afterlife

Bells toll. Individuals walk out of a dense fog outside and approach the reception window of a lobby. At the window, they are directed to take a seat in the waiting room. The room fills with strangers. They sit and wait, making small talk and waiting anxiously until being called on by case workers. Taken into a small meeting room, the case worker tells each individual that he or she has died, and will soon be making the transition to the next life. Before each person can do so, however, the individual must choose one moment from their lives to take with them. The case workers have access to footage from each person's entire lives, which they can view in order to help with the decision. Once a choice has been made, the moment is recreated and captured on film. The person screens the one moment that will remain with them forever, and they then move on to the next realm.

This is the premise of the movie afterlife. I saw this movie years ago, and this question has haunted me ever since. What would my one moment be? I have only been able to narrow it down to four. What would yours be?

It is a warm spring day. I am ten. I am sitting in the crook of a tree. I have a pink flower that my father plucked from a tree tucked behind my ear. My brother Chris is climbing the tree towards me. My mother is holding a camera, waiting for us all to get into position. My father is holding Erin in his arms. He holds her up for me to grab, and she reaches for me. She clutches my arms, completely trusting of me. I position her in my lap and hold her around the waist. With my other hand, I grab the rough bark of the tree for balance. Chris crouches on the branch beside me. My father backs up just out of the shot, his arms raised towards us, ready to catch us if we fall.

Ram and I are in a rental car, driving down the highway in Arizona. I am 23. It is a hot morning in July, and we are heading out for an adventure. We are the only car on the highway. I am driving fast, weaving back and forth on the open road in time to the song on the radio - I Just Wanna Fly, by Sugar Ray. We sing and shout the words, together, looking from each other to the road in front of us. We are buffered on each side by clay colored mountains, red rock, and cactus of varying sizes. Bright blue sky stretches out endlessly above us. We are the only people left on the planet.

The warmth of the sun is beating down on my back. I am floating face down in the salty sea water. I have drifted away from the others who were on the boat with me. My arms are out at my sides, palms down, and my long-sleeved white shirt is spread out around me. The goggles are snug around my face, and I am biting the snorkel in my mouth. The even sounds of my breathing fill my ears. The ocean lulls me gently, tugging me back and forth. My eyes dart about, wanting to take in everything around me. Fish of all different shapes and colors swim lazily about me. Some are curious, and come so close that I reach my out my fingers and let them bump up against my palm. The ocean floor is about 30 feet below me. Coral and rocks form underwater cities, and I watch fish swim in and out of their corridors. I have a waterproof camera strapped to my wrist, and there is so much I want to remember that I keep clicking away. As my eye is focusing through the viewfinder, something moves slowly below me. My arms drift back to my sides and I follow the slow-moving creature swimming up from the floor of the ocean. It is a large sea turtle, swimming towards me. It moves like an underwater bird, taking slow, long swipes at the water with its fins. It turns on its side and I see its green belly. I don't want to take my eyes off of it, but I suddenly want to shout to everyone around me to come and see. I raise my head from the water and shout to the captain, who is overseeing us all from the small boat. "A sea turtle!" He blows his whistle and heads pop up all around the boat. He points in my direction and repeats, "A sea turtle!" Snorkels make their way in my direction and a flurry of fins disturb the water. I stick my head back under the surface, and am almost surprised that my turtle is still there. He swims away, and I follow his graceful movements. I dive below the surface and reach my hand out towards his patterned back. My fingertips strain to tickle his shell, but he dives down further. I stay under until I feel the need to breathe fresh air. Reluctantly, I kick back up to the surface and gulp the salty sea air. Heads are now all around me, searching for my turtle. I plant my face back in the water and look for him again, but he is gone. My heart swells with gratitude and I gaze around, anxious to see what will swim up to me next.

I wake up with a start, unsure of where I am. It is cold and dark, but I am snug under a blanket. It does not belong to me. I look across the aisle of the bus, and I see the same blanket spread across the two Filipina grandmas I met when I boarded the bus at the Port Authority six hours ago. I boarded the bus and sat right behind the bus driver, as my father had instructed me to do. I am 18, and it is my first trip alone. I am going to visit my boyfriend away at school in Montreal. I chatted with the grandmas at the start of the trip. They were going to visit their elderly sister in Canada. They were sweet and kind, sharing their food and keeping an eye on me. I am grateful for the warmth of their blanket. Everyone on the bus is asleep. I hear snoring and slow deep breathing all around me. The driver is listening to a small transistor radio. I hear its hum but can't make out any songs. On either side of the bus, tall thin trees stretch up to the lightening sky. It is just before dawn. Royal blue bleeds into magenta bleeds into maroon bleeds into pink. The trees look black against the changing sky. The sun comes up in earnest, and I blink back as light dances between the trees and reaches the right side of the bus. Mist rises from the road stretched out ahead. A nervous flutter takes flight in my chest. I am excited to see my boyfriend, but that is not what is making me wiggle in my seat. I look at the road, and see my life stretched out before me. I can do anything. I can go anywhere. I can be anyone.

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red light

I heard the shouting before I saw its source.

“What the fuck are you doing? Come on! Let's go!”

I assumed it was the testosterone-driven hysteria produced by a football game. I looked for the open window through which these shouts were escaping.

As I approached the corner, I was surprised to see a man shouting in my direction. He looked to be in his mid-30's, wearing khaki pants and a button-down blue shirt. His blonde hair had a boyish part, and he blew his bangs out of his eyes.

“Cross the fucking street already!”

It was then that I saw the target of his tirade. A small, bird-like woman stood on the corner, clutching a baby stroller. Her skinny little legs were brittle matchsticks. Bony shoulders scrunched up around her earlobes. Long, tapered fingers wrapped around the stroller, exposing white knuckles. Her eyes darted from the baby in the stroller up to the light. It was red.
The baby's plump body shook with sobs. Wisps of blonde hair lay stranded across her damp forehead. A pink hat was perched atop her head, and a pink pompom trembled at its tip. Scarlet cheeks were stained with streaks of tears.

“Shhh. Everything's okay. We're fine. It's fine.” The mother cooed, almost to herself.

She rocked the stroller quickly side to side. It was not the slow, soothing motion that would calm a child.

“Cross the fucking street. Now!”

The light was still red, but no cars were coming. The mother refused to move. I stood next to her, staring straight ahead. I wanted to lay my hand on her, but I couldn't bring myself to raise my arm. Instead, I stood silently by her side.

The light turned green. The stroller entered the intersection, and the mother's feet left the curb. I followed. We crossed the street, together.

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one-man circus

I threw the ball at my cousin Dennis as hard as I could, wanting to impress him. The ball landed smack in the center of his glove.

"Whew! Damn, you got some arm on ya, kid!" He whistled long and low through his teeth. I tried to hide the proud smile that slid across my lips as he lobbed the ball back to me. My arm was good, strong enough to pitch little league. All of the coaches said so. They loved the natural leftie curve of my fast ball. But my dad wouldn't let me.

"Baseball's no place for a girl. Besides, I paid $2,000 for those braces in your mouth. You're not gonna get them knocked out for nothin."

I settled for softball, throwing slow, arching, underhand pitches. Playing on my own time, I threw overhand, hard and fast.

It had been a few years since I had last seen Dennis, and I wanted to show him my stuff. Besides, this was a special occasion. Dennis, my cousin Robert, Aunt Mal and Uncle Leo all lived in Queens. They thought Jersey was a contagious plague, and rarely visited us. They were all visiting for the day, and I wanted to soak up every second with Dennis.

As we were throwing the ball back and forth, I noticed that Dennis' right arm was a little shorter than the left. A bulbous bone jutted out from his right elbow. I had never noticed this before.

"Hey, Dennis?"

"Yep."

"What happened to your elbow?"

The ball thwacked in Dennis' glove and he paused. A shadow passed over his face. He narrowed his eyes at me, and I felt a nervous quiver in my stomach. Dennis tossed the ball up and down, looking from me to the ball. I waited and watched, not knowing what he would do next.

I had always loved to visit Dennis and his family. They lived in a high rise apartment building across the street from an elevated train. Its rumblings shook the martini glasses in Aunt Mal's china cabinet. I spent hours gazing into that cabinet. Aunt Mal and Uncle Leo were the only relatives that had ever vacationed outside of Long Island. This cabinet contained the evidence of their travels. There were conch shells from Bermuda, beaded bags from the Bahamas and tambourines from Puerto Rico. I pressed my nose up against the glass of the cabinet until a fog appeared. Aunt Mal gently tugged me away, windexing the smudge out of the pristine glass.
Aunt Mal was chic and exotic. She wore long, flowing floral dresses, and musical charm bracelets decorated her arms. Her long neck was offset by the sleek pageboy haircut she always wore. She slurped martini after martini out of elegant glasses, biting green olives off of a tiny plastic sword she swiveled in her drinks. She was the only relative who didn't drink her drinks out of a can. Aunt Mal taught me to make Shirley Temples and let me plunge my own miniature sword into a bottle of maraschino cherries. I swirled my cherry sword in my drink just as she did, leaning my head back and laughing wildly for no reason.

Dennis was 15 years older than me. He was like a living jungle gym. He let us swing from his bulging biceps and sit on his strong shoulders. Dennis had a tremendous boa constrictor he kept in a fish tank spanning the length of one bedroom wall. He fed it live white mice that squiggled as they disappeared into the dark cavern of the boa's mouth. We watched in awe and disgust as the bulge of the mouse traveled down the snake's scaly belly.

Aunt Mal had hated how Dennis fed the mice to the snake, tossing them into the tank like socks into a hamper. She assumed the feeding duties, preparing a last supper of sorts for each and every sacrificial mouse. The refrigerator was stocked full of expensive cheeses in blocks and wheels and colorful wrappers. She selected a specific platter for each mouse, arranging the carefully cubed pieces artfully on her good china.

"There you go, pretty. Doesn't that look just delicious?" she piped in an overly chipper chirp.

Once the mouse was bloated to bursting with cheese, Aunt Mal caressed the half-dozing creature to sleep. It was at that moment that she carried it into the boa's tank, crooning "I love you, little mouse. You're the prettiest little thing. Sleep soundly, little one." She gently laid the sleeping mouse in a corner of the tank and walked away without looking back, shutting the light off and clicking the door closed behind her.

The streets surrounding Aunt Mal's building were cluttered with kids. Even from high up in the apartment, you could hear their giggles and games. Dennis devised a game of his own for the kids. He draped the boa dramatically around his shoulders and put a jacket on over it.

"Dennis, god damn you. Leave those kids alone!" Aunt Mal scolded every time.

"Whaddya talkin about, Ma? They love me down there. I'm like Elvis." Dennis snickered.
For extra effect, he folded his upper eyelids back, exposing bulging white eyeballs and the fleshy red undersides of his eyelids. I smacked my hands over my own eyes, fearing Dennis' eyeballs would pop out of his head without the protection of his upper lids. He loved to torture us with this maneuver, and could comfortably keep his eyelids flipped up for whole minutes.

"I'm warnin you, Dennis!" With that, a burst of air disturbed the curtains as Dennis slammed the door shut behind him. We waited several tense moments for Dennis to make his way down to the sidewalk below. One minute, children were skipping rope and playing manhunt, all laughter and shouts. In an instant, shrill shrieks ripped through the air as Dennis presumably unveiled his surprise. Sneakers pounded pavement and baseballs were abandoned as children scurried for the safety of home. Uncle Leo sat by the window and looked down on the scene, quietly chuckling to himself.

"Don't you encourage him, Leo!" Aunt Mal warned. Uncle Leo shrugged his shoulders and continued gazing out the window. The left side of his face twitched uncontrollably. It looked as though he wore a permanent half-smile, and his left eye winked devilishly. He was quiet and kind, always producing a handful of quarters or gumdrops from his pockets. Although he was taller than Aunt Mal, he seemed dwarfed by her personality.

Dennis burst back through the apartment door, eyelids still flipped up and snake still coiled around his neck.

"Gimme him, ya bastard!" Aunt Mal swatted his arm and Dennis deposited the snake around his mother's neck. He cackled maniacally as he headed to his bedroom.

"Christ almighty, this thing is heavy. Robert, put him in his tank."

"Meow," my cousin Robert responded from a corner of the living room.

Robert was just a few years younger than Dennis. There were three things of note about him: one, he made random cat noises for no apparent reason. In the middle of a seemingly normal conversation, he would let out a high-pitched meow, smirk, and continue with the conversation. Two, he had a tick similar to that of Uncle Leo's. Robert would blink both eyes in rapid succession, his mouth twisted into a forced grin with each blink. Three, he smelled everything. As he took the boa off of Aunt Mal's shoulders, he sniffed it. As he walked past a light pole, he sniffed it. Before laying a napkin across his lap, he sniffed it! No one ever questioned him or commented on it, so I looked the other way, afraid my glare would betray the curiosity bouncing around my brain.

Robert carried the boa out of the room and back to its tank. He returned quickly, shaking his head and blinking wildly.

"Whassa matter with you?" Aunt Mal slurred, martini in hand, olive sword in mouth.

"Dennis. Ya gotta see for yourself." Robert chuckled.

"Dennis! Whatta ya doin now?"

Dennis strolled out of his room with a wicked smile and puffed up cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders innocently.

"What's that in your mouth?" Aunt Mal whispered, afraid of the answer.

Dennis opened his mouth wide to reveal a tiny white mouse sitting on his serpentine tongue. The apartment erupted in screeches.

"That's my son!" Uncle Leo shook with belly laughs.

"Dennis, ya jack ass! Ya gonna get some kinda tongue disease. Spit it out!" Aunt Mal sloshed her martini from side to side.

Robert meowed and blinked repeatedly. I covered my eyes and peeked out between the cracks of my fingers. Mice made my stomach do somersaults, but I couldn't keep my eyes off of the action.
Dennis strode over to me and peeled my fingers away from my face. He bent down with his fist closed in front of his mouth and swallowed hard. I watched the bob of his Adam's apple and wondered where the white mouse would end up.

"Ahhh!" Dennis sighed with his mouth wide open. I peeked back to his tonsils, looking to see if the mouse was marooned there.

"Wait a minute," Dennis paused. "What's that?" Dennis asked, staring at the side of my head.

"What's what?" I asked, every inch of me tense with anticipation.

"I don't know, kid. Ya got somethin stickin out your ear. Hold still now."

Dennis reached for my left ear with both of his hands. I felt the cold poke of his finger on my earlobe, followed by a soft, warm fuzz. The fuzz wriggled near my ear. I squealed and pulled away.

"Now, how'd he get in there?" Dennis held the mouse by its tail in front of my face. Aunt Mal smacked him on the back of the neck and took me by the hand.

"Ya sonofabitch. Go do somethin useful! Come on, sweetheart. Let's get us some more drinks." I let Aunt Mal lead me into the kitchen and looked over my shoulder at Dennis. He popped the mouse back into his mouth like popcorn. The tiny white tail wagged back and forth, smacking against his lips.

Visiting Dennis was like having my own one-man circus. I never knew what he was going to do next.

Dennis continued to toss the ball up and down. His jaw was set and the veins in his neck bulged.

"Dennis?" My voice shook with uncertainty.

Dennis buried the ball in his glove and stared straight at me. A wide smile swept over his face, but I still felt a sense of unease.

"Hey, Noreen?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened to your face?"

"Huh?

"Ya look like the moon. Crater face."

Dennis' eyes were ice. The breath left my chest and my eyes brimmed with burning tears. I looked away as my vision blurred. All around me were green misty trees and bright sun. It was like looking up from under the surface of the ocean. The edges of everything were fuzzy and uncertain.

An intense pain ripped into the right side of my mouth. Something had hit me, but I didn't know what.

"Shit!" Dennis shouted and ran towards me. I tongued the inside of my mouth and felt my braces biting into my upper lip. The salty taste of blood coated my mouth and my stomach lurched. I spit blood into the grass, barely missing the baseball that lay at my feet.

"Jeez, kid. I'm really sorry. You okay?" Dennis bent down and peered at my already swelling lip. The sweat ran down his forehead and dripped off his nose.

"I thought you were lookin. Honest. I never woulda hit ya...."

I cried silently, afraid to move my mouth and disturb the hornet's nest of pain that had settled there.

"Come on. Let's get ya home. Boy, your old man's gonna kick my ass. I really am sorry, kid. No hard feelings, right cousin?" He rested his hand on my shoulder and guided me home. His fingers drummed nervously as my mouth pulsated with pain.

"Noreen! Oh my God. What happened to you?" My mother rushed to my side, followed closely by Aunt Mal. I tried to speak, but the barbs of the braces digging into my lip made my mouth clumsy.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Maureen. My fault. I threw it when she wasn't lookin. This is one tough kid. Didn't even scream or nothin."

"What the hell's wrong with you, Dennis? She's just a little girl." Aunt Mal scolded.

"Yeah, but she d0esn't throw like a little girl. Do ya, champ?" He ruffled my hair. At that moment, I felt strangely proud.

"What happened here?" My father walked into the room, carrying an unopened can of Bud.

"Noreen got hit with the ball," my mother explained.

"See? That's exactly why I don't want her playin ball. What good're the braces if she's just gonna get her teeth knocked out playin ball."

"No, Uncle John. She's great. It was me. I wasn't payin attention."

"Yeah? Well, if she needs to see the dentist I'm sendin you the bill."

"Okay. I got it covered. Sorry, Uncle John."

"You all right? Here, put this on your mouth." Dad looked down at me and handed me his cold can of beer. I held it against my fat lip, welcoming the numbing comfort of the can.

"Dennis. Go get her an aspirin. And get me another beer."

"No problem, Uncle John. You okay, kid?" he asked, winking down at me. I nodded and felt the beginnings of a headache behind my eyes.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let's lay you down on the couch. That bastard son of mine. Lucky he didn't take your eye out."

Aunt Mal and Mom guided me to the couch and made me comfortable with pillows and blankets. Dennis spent the rest of the day waiting on me, bringing me ice cream and ice packs. The pain subsided, but the ache in my chest remained.

As Dennis and his family were leaving that night, he kneeled over me on the couch to say good-bye.

"We okay, pal?" I shrugged my shoulders and nodded my head.

"Sorry about your face, I mean, your mouth. You're one tough kid." He patted my head and backed out of the room, looking relieved to be away from me.

Mom came to check on me in bed that night. My mouth was feeling better, and I could speak without searing pain.

"Mom?"

"Huh?"

"What happened to Dennis' arm?"

"You mean his elbow?"

"Yeah."

"He fell out of a tree and broke it when he was little. He had surgery, but it never healed right. The kids used to be so mean about it. You know how cruel kids can be."

"Uh huh."

"Night."

"Mom?"

"Yeah."

"I want to try another dermatologist."

It had been a year since I had seen Dr. Putz. Maybe another doctor would have the answer. If my own relatives thought I was ugly, it could only get worse from here.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay. I'll tell your father."

"Okay. Night."

"Night."

I snuggled under the covers, ice pack gently cradling my face, and dreamed of all the magical things the new dermatologist would do for me.

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