"Afterlife" by Garon E. Whited

                “It’s good to be home, Mike.”

                “Yeah.”

                “You don’t sound like you’re glad to be back.”

                “It was a long plane ride and eight floors of stairs.  I’m tired, Brad.”

                “At least the apartment is still clean.”

                “The advantage of not having anyone living in it?”

                “Dammit, Mike!”

                “Sorry.  I’m trying not to think about it.  But this is home.”

                “Yeah… well, I guess I’d have that problem, too.  Where do I put this huge honkin’ stack of mail?”

                “On the desk.  Don’t mind the suitcase; I’ll unpack later.”

                “Okay.  Man, this thing’s a mess.  The computer is under here somewhere, isn’t it?  I see cables from the keyboard and the mouse leading somewhere under the monitor.”

                “Forgive me if I haven’t kept my personal workspace up to your anal-retentive standards, okay?  I wasn’t too motivated to do much of anything.”

                “Sounds like you still aren’t.  Didn’t the vacation help at all?”

                “Brad… it wasn’t a vacation.  It was a week with her parents.  For the funeral.  Don’t call it a vacation or I’ll have to become motivated enough to kill you.”

                “… I’m sorry.”

                “It’s all right.  I guess.  I just… I miss her.  I miss her… a lot.”

                “So do I.  She was my friend, too.”

                “She wasn’t your wife.”

                “True, that.  But I still care.”

                “Whatever.”

                “No, seriously.  I do.  Who else am I going to go to complain that my boyfriends don’t understand me?  Who else will give me advice on how to suck—”

                “You think eight floors is far enough to fall?  Or should I drag your unconscious body to the roof before throwing you—excuse me, ‘rolling your tubby butt’—off the side?”

                “I’ll shut up now.”

                “Then there is a benevolent God.  Or, at least, one that knows when to lay off.”

                “Mike?”

                “Yeah?  I’m trying to sit behind my desk and stare at the pile of crap I have to read.”

                “Doing good.  But… I’m glad you’re home.  I missed you while you were away, and if you need anything, just let me know, okay?”

                “I need her back.”

                “You know you don’t.  You can go on, Mike.”

                “Oh, I will.  But I’ll be miserable.”

                “For a while.”

                “Until the next go-round?  Maybe.  In the meantime, I get to slice what’s left of her from my life.”

                “Excuse me?”

                “Look around the room, Brad.  See her pictures?  You’ll note that there aren’t many of us, just of her.  She didn’t need pictures of me.  But I’ve got a ton of her.  And here—look, I’ve got mail for her still coming in.  Oh, god.”

                “What?  What is it?”

                “A letter for me.  It’s in her handwriting.”

                “Let me see!  —Oh, it’s postmarked… the day… before.”

                “She did that all the time.  Write me a letter.  I’d come home and get the mail while she was out at class; it was like coming home and having her here, almost.”

                “Well, are you going to read it?  …Mike?”

                “Hmm?  Oh, yes.  Not right now.”

                “Don’t you want to know what she said?”

                “Brad, you’re my best friend.  But I don’t want to break down into tears in front of you, okay?”

                “Uh . . . I’m apologizing a lot, aren’t I?  Maybe I should go and not stomp on your emotional toes with my big verbal feet.”

                “I… maybe.  I don’t know.  I’m just so tired, Brad.  So tired and empty and alone.”

                “You’re not alone, Mike.  Trust me on this.  She loved you.  Still loves you, if there’s anything to this life-after-death stuff.”

                “Fine.”

                “Look, I’m going to turn the heat on and make sure your phone works.  Then I’m off for tonight.  If you need anything, you call me, okay?”

                “All right.”

                “Oh, and you have a leaky showerhead, you know that?”

                “Yeah, it drips.  She kept nagging at me to fix it.”

                “Well, the window was left open a bit; the drip is now an icicle all the way to the drain.  I bet the morning sun makes it really pretty.  Let me know if there’s a rainbow, would you?”

                “…sure.”

                “I see you have the letter open.”

                “Your powers of observation are stunning.”

                “Going to read it?”

                “Yes.”

                “…and you’re waiting for me to leave?”

                “Brilliant deduction.”

                “Okay.  Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

                “Already did that; I let her take the subway at night.”

                “Mike… stop it.”

                “I’ll try.”

                “Okay.  Goodnight, Mike.”

                “Goodnight, Brad.”

                Dearest Mike,

By this point, you should be reading my letter—aren’t I brilliant!—and you are probably smiling again.  I hope so.  Your face is always better with the smile I love so much.  It goes along with the rest of you.  Mmm!  I’m sorry that I’m not home, but you know how it is; work all day, school all night, hardly enough time to sleep.  Not that we sleep much, my tiger!  But I promise that I’ll be home early tonight; we have a quiz and that’s all for the evening.  So, if you would, light a few candles, put out the lights, and welcome me home with a smile.

I love you,

Elaine

                “If that’s what you wanted, sweetheart, you got it.  Candles… yep.  Lights out… yep.  Smile… honey, that’s hard.  I think it’s more a grimace.  But I’m trying, sweetheart, because you asked.  Please, please… come home.”

                I am home, honey.

                “And I can hear your voice in my head, just like you just came in from class.  How many times—”

                I am home, honey.  I’m here.

                “Sweetheart, I’m going crazy.  I can hear you in my head.”

                Since when is love a sane thing?

                “You have a point.  But talking to my dead wife?”

                What do you know about it?  Besides, love, how strange do you think it is for me?

                “Another good point.  I’m not feeling my sharpest.  But even if I’m only mad, I’m glad to get to talk with you again.  There are things I never managed to say.”

                Like what?

                “How much I love you, for one.”

                Honey, you told me every day, even if you had to hunt me down for no other reason than to say it.  Everything you did, you did for me, because you love me.  I know that.  And I love you just as much.

                “I still don’t feel like I managed to get it across.  I never did manage to express it very well.”

                 Silly, romantic poetry to the contrary? You didn’t need to.  I understood what you meant, because I know the feeling.  You can’t explain that to someone who hasn’t felt it.  I do.  I know.  I love you.

                “Then I feel better.  Is that why you’re here?  So I can say what I need to?”

                Honey, I don’t know why I’m still around.  But I do know that, wherever I’m supposed to go when my body isn’t around anymore, I’m not going.  Not without you.

                “But… isn’t there a Heaven?”

                I suppose there is.  I saw a great light, but I didn’t go into it.  You aren’t in it.

                “Sweetheart… you can’t do that.  It’s your afterlife.  I’m told Heaven is pretty exclusive.  What if you never get in?”

                Then I’ll have to deal with being wherever you are.  Not what I’d call a hardship.

                “What about ‘till death do us part’?”

                Do you mind if I ignore that clause?

                “…no.”

                Then I can stay?

                “Stay?  Are you mad?  I never wanted you to go!  I never wanted you to stop touching me, much less be out of my sight!”

                Well, I’m here.  And I won’t ever go away again.

                “Do you promise?”

                I promise, my love.

                “Oh… look at what you made me do.”

                Go ahead and cry.  I understand.

                “Did you just try to kiss my tears away?”

                Yes.  …do you mean that you—?

                “—felt it?  Yes.  Now I know I’m insane.”

                I’m sorry.

                “Don’t be.  Happiest nut in the bin, that’s me.”

                Do you mean it?  You don’t mind being . . . well, crazy?

                “I’ve always been crazy over you.”

                I recall.  At least you won’t have to seethe about men ogling me.  –Aha!  There’s my smile!

                “You got me.  All right.  So where do we go from here?  How do we handle this?”

                One day at a time, my love.  Always one day at a time.