“I recently found out that I’m a dad.” I know my admission doesn’t match his, but I needed to get it out.
“Oh, wow. Congratulations. Boy or girl?”
“A boy. I think he’s nine.” Eben. I have to get back to Eben. Don’t I?
“Nine? How long have you been dead?”
“Ten years.” The words shock me again. Ten years. I was only alive twice that amount of time.
“You haven’t had an easy go, have you, son?”
The way Nolan calls me “son.” It’s the way strangers show compassion.
I shake my head “no” and look down to my shoes. My suede skater shoes that I wore with pride, even though I was too clumsy to ride a skateboard.
A man walks in the room. He’s tall like Nolan. His head is shaved bald and he’s wearing a mechanic’s uniform or something like that.
“Looks like he has a job,” I say with a smile. Time to stop with my bullshit misery again.
“Sure does.” Nolan stares at his son with pride.
“What are you going to do? Emit your scent? Manipulate TV energy?”
“Nothing just yet. I’d like to just stay for a while. Is that allowed?”
“It is. Just be careful. If you take too much time, the Shadow will come for you.” The horrifying Death Shadow. The beast that Nolan has not yet seen. And hopefully never will.
Greg’s gone, and Luke’s gone. I should see Luke again soon if the recent pattern holds up. But probably not Greg.
That was cruel. Only being allowed to see him for a minute. So many times, I’ve dreamed of seeing him again. And that was it.
Maybe there’s something I can do.
I concentrate as hard as possible on Doris. Maybe I can make a deal with her. What sort of deal? I have no idea. But maybe there’s something that can be done.
Doris with her Gloria Steinem-collar and indeterminate height. Doris with her thin nose and chronic resting bitch face.
And then I’m in the waiting room. It worked. Mind over matter is a real thing here.
There is a Mentor’s Handbook on the table next to my chair. Doris gave me one before, but I don’t know where it is. We move around so abruptly, it’s hard to keep up with anything besides ourselves. I pick up the book and start flipping through it.
There is a detailed table of contents on the first page. But Doris enters the room before I can finish reading it.
“Naomi,” she says.
“Doris.” I stand and walk toward her with the handbook in the crook of my arm. “Any tips on how to keep up with this bad boy?”
“If you are referring to the Mentor’s Handbook, then yes. If you are determined, you will find it when you need it.”
I follow her into the office.
“Like how I came to you just now?”
“Yes. Exactly.” Doris smiles at me as she sits down. It’s not her bitchy know-it-all grin. It’s a genuine smile that looks like it might come from a place of enjoyment.
“Doris, did I do something right?”
“You did indeed, Naomi. You are a fast learner. And a very determined young woman.”
We sit down across the desk from each other. There’s only one chair on my side this time.
“Thank you.”
I feel like I’m in the office with my old boss, except that he was an older white man who always stared at my chest. Even when I was dressed modestly. Doris here isn’t interested in my body at all.
“The only problem with you that I can see is your propensity to get distracted by young men.”
Wow. She nailed that one.
The only response I can give her is a nod. It’s not like I can argue her point, but I don’t want to wholeheartedly agree, either.
“One thing I don’t think you’ve realized is that you won’t remember your former life when you transition to a new body. You will have the memories that come with the new life.”
“Really?” Isn’t losing consciousness of myself the same thing as dying all the way? “I’ll remember nothing?”
Doris pats my hand in the way we souls do and says, “You’ll have glimpses of memories. Certain songs, aromas, even clothing textures might trigger a little something. But it won’t be enough to give you your old life.”
“Then how are we supposed to learn a lesson and not do it again?”
She shrugs and says, “A lesson this strong is not restricted by memory. If you truly want to live again, that feeling becomes a part of your soul. That’s why we have rules here. That’s why you had to help Luke to move forward.”
Doris’ words have distracted me from why I’m here. I have to get back on task.
“Will I see Greg again before he transitions?”
“Oh, darling. You and the boys.” She steeples her fingers together under her chin and stares at me for a couple of beats. “What will seeing him again accomplish?”
“I need to make sure I’m not the reason he died.”
“The reason he died is that he sliced his wrists with a retro straight razor. Cause of death: open arteries.” She puts her hands back on the desk. “There you go.”
“But did I push him to it?”
“No, Naomi. You did not. It was always his destiny to become a suicide soul, or he wouldn’t have become one. The same is true for you.”
“If it was our destiny, why are we being punished?”
“Perhaps ‘fate’ is a more appropriate word choice here. You had a choice. But we knew what choice you would make,” Doris says. “And you feel bad about his death. You are finally learning some lessons.”
I don’t want to argue with what I assume is a compliment, but I have to. “I felt bad about Greg’s death before I was even dead. That’s not new.”
“You felt bad in as much as you felt sorry for yourself. That’s why you committed suicide. Tragedies either make a person want to survive, or make a person want to die. How one reacts to tragedy can easily seal one’s fate.”
Doris is suddenly my weird ghost-therapist. It’s unsettling.
“Oh.”
“I see great things for you if you learn how to focus.”
“What do you mean?” A great new body? Someone who’s already successful?
“How do you think I got this position?” She smiles a weird stretchy-looking smile. I wonder if it’s just a spirit thing, or if she smiled like that when she was still alive.
“Is it punishment?”
“No.” The stretchy smile goes wider before it dies off completely, like smiling bigger took all of her smile energy. “I was chosen because of my leadership abilities.”
“Oh,” I say. It feels like this conversation is taking a long time. But, who knows?
“You were raised religious, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you haven’t asked about God since you’ve been dead.” Doris steeples her hands in front of herself on the desk.
“Should I ask? Will it make a difference?”
Doris smiles again. It’s not quite as stretchy this time. It’s just on the up-turned side of neutral.
I haven’t asked because when you’re raised fundamentalist Christian then start questioning things, realizing that it makes no sense, you’re left without coping skills. When the answer to all your problems growing up was “give it to God” or some form of that, you don’t know how to rely on yourself or process your emotions when you realize that either God doesn’t exist or if he does, he isn’t a micro-manager who cares if you say the word “fuck.” Because if God is so involved in our affairs, how come there are suicide bombers and kids with cancer?
Maybe I never believed.
“I am in this position until I find a suitable replacement. At that time, I have my choice of any available vapid body I want. I won’t have to pick the best of three.”