The Unbreakable W.E.B. pt. 3

VI

So, now, here I am. It's been eleven years and it feels like it happened only minutes ago. I still expect to see Michael and Abbie from time to time. The memories of our duration spent together flicker through my head, on a daily basis, like the old projectors in our classroom; flickering frame by frame; telling the story of The Unbreakable W.E.B. And I guess that's all I have left. That, and the experience I had two weeks ago.




VII

It was a cold November night. And like any other day of the week, I had left work and occupied the usual stool at the bar down the street for hours; taking in the familiar (and, by now, pleasant) smell of sour beer and half smoked cigarette butts. I liked this one particular stool more than the others because it was in a part of the bar where there was little to no light. The bulbs that adorned the ceiling above it, had burnt out years ago and seemed in no danger of being replaced anytime soon. It was an area of the bar where the darkness seemed to swallow me, and I liked that feeling of being devoured by it. Another lonely looking man had come in and sat down on the stool beside me. He smelled of cheap cologne and cigarettes. I watched as he rummaged through his beat up denim jacket, frantically looking for something in there. His hand stopped over the breast pocket, as he relaxed. He pulled out a crushed soft pack of Marlboro Regulars. From the looks of it, there appeared to be only two or three left in the pack (I don't know why I remember that). As he fished out a bent cigarette, he smiled, and, even in the lack of light, I could see his teeth had seen one too many smoking sessions.
"Can't be without these, huh bud?" he asked, turning his head towards me. Emanating from his breath was the stench of stale tobacco. He picked up a book of matches from the bar, flipped the cover and struck a match across its brown phosphorus strip. The air around us was instantly filled with the smell of burning sulfur. It stung my nostrils for a brief second. In the dim light of the match, I could see he had long, black greasy hair.
"Yeah, I guess not," I said, rubbing my nose. He nodded, touched the lit match to the rest of the matches in the book, and there was a loud whoof sound as they caught fire. He pulled his face back a bit, and in the newly formed light, I could see that one of the man's eyeballs was completely black. I shrunk back in my chair, partly from the smell, but mostly from the disturbance I felt from seeing his eye. He turned and leaned into the flame and lit his cigarette. It made a soft cracking sound, as he inhaled deeply. It was from that view (his profile) that I could see that his eyeball wasn't black at all. It was, in fact, missing. He held the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling a large, blue cloud in front of him. The smoke hovered briefly over the bar before dissipating, and I was reminded of the mist in my dream.
"So, I haven't seen you around here much," he said, small tendrils of smoke coming from the corners of his mouth.
"I guess I could say the same of you. I'm here every night after work, though, so-"
"Really? Then how is it I've missed you? I don't think I could forget a face like yours" Now, he had spun his chair in my direction. His legs were crossed in front of him. His right elbow was leaning on the bar (burning cigarette in his hand), while his left found its way over his crotch. He gently started to rub himself, and I got the sense that he was hoping I liked it. I didn't say anything and I tried to ignore it. I know I seemed uneasy, as I turned my chair more towards the direction of the bar.
"I'm not sure, but I think I would have remembered you, too."
"Oh, you mean because of my eye?" he asked, temporarily removing his hand from the fun it was having down below, to point at his eye. I didn't want to, but I turned to look. In the absence of light, it was hard to see it, but my brain had already taken a snapshot of it, from earlier; one that was still clear for my mind's eye to see.
"No, that's not what-"
"Sure, sure. Look, it's ok to be freaked out by it," he assured me, while returning his hand to its crotch fest. "I'm quite aware of how it looks and of how it makes people react. I could tell you a hell of a story about it, if you've got the time, that is."
"Um, yeah. Sure. Why not." He brought the cigarette to his lips, pinched them around it, and inhaled deeply again.
"Well," he said, still holding the smoke in. As he spoke the first few sentences of his story, the smoke repeatedly thrust out of his mouth, like a choo choo train. "I guess I should start by saying that most women don't like it when you fuck around on them." He found the obviousness of his opening to be rather amusing, and he began to laugh. It wasn't long before his laugh turned into a coughing fit; the kind that's to be expected from a smoker. I noticed that the grip he had on his crotch, tightened. He was making a loud hacking sound, when he brought something up from his throat, rolled it around in his mouth, turned and spat on the floor. It made an almost comical whap sound as it landed. When he turned back towards me, there was a thick film of spittle on his chin. There was blood in it.
"Um, sir, you have..." I began, as I pointed to my chin, then to his. He didn't seem to notice or care. He looked at his cigarette, which he had dropped on the bar when he turned to hack up, picked it up between his first and middle finger, brought it to his mouth again and inhaled. He had loosened the grip he had on his crotch, and commenced rubbing.
"So, as I was saying. Women don't like it when you fuck around on them, right?" I was almost sure I was about to see a repeat of the highlight that had just finished. I was gratefully wrong. He continued. "Well, I sure found that out the hard fuckin' way. I don't know how long I was seeing this one chick, but no amount of time can justify what she did to me after she found me in bed with her sister." He paused for a second. "Oh, did I mention that women hate you even more when you fuck around on them with their sisters? Man, oh man. Let me tell you, bud. That set her off like a wild fire." He rolled his eyes back in a let-me-tell-you! gesture, and blew air out of his mouth in a quick, short burst. "Man, when she saw me moving her sister's naked hips up and down, whooo weee!" He was pinching his cigarette between his lips so he could show me with both hands what it looked like when he was thrusting her hips. Smoke was curling up to his good eye, forcing him to squint, leaving only the bad eye open. And for what seemed like minutes, as he moved a set of imaginary hips in his hands and thrust his crotch in the air in counter motion, I stared at his empty eye socket and saw something. What I saw had no sound, like a silent film, and ran with the over-exaggerated pace of a silent film. In there, I could see him lying on a bed on his back. On top of him, there was a pretty blond, with milky white skin. They were both naked and both in the beginnings of ecstasy. His hands were on her hips, as he moved her up and down on his shiny cock. I watched as she threw her head back in pleasure and grabbed his hands, urging him to go faster. That's when the door to the room flew open. There stood a woman, dressed in a very elegant business suit. She looked familiar. There was a purse hanging over her shoulder. She was holding the strap tight in one hand, while the other was over her mouth in shock. The naked blonde jumped off the man, making his dick wobble back and forth like those punching bags whose bottoms are filled with sand and rock back and forth after you've punched them. The woman in the doorway fished a pen out from the purse that was draped over her shoulder, ran over to the man on the bed, kneeled down in front of him and plunged the pen deep into his eye. Blood squirted out freely, as she pulled the pen from his eye. The naked blonde ran from around the bed and out the door. The business woman was preparing to plunge the pen back into the man's eye, when-
"...and whada you know, she's kneeling in front of me, sticking that fuckin' pen in and out of my eye like some crazed bitch in heat. She was unstoppable. I swear to you that I could feel the tip of the pen touch my brain. Fuckin' A yeah, I could. Right at the base of the motherfucker. She's lucky there was no brain damage, or I might of..." The cigarette that was in his mouth had now fallen on the floor; its bright red tip slowly fading. He had his fist in the air, and brought it down fast on the bar. The sound made the other patrons turn their heads in our direction. I tried to give them my best I'm-not-with-him look. The bartender came over and asked us to keep it down, but the man in front of me was already back into his story, completely ignoring the bartender.
"-day at the doctor's. And that's when I was told that my eye was beyond repair. They wanted to fit me with a glass one, but I figured it would be better without it. Leave it empty, you know? Like my sex life has been, since. Besides, it makes for much more effective terror in your dream, right Ricky?"
I froze, as he bent over to pick up his cigarette from the floor. His back snapped and cracked as he straightened up on his stool. I was still frozen in time, those words echoing in my ear: It makes for much more effective terror in your dream, right Ricky?
"What..what did you say?" There was a tight feeling in my throat.
"You heard me. I know you did. As clearly as the next door neighbors heard me scream when that bitch Abbie shoved her pen into my eye, you heard me, Ricky. Hey, you want a cigarette? I'm sure you could use one right about now." Who did he just say? I thought.
"No, I don't...um, I don't smoke," I said, shaking now.
"Yeah, I know you don't. Always been a good little boy. But, damn, you really take to the sauce, dontcha? How 'bouts I buy you a drink. Now, I know you want one of those. You have ever since that cunt Abbie left your sights for a better life. That was the straw that not only broke the camel's back. It shattered it, right? Even as you heard that her head had been ripped off her neck in a car accident, you were already numb from the sauce. The news hit you for a brief moment, but that was all. Man, you should've seen her head fly, Ricky. When I rammed that truck right into her little fuckin' Toyota and the big, shiny grille came down on her neck... Damn, it was a sight, Ricky. Blood fuckin' everywhere. It accented the tan interior of her Corolla nicely. And what have you done since? Nothing, that's for damn fuckin' sure. Not a goddamn thing. Nothing you've done to help move on. And here is where you sit night after night, looking for answers that are nowhere to be found at the bottom of a dirty mug. Look at this place, Ricky. Look at yourself. What have I told you, over and over again? Night after night? When are you going to let go? You're fuckin' it all up for yourself. Your sanity, your life, all those around you...they are all slipping away into obscurity; hidden by the darkness you are creating around yourself, Ricky. Poor little Ricky. LET THE FUCK GO!" he screamed. I bolted up from the stool, grabbed my jacket off from the bar, and headed for the door. As I held the door handle in my hand, feeling the cold from its metal makeup, I turned and looked to make sure the man wasn't following me. The stool he had been sitting on was empty. The ashtray that his cigarette's ashes had been occupying was clean, except for a peanut shell. I scanned the bar over, looking for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. The bartender was looking at me, a confused look on his face; probably wondering why I had jumped up so suddenly. But hadn't he been the one earlier who asked us to keep it down? Didn't he see the man sitting beside me? Didn't he hear him scream just now? I looked away from him, as my eye caught something on the floor beside the stool where I swear the man had been sitting. There was a small puddle of bloody spit. I walked over to where it was. The bartender had walked to the other end of the bar and was pouring a drink, when I snuck a straw out of the glass behind the bar that held multiple folded napkins and thin red straws. I made sure no one was looking, and I was pretty certain that in this light, they wouldn't be able to make out what I was doing, anyway. I kneeled down in front of the small bloody puddle of spit. I could see something in there; something white. I took the straw and started to move one end of it around in the phlegm, separating the strands of mucus. The dim light coming from the bar caught the white object I had faintly seen before, and I fell back and gasped in sheer terror. I scurried on my feet, turned and slammed both hands against the door. It bounced off the outside wall with a loud bang and smacked into my left arm, throwing me against the door's opening. In frustration, I flung the door open with my left arm and ran towards my car, which was parked at the end of the block. My only concern was to put some distance between me and the bar; between me and the slightly curved, white tooth that came to a sharp point and seemed to be swimming in the puddle of mucus on the floor. And I knew that my Mustang could offer me the growing distance I so desperately wanted.





VIII

As soon as my butt hit the leather upholstery of the driver's seat, I threw the key into its cylinder, and turned it hard. The engine didn't fail me (it never has), and turned over almost immediately. The roar of its eight cylinders was music to my ears, as I brought my left foot down on the clutch pedal. I threw the shifter into first and squealed the car out of the parking spot it occupied. As I raced down the main strip of road, not once thinking of any cops staking out the area, the man's words rung in my ears. LET THE FUCK GO! I started to wonder if what I had heard and seen was all a dream or the effects of having one too many. Hell, I shouldn't have really been driving. Regardless, I needed to obtain that distance I longed for. Real or not, I needed to get away from there. I was safe in my Mustang, and I decided I would take it down that stretch of highway it knew so well; if for nothing else but to clear my head.
A full moon hung overhead, lighting up the highway. It was a good thing, too, considering there are no lights along the road and one of my headlights was out; a repair I kept forgetting to have done; a repair I had been ticketed for many times before. The branches from the trees on either side of the road seemed to be stretching up to the sky; reaching out like hands straining to grab something out of reach and never succeeding. My head was already clearing and I was two miles into my journey, when I saw a man standing by the side of the road. He had a hand outstretched; thumb plucked forward. And from the one good light coming from the front of my Mustang, I could see his face clearly: dark brown eyes, curly brown hair, pudgy face and a football player's build. He was wearing jeans, white sneakers and a white t-shirt. On the shirt were the the words I'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE printed across the chest region in big, bold faced lettering. I slammed both feet down, one hitting the clutch, the other hitting the brake pedal. As I gripped the steering wheel and forced it to stay straight (my knuckles turning white), the Mustang's tires screeched in the night air. I looked out the right window, as I skidded past the familiar figure, still standing with his hand out. I heard his thumb catch the side mirror and I winced against the dull thud it made. A few feet up the road, the car came to a stop and stalled. Smoke filled the interior and the smell of burning rubber was overwhelming. I turned to look behind me, and amidst the smoke, I could see Michael running towards the car. My breathing became very fast paced and my heart ran a relay race in my chest. I turned away, looked straight up at the moon, and closed my eyes. I could hear his sneakers beating against the road behind me. I opened my eyes and was about to start the engine and pull away, when the sound of his running stopped. I looked out the passenger window, expecting to see him standing there with one hand on the door handle. The only thing I saw was the darkness of the woods that adorned the side of the highway. I looked behind me, again expecting to see him walking up to my car, instead of running (as if he figured I wasn't going to pull away now that I knew who it was, so why keep running), but there was nothing there except the road that stretched out for miles, and puffs of smoke that my exhaust coughed up.
As I turned back around, I became aware of a small pain coming from my hands. They were still tightly wrapped around the steering wheel and in the moonlight, my knuckles were now stark white. I let go in relief, and my heart began to slow down and relax. My breathing was also returning to normal. I grabbed the key and turned it. The engine purred to life, again. My foot found the clutch and I threw the shifter out of fifth gear (where it had been when the car stalled) and into first. I slowly released the clutch and fed the engine some gas with my other foot. The car lurched forward.
"Shit, I definitely have had too much tonight," I said out loud, slowly shaking my head back and forth.. That's when Michael spoke from the passenger's seat.
"That may be true, brother. Nevertheless, this is as real as it gets." I whipped my head in the direction of the voice. "Whoa, Rick. Watch the road, will ya! You wouldn't want to get yourself killed, now."
"What the fuck," I screamed, turning my head to watch the road.
"Just calm down, Ricky. It's just me. Michael."
"What the fuck is going on?"
"Just drive, brother," he said in a calming manner. It was something in his voice that struck me as peaceful and all at once, I was calm and able to drive straight, as if he had control of the car and not me.. "This road goes on for quite a while, if I remember correctly. Up ahead a ways is where we used to ride our bikes down to the old creek. Remember?"
"Of course I do. How could I forget? I've never forgotten anything."
"Yeah, I know. I know you haven't, Ricky. And I think that's why I'm here." I turned my head momentarily in his direction, to shoot him a confused look.
"The hell do you mean?"
"Well, it's no mystery to anyone, including yourself, that you have been holding on to the past for far too long, my friend. And as much as I wish I could still be here for you; never abandon you, I can't." He paused, and I began to fight back tears that the lump in my throat was trying to force out. Hearing those words again, be here for you; never abandon you, threw my memory machine briefly into high gear. "You remember that summer day outside Mr. Higgums' store?" I took one hand off the wheel, made a fist, covered my mouth with it and tried to clear the lump from my throat before answering.
"Yup, I sure do. I remember you starting some trouble that day, also." Michael laughed, and the sound of it seemed to be coming from some far off place.
"Yeah, well..." He smiled. "Anyways, you remember what happened that day between Abbie and me?"
"Of course."
"Do you remember what you saw?"
"Yes, of course."
"What was it, Ricky? What did you see?"
"I saw your love for her surrounding you both. I saw you finally letting go," and as I said those words, I saw his eyes close and he nodded his head in agreement.
"Yes, Ricky. It was all those things...and more."
"Hmm?"
"You're right, it was my love for her that I was finally releasing. But it was also a change you saw. A big change in me." I was confused. Michael shifted in the seat and turned to look at me more intently. "Do you remember what I told you years after that? Do you remember me telling you how I had decided to risk what I strongly believed in; that I decided to love for the first time and risk the pain that that sometimes comes with? Ricky, that was a change for me, don't you see? A drastic change." He moved in closer, and I could smell something sweet; something familiar, and it was so inviting. "People change, Ricky. People need to change. And those that don't are usually damned to live a very solitary life and inhabit a very morose existence. The change can be slight or powerful; good or bad. But it has to come in one form or the other. And it should come before a person is made a man or a woman. It's ok if it comes after, as well. But, better if it can be achieved before you are well into your adulthood. This way, you have a longer life of living as the person you were meant to be. You are not immune to this, Rick. You, too, need to let go and make a change. You can't go on like this. There is so much more for you to experience and you can't do that unless you move on." I wasn't sure I wanted to hear this. I knew it was sounding more and more like a lecture to me and, although, I understood what Mike was saying, I didn't see any point to it. Not yet. He continued, as I drove by the small creek where we used to dump our bikes on its mossy surroundings and shoot the shit for hours.





IX

"I know what you think sometimes, Ricky. I know what you think about doing." I shot him another quick look of confusion, but this time it was a false one; one that said, I know what you mean, but I want to know for sure that what you are thinking is what I think you're thinking. I looked away from him, and back at the road, avoiding prolonged eye contact both for the sake of not crashing and so he wouldn't read my eyes the way he always could. "Com' on, brother. I know you. I watch you. You can't do it. For more than just your own sake." I gave in and stopped acting the part of a fool.
"Why not, Mike? What else is left for me here? You give me one good reason why I shouldn't take a life that rightly belongs to me."
"I could. I could give you one great reason why you shouldn't," he said, as he pointed to the Mustang's floor. This time, my confused look was shortly for real, as realization slowly crept into my brain and made my expression melt from the perplexed to the give-me-a-break sneer.
"Oh, what the fuck, Mike? You're gonna tell me that I'm going straight to Hell if I do? Don't hand me any horseshit you hope is scary enough to stop me from doing what I want."
"It's no horseshit. It's a fact. Everything we didn't believe in as kids, and after, is true, Rick. Everything." His tone was serious. "It's a little different than what Mrs. Edwards and Father McGowen tried to teach us; the laws and all. But they are real. I exist on one side and visit the other from time to time." The Mustang's speedometer reached eighty, as I listened. "We were learning about two worlds from two people who had never visited or seen them. Heaven, where I exist, is far more beautiful than anything written in the Bible. Those are stories written by men drunk on wine. And in the way that the descriptions of Heaven in the Bible far undermine its reality, they also don't do justice to the horrors and pain that is Hell." The moon hanging over our heads seemed much bigger now. It appeared to be resting right on top of mother earth, cradled by some unseen mountain under its belly.
"Mike, I'm pretty sure I won't remember any of this tomorrow. You're not here. This is the liquor talking. I'm not even convinced that I'm actually driving right now. So, forgive me if I don't jump at your stories." In the blink of an eye, Michael's hand found its way to my right cheek, and struck it hard. The pain was hot. I swerved for a second, straightened out and rubbed my cheek. "What the-"
"Still think you're dreaming? Still think you're drunk?"
"But, this can't be real, goddamn it."
"I told you, this is as real as it gets. And please don't use that word again. It hurts my ears." I wasn't sure which word he was referring to right away, and then it hit me. I didn't say anything about it.
"So, then, tell me. What's in store for me, oh seer of the future?" I said in a contemptuous manner. "Where will I exist?"
"I can't tell you where. I don't determine that."
"Oh, so who does? The big man upstairs?"
"No. You do."
"What?"
"By your actions, brother. By what you do and don't do here on earth. Free will, my friend. It is a bitch. It's the one thing He regrets handing out to us. But not even He can turn back the hands of time. What's done is done. What's given is given."
"What a shame," I said in a mocking tone.
"Don't mock, Ricky. If you can, just accept."
"No, I won't and I can't. This is bullshit."
"Then I guess you leave me no choice then to show you with your own eyes." And with that, Michael grabbed my right hand off the steering wheel.
"What are you doing, Mike?"
"There's no way to prepare you, Rick. I can't cushion this blow. This is going to hurt a lot." His hand began to glow bright white. I let go of the Mustang's wheel and tried to pry his hand off mine. The car swerved wildly back and forth. And as Mike's grip tightened on my hand, a pain ripped slowly through my body. It felt like I was shedding my skin. Not like a caterpillar sheds its skin; beautifully and naturally. More like it was meticulously, but violently, being torn off my bones and muscles. Hot sheets of pristine pain were lancing my body. Pain was being born of existing pain. Starting from the first strand of hair on my head, down to my last toenail, I was being ripped from my body. And though, during this promenade of anguish, I kept my eyes shut against the pain, there was a split second where I opened them long enough to bear witness to an action I remember clearly. As I screamed out in agony, I saw Michael was crying for me.





X

As the pain began to trail off, it was replaced by a floating sensation and a sweet smell surrounding me; the same one I smelled coming from Michael, only moments ago in my car when he moved in closer to me. I closed my eyes, as a feeling of euphoria engulfed my body. Michael's touch became very light; like something lighter than air was gripping my hand. There was a sense of being nowhere, and yet somewhere familiar. I opened my eyes and became aware that I was indeed floating up. The moon no longer hung over our heads, but was hovering directly in front of us. And I saw that there was no mountain holding her up. Just her raw beauty was enough to keep her afloat. Below me, my Mustang was veering out of control. As I drifted further up, I watched the left front end bounce off the guard rail at its side numerous times before finding its resting place against a large rock that looked out of place next to the rail. From up where I was, it looked like a remote control car in the hands of a five year old desperately trying to keep control of it. The left headlamp shattered and sprayed glass against the rail and the hood, and sprinkled down on the grass in a beautiful arc. The white light from the moon reflected off the broken shards of glass and made them twinkle in its light, resembling hundreds of diamonds laying in the grass. They became smaller and smaller; further and further away; becoming one, as I continued my ascent. I looked to my right and saw Michael smiling at me, still holding my hand. He was glowing; a beautiful radiance; a light not seen as much as felt. In it, I could just make out his face. The light wrapped itself around him so tight and shined so brilliantly, it made it difficult to see anything in it. But it was his smile, more than anything, that broke free from the light. It was a smile that I will always remember. The only other thing to catch my eye (and that was visible outside his light) was his feathered, cream colored wings. They flapped with a gentle rhythm. With every precious beating sound they made against the wind, there was an equally exquisite and elegant appearance to them, as they opened and closed in their quest for ascension. Just then, as I looked back down and saw the last remnants of my headlamp on the grass, I realized that the white light that was bouncing off the small pieces, was not coming from the moon at all. It was coming from Michael.
"Don't worry. Your body will be intact once you return. It will not be harmed in any way," he assured me. But, I don't think I cared. As far as I was concerned, I wasn't coming back and, already in my mind, I was creating reasons to stay in the space I was currently occupying. As we floated up towards the atmosphere, there was no blending of clouds into space; no night into day. This was nothing approximate to anything seen in the hundreds of movies that tried to depict this exact scenario. What did happen was much more simpler and to the point. Where we were just ceased to exist and before you could say a word of anything (not that during this moment, words were needed or could be used to express what you were experiencing), our journey was over and we were standing...no, hovering over nothing. Everything around us was bright; too bright to look straight at with human eyes. And, albeit, there was no pain in my eyes when I stared at the empty white light surrounding us, I squinted out of habit.
It was easier to see Michael, now. He was slowly looking around; looking for something. His head stopped to his left, just ahead of me. His eyes found mine and he extended his arm out. "This way, brother," he said. His voice was different here. It seemed to come from a far away place. I looked in the direction his open hand was stretched out to. I could see a small, thin green object hovering in front of us no longer than a pencil. It started to expand in its length, stretching upwards and downwards. There was the sound of escaping air, as it started to open up more from its sides. When it was at its maximum height (the top above our heads and the bottom right at our feet), Michael guided me towards it. As my feet moved one in front of the other, there was a feeling of walking on a soft plain; like the moss found surrounding the creek where we spent a lot of our days. I smiled at the feeling, (I couldn't contain it) and Michael seemed to know why I was.
"It's whatever pleases you; whatever brings you any remembrance of time well spent. No matter how minor the experience was. That's what this place is for you. That's what surrounds you all the time, here. Forever." I didn't know what to say. I just kept on smiling, trying to fathom what that could be like. To be embraced by joy. As if joy was some tangible blanket you could wrap yourself in. Walking closer to the rip ahead of us (and that's exactly what it looked like; like someone had made a tear in the white light, for us to walk through), I could smell that sweet scent again. It was much stronger, and as we stepped through, I realized what it was. Cotton candy. Like the kind Mike and I used to share on the boardwalk, summer after summer. It was a smell that reminded me of endless days spent doing nothing, and loving every second spent watching Father Time fly past us. Michael looked at me and nodded with closed eyes; his smile brighter than ever. And I knew that he smelled it, too.
Standing on the opposite side of our doorway, there came a vacuum sound from behind, as the opening sealed. I tried to look behind me, to see it shut, but I was too transfixed by what was all around me. Nothing for miles (or eternity) but bright blue skies above and spongy green moss below us; the kind of green seen only in fairy tales; the kind of green that has since been replaced on earth by a much darker hue, thanks in part to our refusal to care for the ozone layer. I saw the old boardwalk we used to frequent, each board made from freshly spun cotton candy. I saw the old creek, with our bikes tossed on the moss on their sides. I saw the inside of our school church, where we became brothers; pews extended for miles on the moss. On each bench, there were the scars we shared on our hands, raised on the wood. On the corner of the closest bench, Michael's house key was hanging from a ring made out of our blood. To the left of the pews was the old school playground where we had our first conversation. On its ground (which still had tufts of moss jutting from it here and there), there was the ball we had played catch with that day. There were others walking my world, and from all around me I could hear them welcoming me; their voices lightly overlapping one another. There was an indistinguishable, confused look on their face.
"What's wrong with them?" I asked Mike.
"They can sense that you don't really belong here," he said, concerned. "But, don't worry, you are still welcome, for now."
"For now?"
"Yes. It will have to be a brief visit, before too many questions are asked."
"But, I don't want to leave, Michael. This is where I want to be. Always. I am-"
"I understand, but it has to be this way." I became briefly sullen. But all I had to do was look around me, and my concern for leaving was gone; replaced by that warm blanket I gladly shrouded my body with.
"Hey, Mike?" I whispered. "Can they see what we see? Can they smell what we smell?"
"No," he answered with his far away voice. He walked closer to me. "They exist in their own worlds. Whatever brought them pleasure or happiness when they were alive, that's what they are surrounded by. This place is personal to everyone. No one soul can inhabit another's world. But, we all share the same space." He must have seen my perplexed look, because he continued: "It's not something I expect you to understand. I know it's hard for you to grasp, but that's the way it is here." He looked around; scanned my world. "It's beautiful beyond comprehension even to us, at times. It takes some getting used to. The first few thousand years you are-"
"Thousand years? Mike, you've only been gone for eleven years," I remarked with a chuckle.
"Time is not as it is during your living years, Ricky. It is controlled by you. When most souls come to realize that their existence here will never end, they gladly speed up the time to ride the wave, so to speak, at a much faster and more exciting pace. And why not? Why delay something that will never end? Nothing comes to a grand finale or conclusion, here. No final curtains are drawn on anything or anyone. It is all under your control, in your world. Just as you can slow down or speed up the time in it, you can make it night and day. You can make it rain or snow; create strong winds or light breezes; make it cloudy or sunny. Your choice. Your pick. Nobody has a say but you. Not a bad deal, huh?" I raised my eyebrows and smiled in agreement. Another question came to me.
"Is there ever a time where you can inhabit another's world?" Mike looked away from me for a second, then back.
"I can't, no. Only He can." There was no question as to who He was. "And He only does when he senses something wrong."
"Something wrong?" Mike exhaled in a manner preparing to speak of something he didn't want to.
"From time to time, those condemned in Lucifer's world try to break free and disguise themselves in our world. And at times, they succeed. In doing so, they also create worlds that are unstable here. They are constantly struggling to keep it together; keep it in unison with our worlds. It's that struggle that He senses. Every time He inhabits their world and is forced to cast them out, there's a shift in our realms. There's a small window that opens and brings our existences closer together; our inevitable war nearer. It's that approaching closeness that will eventually crush the earth between us like a poor soul caught in the crossfire."
"Is that how it all ends? Is that how humanity comes to its demise? By simply being crushed like the trash in a garbage truck?"
"I'm afraid so. Only, don't think of it as trash, rather more like a mistake you'd want to be rid of. But within that mistake, there are pieces you still want to take with you before you discard or forget the rest."
"I don't understand." He licked his lips, before continuing.
"Plain and simple, He knows He made a lot of mistakes when He created us. And the worst mistake made was to give us free will over the world He created, our lives and the lives of others. It was like giving a loaded gun to a baby. Would you expect him not to make a mistake and blow himself to pieces? Impossible. He gave us a dangerous toy that was much too enticing. Starting over is the only way to make everything right."
"Seems a bit cruel."
"Sure it does, but is it not cruel what we have done to ourselves? Is it not cruel how we have mistreated everything He has created? It's the only way, Ricky. Turn off the light, let it sit and come back with a clearer conscience. And, brother, you don't want to be on the other side when these two worlds collide. It's a family quarrel to end all. Lucifer, His son, is fighting for the right to let earth remain as it is, inevitably destroying itself under our free will, in which time, Satan will be ruler of a desolate and putrid world. All the while, his Father, my king, is struggling for the right to start over, which would include the destruction of Lu, Hell and all its inhabitants.
"As we stand here, now, Lu's world is winning. More and more of his children cross over to our world with each passing millennium. His army grows at a much faster rate than ours. My Father's rightful reign over all is slowly slipping away. Where Lu's realm once used to exist as a small patch below ours, it has grown all around us. Hell also resides around the perimeter of our realm, now, brother. A space we need to regain control of."
I stood there, still surrounded by the beauty I had created, wanting not to think of anything Mike had just told me. I wanted to run over to the cotton candy boardwalk. I wanted to pick up my bike and ride it fast enough to pass out from exhaustion. I wanted to sit in our old pew (any of the hundreds would suffice, seeing as they were all the same one repeated for miles) and pray our personal prayer over and over. I wanted to, more than anything, inhabit my world; enjoy it. And I think my urge to do so was so overpowering, that Michael grabbed me by my arm (his touch more pronounced, now), lightly shook me and told me it was time to move on. Before I could refuse, my world melted away before my eyes and was replaced by one that was horrifically familiar.