returned it. “Oh, that happened well before either of
us. You’ll see.” She motioned behind me.
Slowly, I turned and saw a path lit
through the darkness. At the end of the
path was a door. I stared at it for a
long moment.
“Wizard through there?”
When I turned back to smile at my maternal
grandmother again, she was gone.
