Ernesto looks from Greg to me and back to Greg again. “Do you two have anything in common other than being suicide souls?”
I unbutton my sleeve and push it up to my elbow revealing my tattoo that reads Naomi.
Ernesto reaches up to stroke his chin. “Oh.”
“She wouldn’t be doing this though. She wouldn’t even know how.” I pull my sleeve back down on and button it at my wrist.
“Greg, is it?” Ernesto asked.
“Yes.”
“Well Greg, Luke and I are going on a quest. We are going to figure out who is doing this to you two. Would you care to join us? I think it would be in your best interest.” Ernesto’s tone is soothing, comforting.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Greg’s eyes are wide and he’s nodding, perhaps trying to wrap his mind around the situation. I don’t have the heart to tell him that there’s no use trying to figure it out.
“Well then, boys. Our first stop is the third floor. There is an administrative office there where we can look up current information.”
We fall in behind Ernesto as he leads the way toward the escalator.
“Are we going to look at microfiche or something?” I ask.
“Microfiche wouldn’t carry current information. I’d like to think that the afterlife is more developed than microfiche,” Greg says with a chuckle. I can’t tell if he’s being a dick or not.
“It’s kind of like a computer. Or what living people consider a computer. I need to cross-reference your cases to figure out what you have in common other than this woman Naomi. Or what Naomi has to do with all of this.” Ernesto taking the time to lay out the plan is comforting. It’s like he’s the only one here who isn’t trying to keep a secret.
As we walk past storefronts and hop onto the escalator, all of the store employees know Ernesto’s name and go out of their way to pop out and say hi. Ernesto is an afterlife rock star. The females flutter their eyelashes and would blush if that were an option. The males call out to him like he’s the coolest guy in school. He takes it all in stride like he doesn’t notice the attention. He’s a man on task. He’s on a mission to save us from Oblivion.
Maybe that’s why everyone finds him so attractive. The unassuming savior from the bookstore.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
“We can ask that? I thought we weren’t supposed to ask someone how long they’ve been here or why they’re here.” Greg looks at me with his head tilted sideways.
“It’s not prison, Greg. Everyone ends up in the afterlife sooner or later,” I say.
“I died during the Nixon administration,” Ernesto says looking fondly into the distance. “Heart attack. I was really stressed out when I was alive.”
“Do you like it here?” I’m not sure if that question is actually rude.
“I have a job I love and in my down time I get to read any book I want. I couldn’t ask for a better gig.” Ernesto smiles softly. The smile makes him look younger.
“Thanks for helping us out, man.” Greg puts his hand on Ernesto’s shoulder, one of those man claps that was foreign to me in real life.
“Honestly, it’s my pleasure. I’m always up to a good challenge,” Ernesto says.
A challenge? This isn’t going to be easy? What if he can’t fix this for us?
We hop off the escalator on the third floor. Greg and I match strides without trying. Both tall and lanky, though he lived long enough to outgrow some of the awkwardness my body still carried. I wonder if either of us would have become those crazy weightlifting types. There are so many things I will never know about myself.
“Why did you change clothes?” Greg asks while eyeing me up and down.
“Because I had been in those others for over ten years.”
“Oh. I don’t blame you. That was a cool Tom Waits shirt though.”
For a second, I miss my T-shirt. I take out my notebook and write down Tom Waits T-shirt. The pause to write down the words has put me slightly behind the others. I pick up the pace to catch up and realize how much more quickly I can move now that I’m dead. Maybe it’s because I’m not carrying around a pair of lungs that are riddled with nicotine and pot smoke.
Greg turns his head sideways to look at me and asks, “You a musician?”
“I play guitar a little. You?”
“Yeah, guitar.” Greg looks at my face intensely and says, “Are you going to tell me why my girl’s name is on your arm?”
“We spent a lot of time together. She helped me get out of grief watch. She was the only person I knew for a while. I want to find her again.” The truth comes out easily. There is no hesitation in my honesty.
Greg nods and says, “So is this some kind of triangle or something?”
“I don’t know. It’s probably not that simple considering our circumstances.”
“Forgive me for being insensitive,” Ernesto says, “but you two have a lot more important issues right now than a girl.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Greg says.
I try to see it Ernesto’s way. To decide that Naomi is not important. But it just isn’t working. I have to talk to her again even if it’s only once.
“This is it.” Ernesto motions to a door that looks like it’s made from thick steel. It seems imposing. Clinical.
I turn to Greg and say, “Just so you know. I hope we both get this fixed.”
Greg nods and says, “Yeah. Me too.” But he looks at me with vitriol in his gaze.
“Follow me, boys.” Ernesto opens the door and we walk into a room that looks like every office building I’ve ever been. Not that I’ve been in many.
There is a woman behind the desk. She’s middle-aged, maybe around fifty. She has cropped brown hair and a smile on her face that appears stuck-on, like she’s had it since before she died. She looks up from her computer screen and says, “Ernesto! Long time no see. What brings you by?”
“These two young men are in a little trouble. I need to access their records.”
“Anything for you,” she says in a way that tells us she would indeed do anything for Ernesto.
“Let’s get you some pants.” It’s the first thing I think of when I see Louisa again. She is sitting in the chair across from my desk, or Doris’ desk depending on how you view it, still pants-less with bad hair.
“You can do that?” she asks with a hopeful grin.
I stand and then twirl around one time, modeling my new attire. “My tits are only a little bit out now.”
“You look great.”
“Thanks, Louisa. You aren’t supposed to be able to get new clothes until after grief watch, but I think we can make it happen together. Now visualize what you wish you were wearing right now.” I sound like a goddamn yogi leading meditation. “Tell me what it is so I can visualize for you, too.”
“A black T-shirt and Big Smith overalls and silver Doc Martens.” She’s smiling like she means it.
She closes her eyes even though it’s not necessary. I don’t bother to tell her because those living actions can be a comfort. She is wearing a plain black T-shirt and baggy Big Smith overalls.
“Open your eyes,” I say.
Louisa’s eyes open slowly and she looks down and smiles. “These are my favorite overalls. My best friend Shannon gave them to me when I was sad one day. He wore them all the time but had no problem giving them to me just because I was having a bad day.”
“That’s really sweet.”
“Look!” She holds up her feet to show me a pair of silver Doc Martens.
“Those are great.”
“I know! I’ve always wanted a pair of these but could never afford them.” She’s beaming, like her aura has turned yellow instead of gray.
“I heard your grief watch is going much better than expected.”
“It is. After my parents it wasn’t nearly as hard.”