The Other Side

I watched the cloud of breath escape my lips as I stepped out into the cold winter air. As I locked the front door to the bowling alley, an icy blast of wind struck my face, biting my exposed skin. I would have preferred to wait indoors, but I wouldn't have been able to see my ride from that location. I glanced at my watch, the glowing hands on the dial showing it was a quarter past ten, the end of a long and tiring day at work.

The alley was located on a busy road, that normally bustled during rush hours and midday, but now appeared like a quiet country stretch at this time of night. A few cars would drive by, speeding or its passengers hollering loud enough to wake the dead. These were the rowdy kids that lived in this part of town, the ones with no respect for those trying to sleep or unwind.

Suddenly I heard a loud bang, like the sound of a car backfiring, though ten times worse. I had little time to look around to find out where it came from before I felt the sting in my chest. And, as though whatever had struck me to make the sting had thrust me backward, I watched the form of my body collapse to the ground. It was like I was an innocent bystander, watching me twitch and tremble on the sidewalk before falling silent.

There was no one there to help me, or hear my gasps for help. Only the lanky figure of an adolescent rush over and search my body like a monkey grooming its mate, taking my backpack which contained my laptop and the deposit bag with today's earnings.

I rushed, no, I floated over to my dead body, lying curled in a pool of blood. I cringed as I saw the deep red circle in my back, the wound where the blood was seeping from. Quickly I turned to look at my face instead. It was bone white, and frozen in a look of shock, or fear. My eyes and mouth both wide, like the soul I was now had escaped through them.

I had to look away. There was nothing I could do but look down at the person I was once was. Strangely, despite my condition I didn't think I was as bad as I used to think when I was alive.

Then I suddenly heard the sirens; someone had finally called 911 and the paramedics were on their way. Too damn late now, I thought to myself. I couldn't watch as they loaded me up and drove me off to the hospital. It would have been too much to see them try to revive me, to no avail. They couldn't bring me back.

My soul, my essence, was here right now, drifting aimlessly in this somewhat new world. New because I wasn't able to interact in it as I was used to. I wasn't seen, heard, or even felt. Yes, I had even tried to make myself known to an urchin wandering the streets at night like I had seen many times, but he walked straight through my ethereal form.

How ironic, I thought it was, that I used to feel invisible when I was alive. Now, I really was.

My first order of business was to see what people really thought of me, now that I was no longer with them. I wasn't really a well known person, except in the few groups I belonged to, like the bowling league, and a writer's group. I didn't really have any enemies, though I knew some people who had bad blood for me.

When my family first heard the news, they were in deep shock. All the times I had come home from work safely, and this one time everything went wrong. The look on my mother's face, the tears in her bloodshot eyes, and her heart-wrenching cries were more than I could bear. All I wanted to do was reach out and hug her, but my arms passed seamlessly through her. If her reaction was this bad, I was not about to see how my grandmother was taking it. Both of them were the closest people in my life, and now I was ripped from their lives.

Next on my agenda was to see some of my friends, the ones who had supported me in life and hadn't yet heard the news. I wondered if my family would let them know what had happened. Currently, in their minds I was just avoiding them, though I was sure in time they would find out something was amiss. Maybe the news would broadcast it. No, I wasn't that important in the community to do a story on.

At that moment I thought about all the things I wished I could have said, and things I could have done. There were so many regrets: my misdeeds and lies, the chances I had missed out on if I wasn't so cowardly. If I could have only told the one person I loved the most exactly how I felt, I would have felt better. I took that thought back, for it might have made things worse if she would have found out about me.

A new world had opened before my eyes. I was able to go anywhere in the world without limitation. I was excited to be able to see everything I wanted to see: the Eiffel Tower in France, the Northern Lights from the North Pole (in my condition I didn't have to worry about the cold), and the green hills of Ireland. In a way, it was rather bittersweet, because I was unable to interact in the new setting, and I couldn't tell anyone how I felt. And as I couldn't feel the cold of the North Pole, I still felt empty wherever I was.

I finally returned home, curious what would happen to my belongings, not that I'd be able to do anything about them. As I neared my house, I saw a brilliant white light that blocked the way. The light was blinding, and rather cold. I kept my distance, not knowing what was causing it, or why it was there.

Something pounded in my chest, which I thought was odd, for I thought my heart was still in my body. Still, I felt a swelling inside of me, and it was telling me to go forward toward the light. I floated closer to the white patch of light, and suddenly everything I knew of the world had vanished. I was floating in an endless void of white, and the cold feeling surrounded me.

It was so bright I had to close and cover my eyes with my hands. I remained motionless, in fear of suddenly walking into something unknown and dangerous, like over a ledge. Minutes later my curiosity got the best of me. I took my hands from my face and opened my eyes, expecting to be blinded like when you enter a bright room after being accustomed to the dark.

However, I found myself to be in a room, which was decorated with classical Roman or Greek architecture (I couldn't tell which). Rows of columns stood as the walls of the room, with the limitless expanse of white extending far beyond the walls. My attention fell upon the statuary furnishing the room. Made of either smooth white marble or dark ebony, each one towered high over me, like titan chess pieces with their heads almost touching the ceiling. I tried to discern the faces, but somehow they were smeared beyond recognition, like the identities on television being pixellated to protect privacy.

"Hello?" My voice fell short, not echoing as I expected. When there came no reply, I decided to inspect the statues better. the one closest to me displayed an ebony pair of faceless figures, a male and a female, locked in an embrace. On the base of the statue I noticed an inscription engraved into the rock, the letters painted red. They read, "COMPASSION. KINDNESS. FRIENDSHIP."

I wondered if the room I was in was some hall of virtue or something. I progressed to the next statue, a marble male figure holding a book in one hand and a long quill in the other. The inscription on the base, the letters this time painted in blue, read "POET. SENIOR EDITOR." The third line, however, remained unreadable. These words, unlike the first, were titles, not deeds or virtues. Specifically, they were titles that pertained to me.

It was then that I realized what the place was all about. It was an account of my life, and who I was. I still couldn't understand the reason for the smeared faces. After all, if the room was about me, wouldn't my face adorn the statues?

Suddenly, someone shouted my name. The voice, obviously female in tone, was startling, loud and echoing, unlike mine did. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t tell exactly who it was that was speaking. I jumped and looked around, but no one was about. Someone may have been behind one of the statues, but I doubted it. I called back, “yes, I am here.” I shook my head, as that was the corniest response I could think of. “Why am I here anyway?”

“You know why you are here. I know you can feel it within you already.” As the voice responded, I felt some warmth radiating through me. While I didn’t believe it at first, I really did know the answer. It was as I had thought; the room was the place of my judgment. Still, I was not about to inquire about the lack of identity on the faces.

The voice spoke to me again. “You want to know something.” The speaking entity knew my every thought and feeling. I didn’t know how to respond. I figured it would tell me what I wanted to know, without my having to ask. “Don’t be afraid, just ask and I will explain.”

“What do the statues mean? And why aren’t the faces recognizable?”

Suddenly there was a loud, booming laughter, which sounded like it could have been enough to cause an earthquake. Once I removed my hands from over my ears, I listened for the answers to my questions. There was a long, nerve-wracking moment of silence before my request was granted. I thought that perhaps I was being tested for some reason, but exactly what about I didn’t know. “You were correct in assuming that this room is about your life. The things you have done, and the traits that you have possessed are all mentioned and taken into consideration here.”

“Taken into consideration for what?”

“One question at a time, please.” The voice shouted at me, like reprimanding a child. Then it changed, reverting to a soft tone. “There is still one unanswered.”

I nodded silently.

“The faces have no identity, because this room changes constantly. After you are finished here, someone else’s aspects will replace yours. Therefore, the statues represent anyone, and everyone, not just you.”

The statue had a point. It was a generic room, so the statues had no distinct identity of their own. I then became more curious as to what the inscriptions on the other statues meant. Before, there had only been a few, but looking again I noticed that their number seemed to be near infinite. The further they were away from me, the more of a blur they were, and I couldn’t tell what the figures were doing. I walked toward another ebony statue, resembling the figure of Atlas holding up the world. Though I couldn’t figure out what it could have meant, I guess it had more to do with physical strength.

However, I bumped straight into an invisible wall, knocking me off my feet and onto the black and white checkered floor. “You don’t have to see that one, Mark,” the voice said to me as I stood up. “You still have an unanswered question.”

I had to think for a moment which question that was. Whoever this voice belonged to surely took some pleasure in riddling with me. It wasn’t until I idly looked up at another statue of a woman holding a set of scales that I remembered: what I was going to be considered for.

“That is the one you must go see…”

I proceeded toward the indicated statue, noticing that instead of a plaque or inscriptions, there was a dark wooden door in the base, made of what could have been mahogany or cherry.

The door opened easily and silently, and revealed only darkness on the inside. I could only see stairs going down, only three visible nearest the top but then descending into the darkness. “Oh, great,” I said to myself, gulping as I remembered what going downward meant. I took the first step inside, and the door closed itself behind me. Suddenly my mind raced with thoughts of Dante’s “Inferno,” and what level I’d be going to, and who I would see once I got there.

“Calm yourself, Mark. You aren’t going there…yet.” Then the voice laughed again, sounding more mocking than anything. “You haven’t even been judged. So relax, you are on your way to see me.” I felt the tightness in my behind ease up once that was said, and my heart slowed to its normal rate.

As I descended the seemingly endless flight of stairs, I wondered who or what it was that I was about to see for the first time. The tone of her voice wasn’t enough to strike any fear, but more her unknown identity, who she really was. I assumed it was a female, and referred to her as such, for she sounded like a young woman.

Finally I reached the bottom of the staircase, where a door, exactly like the one in the statue at the top, stood in front of me. I didn’t have to knock; I already knew I was welcome. Taking a deep breath I opened the door and stepped inside.

On the other side it resembled the interrogation rooms I had seen in numerous police drama shows on television. The gray stone walls were bare, making it appear a dull, dreary place. I took a seat in one of the chairs at the small table in the center of the room, kicked my feet up onto the table and waited. I began to get thirsty.

“Would you like something to drink?” I heard the voice say.

I looked around, startled. “What? Oh, yes. A diet soda, please.”

She chuckled. “That’s right. You’re a diabetic.” Suddenly a can of my favorite diet soda materialized on the table in front of me. I took the can and began drinking quickly, not even thinking to look over the can at the woman who appeared in the seat across the table from me. When I was finished, she smiled at me, still chuckling. “Better now?”

I nodded, and finally took the time to take a look at her. She was indeed a young woman as I had assumed, clothed in a soft a halo of white, looking more than a long sweater than a dress. Her long brown hair fell far past her shoulders, and complimented her adolescent-looking face. “Who are you?” I asked.

“I go by many terms. You have called me your muse, though I have on numerous times been there for you when you were sick.” She paused for a moment, like she was waiting for me to guess. “I am your guardian angel. Please pardon the surroundings. I didn’t have a chance to clean up after the last visitor. Shall we go somewhere else more comfortable?”

Again, I nodded. I could barely speak, I was in awe of this creature before me.

In an instant, we were no longer in the interrogation room, but in a luxuriously furnished room that looked like something out of the Renaissance. The walls appeared to be made of gold. We were still sitting, this time at a long dinner table. Faint music played in the background, a familiar tune that I recognized to be the Canon. As the sweet melody rolled on, I looked across the table at my muse, my angel, who was still smiling at me.

“This is much better now. Wouldn’t you agree?” With a wave of her hand, the table became suddenly filled with trays of food and drink. I hadn’t felt it before, but at that moment I grew hungry, and began grabbing at the delicious food before me. All my favorite dishes were there: pizza, chicken noodle soup, burgers, salami and provolone subs from my favorite deli. It was a cuisine that only heaven could muster up.

“So tell me,” she asked, “do you think you were truly happy in life?” I almost choked on the question, not because of the bite of Grandmom’s macaroni and cheese going down my throat, but the complexity of the question. It was indeed something I had thought about numerous times in my life, whether or not I was really happy.

“To be honest, it was like a roller coaster ride for me. There were periods of euphoric happiness, where I felt on top of the world. Then a steep slip into depression would sometimes follow once the rush wore off. I guess happiness is like momentary gratification, not intended to be permanent. After all, how can you know what it is to be happy unless you see it from the bottom?”

The angel seemed to be pleased by the profoundness of my reply. “In fact, you are right. You must look at everything overall. There is being happy, and there is being blessed. And being blessed comes to those who accept it.” Hearing this, I did feel blessed.

The meal totally satisfied my hunger, and as I leaned back in my chair, I didn’t want to leave. I was happy here, with my angel. However, still the thought of my being judged tugged at my heart. Yet I didn’t say anything, for I didn’t want to spoil the moment.

Then my angel began to sing. Her voice was unlike anything I had ever heard before, as if it were the wind and the rain and the soft sighs of newborn babies all at once flowed into my ears.

I couldn’t tell exactly the words to the song, though I heard my name mentioned a few times. The soft, enchanting music was making me very sleepy, and I felt my eyes growing quite heavy. The last thing I remembered before I was lulled off to sleep was the feel of the angel’s hand touching my face as she sang to me. I slept deeply, my mind running rampant with dreams. Those particular dreams weren’t like the normal ones I was used to having. They actually made sense to me. I dreamed of the angel walking me back up the stairs but instead of into the white room, we were outside my work, on the curb. Strangely, my body hadn’t moved from its spot.

The angel gestured me to step closer, which I did. She pointed, directly at my face, though I couldn’t see anything. The face was smeared, like those on the statues were. “Take a look. This is where you were meant to be.” I looked, but still there was no change.

“You are supposed to take a closer look,” she laughed flittingly. She reached out to me and embraced me, and I felt warm and content. I held on to my angel, not wanting to go, but to return to the golden room.

But she disappeared. I was left on the sidewalk, like I was moments after my life was taken. While so much had gone on, it felt like not more than a second had passed. Curious, I leaned closer to get another look at my face as the angel told me.

Suddenly, I felt like I was falling. There was no warning, no initial impact that made me fall. It was just a sense of floating weightlessly, followed by the dreamy feeling again.

When I finally awoke, it was dark. Something cold and hard was pressed against my cheek and there was a terrible stinging pain in my back. I opened my eyes to see streetlights, and the lights from the bank across the street. My body was sore, and I could barely move, but I noticed that I was the one laying on the sidewalk, and not watching as a bystander as I had been.

It didn’t occur to me for a while what had happened. The memories of the white and golden rooms, the angel, and the music were all like dreams flickering on the border of my memory. I tried to remember her song, but all I could hear was the sound of sirens approaching in the distance.

Yes, I had been given another chance in life. In my head I could hear my angel’s voice telling me to live blessed, not happy.