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batsutousaiTitle: What We Leave Behind
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
batsutousai
Warnings: Character death, general illegal acts (including underage drugs and bribing cops with sex), child abuse, minor mangling of Christianity
Summary: Life lessons brought to you by Anannya Royal, deceased.
What We Leave Behind
It wasn't the first time we'd played in the mall trash compactor. Really, the first time had been when Robbie and I were six. You see, the alley where the compactor is, it's nice and big – a good place for playing ball. So we were playing ball and some idiot had left the door open and the ball went into the compactor. I went in to get it out, 'cause Robbie was too scared.
After that first time, I got dared time and again to go in there. It wasn't really a scary place, and in a small town with a shitty mall and us with no money, you had to find a way to amuse yourself somehow. Daring me to jump in the trash compactor for a couple bucks was a good way to eat up the boredom.
So, you know, things went as always. Robbie and I had nothing to do and were hanging out behind the mall. He bets me ten dollars that I won't jump in there and let him shut the door. I tell him he's right, so he frowns at me and shuffles around a bit. Five minutes or so, he's offering me twenty dollars to get in there and let him shut the door. Swears he won't touch the controls or nothin'. I tell him he's gotta make it at least twenty-nine, 'cause there's this pair of boots I've been eyeing...
So he says, "I'll make it thirty. You do it for thirty?"
And I say, "Yeah, I'll do it for thirty." So I stub out my cigarette on the wall and kick off my boots – no point in getting a pair of good boots shitty, ya know, even for a different pair of boots – and jump in the compactor.
"You scream and I'm halvin' it, good?" Robbie says.
And I say, "I ain't the screamer, you are. Bitch. Shut the God-damn door already."
So he shuts the door. I realize we never decided on a time limit – which means he's gonna leave me in here for a bit. Damn.
The compactor rattles a bit and makes a couple weird noises. Fucking Robbie. Trying to scare me, I bet.
I shuffle around a bit, ignore the sounds.
Then I hear a pounding on the door. Sounds like a muffled voice on the other side. Robbie, I guess. What's he want? "What do you want? Don't think you can scare me! I ain't no wimp!"
More muffled voice, more pounding. The pounding's competing with the compactor noises. It's giving me a headache. "Do you mind shutting up! If you wanna say something, open the fuckin' door and say it! Bitch!"
Robbie's voice is still muffled, but louder. I catch, "...open....key....help....ANA!"
And then I can't breathe and the trash is packed up against me and I can't move and it feels like I'm in between two wrestlers and they've just been jumped on by a third and it fucking hurts!
And then....
Black.
* * *
Really, I shouldn't have taken the dare. Let that be a lesson. When your best friend tells you to jump into a trash compactor for thirty dollars and let them shut the door on you, don't do it. Even if they swear they won't flip it on. Or, at least, check to make sure the key's not in, first.
Life Lesson Number Forty-Seven, brought to you from the land beyond by Anannya Royal. Yours truly.
Yeah, I've done some stupid shit in my life. I smoked in high school and stole my stepdad's beer from the fridge for later when he was passed out on the floor. I stayed out at all hours driving too many people to be legal around town with my music turned up to blasting and my eyes not always on the road. I outran a cop once and bribed another with a night of pleasure to keep from getting a ticket. I've been arrested twice when I got caught doing something I shouldn't have been, like drinking at thirteen.
But nothing, I must say, will ever quite top hopping into a trash compactor on a dare and getting crushed to death. I mean, shit, talk about ways to go. It's right up there with choking to death on a pretzel.
Now, if only I could get out of here, catch the land beyond. Fuck, even eternal damnation can't be as boring as watching my own funeral. I mean, I thought watching them separate my body from the rest of the shit in the compactor was boring, but this tops it. It's just a bunch of people coming in, most of them crying.
I got a closed casket – not a lot you can do for a pancake – and there's a couple of pictures of me on top of it. One of them is from before my dad died. I've got my hair tied back all nice and shit. I'm wearing that stupid jean skirt my mom got me and my favorite green sweater that my stepdad ripped one time in a rage. Oh. And those boots. The brown ones that my mom got from her mom when her feet were the right size, then handed down to me. I hated those things, but I wore them 'cause I love my mom. I guess the next generation won't have to suffer through them now, seeing as there won't be a next generation.
The other picture, the one next to it, is much more recent. It's one of those pictures that I posed for with my friends when we weren't out to get trashed; the night of my senior prom, I think. My hair's still the same – to please my mom – but everything else is different, even my smile. It's much darker, much older. I've got my favorite skirt on, the black one that shimmers in the right light, and the boots I bought with it. The shirt's got a cross on it – a joke among my friends – and I'm holding a rosary in one hand. I've got Jessi's red jacket on over the shirt; the same jacket I died in.
God, I hope Jessi's okay. She always told me that Robbie was gonna be the death of me. I don't think she actually meant it, though. And she tried so hard to make me come to college with her in Florida, but I just didn't wanna do any more school. You know? And my mom, bless her, said that I could stay in the house as long as I got a job. It didn't even have to be a real good one, as long as it kept me busy every other day or so and I could manage my own gas. It wasn't like we had the money for a college, anyway. Especially an out-of-state one.
Now Jessi, the love of my life, she said she'd help me with my work and help pay my way in if I needed it. Lesson Number Thirteen: If you're gonna shack up with someone, shack up with someone who bleeds cash and brains. And I love Jessi dearly and all, but not even she could get me to suffer through more schooling when I had a perfectly good job at the CVS down the street and a ready alcohol and tobacco dealer living in the same house. A few beatings when I'm caught ain't nothing next to having a drug dealer under your own roof. It's kinda like I'm paying for the stuff with my blood and bruises.
Yeah, my stepdad. He's sitting next to my mom at the service, not even pretending to cry. The dickhead's probably ecstatic that I'm gone – now his alcohol won't keep disappearing out from under his nose. He and I, we never got on. My mom always said he and I were too alike to get on – wise, my mom is, though why she married the fucker beats me, what with all her smarts and all – that we'd be fighting against one another for the rest of our lives. Well, let me tell you, if I ain't headed for Hell, I'm gonna stick it out around here just so I can haunt that asshole for the rest of his life. I means, someone's gotta keep him from beating my mom when his favorite football team loses.
Life Lesson Number Twenty: When you pick a favorite football team, pick one that always wins, not one that always loses. If you gotta pick one that always loses, don't watch the game while you're drunk and your wife's in the room. Or don't get married. Or die early in life. (I'm a fan of that last one, personally.)
On the other side of my mom's my Aunt Suzie. Don't know why she's there, never mind why she's fake-crying. She always was telling my mom that I was a good-for-nothing reject and she ought to toss me out on my backside in the street so I could fail at living by myself. But she likes my stepdad. Go figure.
Ah, there's Jessi. She's coming in now with her folks. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Come on, Jessi. Don't cry over me like that. I ain't worth those pretty tears. Oh– GOD DAMMIT!
Robbie's walking up to Jessi now, crying just like she is. I bet you she's gonna– Yup. She smacked him. Ooh, that shut Aunt Suzie up. Shut up everyone else too. Nice one, Jessi. If I could, I'd kiss you. I wonder, if I concentrate just enough–
No, I go right through her. She shivers a little and looks around. Jessi! Jessi, I'm right here! Right next to you! Look at me!
"Ana?"
"Jessica, sweetheart, Anannya is dead," her mother offers, hugging my Jessi like I should be doing. Jessi, I'm fucking right fucking here!
Jessi and her folks sit down and more people are coming in, filling up the pews of the small church real quick-like. Seems like everyone from town's here, kinda like you'd expect of a little town like mine.
Look there, it's that cop I slept with to get out of that ticket! And there's the bouncer of the club we always went to who'd let us in even though we were under-age. It's 'cause his cousin was one of my friends and Greg always managed to talk him into letting us in. There's my boss, the jerk, not looking sad at all. On the bright side, now he doesn't have to fire me.
Life Lesson Number Eighteen: When you hate your boss and your boss hates you, just quit. Or die, I guess, if you're really desperate. Or dumb.
There's my high school principle! He hated me. I think, if Jessi wasn't behind me every step of every day and dragging me off to school even when I was just gonna fall asleep in class, he'd have expelled me in a heartbeat. I know he tried a couple times. Between Jessi and my mom, he never got very far, though.
Hey! It's Mz Picky, my tenth grade English teacher! She was a real bitch and we never did quite agree on the quality of my work, but we got on well enough. Our arguments over the use of words like "gonna" in an essay were always a good way to blow off steam and a sure way to wake me up. Jessi once dragged me to her room when I was walking around like a zombie and Mz Picky started in on my grammar and I jumped right in and woke myself up. And by the time I realized what had just happened, Mz Picky and Jessi were busting their guts laughing at me. It was pretty funny.
Life Lesson Number Four: That teacher you hated in high school? She's really very cool. No, really!
Look, there's Pearl-Head! She's this chick who lived next to Jessi. Always wears pearls, even when they're sure to get stolen. She's all religious and shit and flipped out when she found out that Jessi was dating a girl. Never mind that girl was me, the poor, retarded "Sinner of the Century" – her words, not mine. Pearl-Head once told Jessi that, if there was an award for person most likely to go to Hell, I'd have it.
Life Lesson Number Forty – Except Not Really: Being gay and tormenting rich Christians is fun.
Micky, my old middle school bus driver, is behind Pearl-Head. He and I always got on real good 'cause he always had some fucked-up story to tell about something he'd seen lately and I always had a story to respond with. It helped that we shared cigarettes and took cigarette breaks together all the time. It helped even more that he knew my stepdad and hated him like I did.
Jimmie's behind Micky. He was my dad's best friend. Was there when my dad kicked the bucket, too. He was the one that delivered my dad's last words to my mom and me when we got to the hospital. My dad, see, he worked construction – lots of bulldozing trees and making buildings that were never going to be used, but he was a good man. A pipe was loose in its bindings and he was trying to tell the crane operator that it needed to be fixed right away when the pipe broke free. It landed on my dad and crushed his ribs and lungs. Jimmie was there next to him, holding his hand, and my dad told Jimmie to make sure Mom and I knew he loved us. Then he died. Jimmie's been keeping an eye on Mom and me ever since then, like Dad woulda wanted him to. He's like an uncle. I wish my mom had married him, instead.
I'm sure there's a Life Lesson in there somewhere, but I'll leave you to find it, right?
Following Jimmie's his sister, Marg, and her husband and two kids, Sam and Kelly. Sam and Kelly are in elementary school now – about the same age as I was when my dad died – and they and I always got on good. For them, I was always a good role model; I even went sober for a month and refused to touch a cigarette when Marg and her husband went on a vacation that wasn't as short as they'd wanted it to be. I'd baby-sit them when Marg had to go into work suddenly and her husband was out with his friends.
Marg is a vet, see, so she got called out at all sorts of hours 'cause she couldn't ever let an animal suffer when she could be helping it. So she'd call me and I'd come over, even if I was out with my friends, and watch the girls. Marg never minded Jessi, either, so Jessi would come with me sometimes and we'd all four play games and make dinner and take a bath and tuck the girls into bed. And if Marg was running late and one of the girls had a nightmare, Jessi and I would let her sit down on the couch with us and cuddle until she fell asleep and Marg never cared when she got home.
Life Lesson Number Two: If you're gonna baby-sit for someone, baby-sit for someone cool.
God, who's Marg gonna call now when her man's out getting drunk with his pals and some poor cat's giving birth? Who are the girls going to get to read them Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings for the eighty-seventh time? Who's going to make Ana's Special Spaghetti when my girls have a craving? Who's going to talk Sam and Kelly into the tub to take their bath before bed?
I'm not ready to die! I can't leave my girls alone! Sam! Kelly!
But Sam and Kelly, both dressed in somber black and crying rivers, walk right through me with a shiver. They don't even pause to look around, like Jessi did. It's like I'm not even here.
You're not, Ana. I'm not here. I'm just a spirit, what's left of the dead, a memory that hasn't moved on yet.
God...
The music that had been playing as everyone filled in stops and the preacher stands and takes his spot next to my casket, setting his hand down on it with an obviously-fake sad look; well, obvious to me. I always hated him. I hate most people who get on well with my stepdad, actually.
"We're all here to remember Anannya Ioua Royal, a gentle soul who, though she went astray from the teachings of God, was loved by many and helped the community where she could. Without her, our lives wouldn't have been as rich as they now are. Truly, she will be missed."
Wow, he really knows how to lay it on thick. I'm impressed.
"Now, here's the mother of the deceased, Mavourneen Lawrence, with a few words."
My mom gets up. She's got a small sheet of paper in one hand and she steps up to the podium. With a sniff and an attempt to stop her tears again, she starts: "Ana was the best daughter a mother could ask for. No matter how many times she acted against my wishes, she'd always come home with an apology on her lips and sorrow in her eyes. I remember one time, when she got arrested for under-age drinking at a friend's party, and I had to come out to the station to pick her up. She looked at me when she came out and said, 'Mom, you should have just left me in there for the night. I could do with a night on a slab of concrete to remind me that I'm an idiot'."
I remember that time. She burst into tears after I said that and took me home, still crying. She wouldn't let me drive, either, and we almost got into two accidents because she couldn't see. But she never yelled at me, and every time I apologized, she'd just start crying harder. When we got home, she hugged me really tight and kept my stepdad off my back and tucked me into bed. It tore my heart to see her cry then, and it's tearing my heart again to see her crying now. Well, it would be tearing my heart, if I had one...
"...Thank you," my mom says, finishing her speech without my attention. As she walks back to her seat, I run forward and try to hug her, tell her everything is gonna be alright, that I'm still here and I love her... but she goes right through me and I scream my fury at the Heavens.
It's Hell, isn't it?
I look around behind me as Preacher Man gets up again and asks everyone to stand for a hymn. Behind me stands my dad, as translucent as me and just the way he looked in life: short hair, plain white shirt with a loose blue tie and his favorite pair of jeans. He's smiling, but it's a sad one and I smile back at him. Fancy meeting you here, I joke weakly.
My dad shrugs and comes to stand next to me, looks real close at my mom and sighs. Nee, why'd you marry him? he asks, then looks at me. Both of us know we'll never get an answer to that question; I certainly asked it often enough in life.
So, I start, uncomfortable with the stupid hymn and standing next to my dad who's been dead for eight years at my own funeral. Um, what brings you to this side of crazy?
Oh, you know. Checking up on my daughter, making sure she's okay, testing her to see where she's going in the afterlife. Those sorts of things, my dad says and flips his hand over his shoulder like this is a natural occurrence.
I gape at him.
My dad sighs. Annie, sweetheart, you're not set for anything when you die. It's your choices after death that pave your way, not during death.
Um, okay. So, what do I need to do?
The church freezes around us and I jump at the sudden silence. My dad offers me a faint smile, then sighs again – he does that a lot, I'm starting to realize – and asks, Anannya, if you could wish for one thing, what would it be?
I blink a few times then glance back at my mom, observe her tear-stained face, and think about the question. If I could wish for one thing in the whole world, what would it be? Well, I think I'd want to try my life again. Stop my dad from dying and my mom from remarrying. Not smoking or drinking illegally. Not jumping into that trash compactor without checking to see that it's not going to start up when the door shuts. Telling my mom and Jessi that I love them more often. And a million other things.
I see my dad walk forward and almost touch my mom's face. The expression on his face is so heart-wrenching that I find myself wanting to cry for the first time in years. Not even seeing my mom or Jessi in tears over my death hurts this much. I mean, what child expects to see their long-dead father mourning the life he can't have with their mom? What child expects to see such a private moment after so long without? Certainly not me.
Focus, Ana. One wish. What would I do with it? Would I wish to live my life over again? No, I don't think so. If I were to stop my dad from dying that time, what's to say he won't die the next time and my mom will still end up marrying my stepdad? Or that someone else won't die in his place and someone else will suffer? What's to say I'd ever meet Jessi? What's to say that I won't get mixed up in drugs again? Hell, what's to say I'll remember this past life at all?
Is there a Life Lesson in there? I don't know.
No. Living my life again won't do anything for me now. I'm dead and the dead are meant to stay that way. So, if my wish can't be for me... Dad?
My dad turns around and looks at me questioningly, eyes still sad and hand still outstretched, as if he's going to turn right back around and pull my mom into a hug. Go ahead.
Can I wish for something for someone else? Someone who's still living?
His lips twitch, as if he's trying not to smile. You may.
So, out of all the people here, who do I think could use a wish the most? Not Jessi, she's doing well for herself. I think she'll do better if she doesn't have to worry about me, anyway. Without me, she won't have anyone holding her back from her dream of becoming the first female president. Without me, she can do it, even if she's sad. I know she can.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my dad looking back at my mom. His hand's returned to his side.
What about Sam and Kelly? My girls could do with a person who's always there for them when their parents can't be. They could do with more joy in their lives. They could do with a real role model, not some girl who's only acting like a proper girl for them. Someone like Jessi. And Jessi could use their childish happiness to get over me. But Jessi's smart and my girls already love her. It's natural that they'll work that out on their own.
Maybe my mom could use this wish. Maybe I could wish my stepdad away. If she could dump that bastard, she'd be so much happier. And have more money, since he's the one always spending her hard-earned cash on beer and cigarettes. But, then again, Mom's smart enough that she doesn't really need my help to help herself. If she wants out, she can certainly do it. And I wonder if his leaving her would only make my death harder on her. To make her lose everything all at once? No, that's too cruel.
But no one else here really needs my help. No one else here means as much to me as those four. I wouldn't want to waste my wish on making someone else happy when I could have done something for one of them.
But, wait. Of course! What about the dickwad? My stepdad. Could I wish for him to stop drinking? To be a real husband to my mom? To be the father that he should have been, but never was?
Life Lesson Number One: Forgive those who have wronged you. It may help you forgive yourself for doing the same in return.
I turn to my dad and nod, my mind made up.
You know what you'd wish? he asks.
I nod. If I could wish for one thing, I would wish that Joseph, my stepdad, would stop drinking. I wish he would become the support that Mom needs and the husband she married for.
My dad smiles. So be it. The action around us starts again, as if it had never stopped. I cover my ears to block out the singing for a moment, but my dad looks unbothered by the mass of voices that so suddenly assaults us.
I look around myself after a moment of wincing, hoping to see a change. Some difference in my stepdad's eyes. Some look that says, "I'll change!" But he's still looking up at my casket with a scowl. Still holding his hands to himself. Nothing has changed. But...
It won't happen right away. People can't just change at a moment's notice. Humans aren't made that way, my dad says from behind me.
I nod. I know.
Are you ready to go? We can't stay forever.
I look over at where Jessi's standing next to her parents and where my girls sit behind her, tears running down all their faces and snot clogging their throats so they can only just sing. I turn to my mom and see she's in much the same state, though her face isn't as much a mess and there's a tissue in her hand with the hymnal. They'll be happy eventually, right? I ask, hopeful.
Yes, Annie. Eventually they'll move on and find happiness. Eventually, they'll leave this pain they're feeling right now behind them. It may never fully go away for some of them, but it will lessen and, one day, they'll be happy. My dad draws me into a hug and I find myself letting him. But their happiness isn't ours to share in.
I know.
I tug out of his arms and walk up to my mom, ready to say my last goodbyes. I reach out a hand to her face and stop just shy of touching her, like my dad did before. I find that it doesn't hurt so much when it's not obvious that she doesn't sense me here. Good-bye, Mom. I'll miss you, but I'm with Dad now, so I'll be okay. I move over to my girls and repeat the action with both of them. I'll never forget you, even if you forget me. Take care of each other, okay?
I walk around the pew and stop next to Jessi. Thank you, my love, I whisper, unable to come up with anything else to say. I look back at my dad and nod sadly. I'm ready.
* * *
"No, Ana. Thank you."
"Did you say something, Jessica?"
"No, Mom. Nothing important."
.
Author:
batsutousaiWarnings: Character death, general illegal acts (including underage drugs and bribing cops with sex), child abuse, minor mangling of Christianity
Summary: Life lessons brought to you by Anannya Royal, deceased.
It wasn't the first time we'd played in the mall trash compactor. Really, the first time had been when Robbie and I were six. You see, the alley where the compactor is, it's nice and big – a good place for playing ball. So we were playing ball and some idiot had left the door open and the ball went into the compactor. I went in to get it out, 'cause Robbie was too scared.
After that first time, I got dared time and again to go in there. It wasn't really a scary place, and in a small town with a shitty mall and us with no money, you had to find a way to amuse yourself somehow. Daring me to jump in the trash compactor for a couple bucks was a good way to eat up the boredom.
So, you know, things went as always. Robbie and I had nothing to do and were hanging out behind the mall. He bets me ten dollars that I won't jump in there and let him shut the door. I tell him he's right, so he frowns at me and shuffles around a bit. Five minutes or so, he's offering me twenty dollars to get in there and let him shut the door. Swears he won't touch the controls or nothin'. I tell him he's gotta make it at least twenty-nine, 'cause there's this pair of boots I've been eyeing...
So he says, "I'll make it thirty. You do it for thirty?"
And I say, "Yeah, I'll do it for thirty." So I stub out my cigarette on the wall and kick off my boots – no point in getting a pair of good boots shitty, ya know, even for a different pair of boots – and jump in the compactor.
"You scream and I'm halvin' it, good?" Robbie says.
And I say, "I ain't the screamer, you are. Bitch. Shut the God-damn door already."
So he shuts the door. I realize we never decided on a time limit – which means he's gonna leave me in here for a bit. Damn.
The compactor rattles a bit and makes a couple weird noises. Fucking Robbie. Trying to scare me, I bet.
I shuffle around a bit, ignore the sounds.
Then I hear a pounding on the door. Sounds like a muffled voice on the other side. Robbie, I guess. What's he want? "What do you want? Don't think you can scare me! I ain't no wimp!"
More muffled voice, more pounding. The pounding's competing with the compactor noises. It's giving me a headache. "Do you mind shutting up! If you wanna say something, open the fuckin' door and say it! Bitch!"
Robbie's voice is still muffled, but louder. I catch, "...open....key....help....ANA!"
And then I can't breathe and the trash is packed up against me and I can't move and it feels like I'm in between two wrestlers and they've just been jumped on by a third and it fucking hurts!
And then....
Black.
Really, I shouldn't have taken the dare. Let that be a lesson. When your best friend tells you to jump into a trash compactor for thirty dollars and let them shut the door on you, don't do it. Even if they swear they won't flip it on. Or, at least, check to make sure the key's not in, first.
Life Lesson Number Forty-Seven, brought to you from the land beyond by Anannya Royal. Yours truly.
Yeah, I've done some stupid shit in my life. I smoked in high school and stole my stepdad's beer from the fridge for later when he was passed out on the floor. I stayed out at all hours driving too many people to be legal around town with my music turned up to blasting and my eyes not always on the road. I outran a cop once and bribed another with a night of pleasure to keep from getting a ticket. I've been arrested twice when I got caught doing something I shouldn't have been, like drinking at thirteen.
But nothing, I must say, will ever quite top hopping into a trash compactor on a dare and getting crushed to death. I mean, shit, talk about ways to go. It's right up there with choking to death on a pretzel.
Now, if only I could get out of here, catch the land beyond. Fuck, even eternal damnation can't be as boring as watching my own funeral. I mean, I thought watching them separate my body from the rest of the shit in the compactor was boring, but this tops it. It's just a bunch of people coming in, most of them crying.
I got a closed casket – not a lot you can do for a pancake – and there's a couple of pictures of me on top of it. One of them is from before my dad died. I've got my hair tied back all nice and shit. I'm wearing that stupid jean skirt my mom got me and my favorite green sweater that my stepdad ripped one time in a rage. Oh. And those boots. The brown ones that my mom got from her mom when her feet were the right size, then handed down to me. I hated those things, but I wore them 'cause I love my mom. I guess the next generation won't have to suffer through them now, seeing as there won't be a next generation.
The other picture, the one next to it, is much more recent. It's one of those pictures that I posed for with my friends when we weren't out to get trashed; the night of my senior prom, I think. My hair's still the same – to please my mom – but everything else is different, even my smile. It's much darker, much older. I've got my favorite skirt on, the black one that shimmers in the right light, and the boots I bought with it. The shirt's got a cross on it – a joke among my friends – and I'm holding a rosary in one hand. I've got Jessi's red jacket on over the shirt; the same jacket I died in.
God, I hope Jessi's okay. She always told me that Robbie was gonna be the death of me. I don't think she actually meant it, though. And she tried so hard to make me come to college with her in Florida, but I just didn't wanna do any more school. You know? And my mom, bless her, said that I could stay in the house as long as I got a job. It didn't even have to be a real good one, as long as it kept me busy every other day or so and I could manage my own gas. It wasn't like we had the money for a college, anyway. Especially an out-of-state one.
Now Jessi, the love of my life, she said she'd help me with my work and help pay my way in if I needed it. Lesson Number Thirteen: If you're gonna shack up with someone, shack up with someone who bleeds cash and brains. And I love Jessi dearly and all, but not even she could get me to suffer through more schooling when I had a perfectly good job at the CVS down the street and a ready alcohol and tobacco dealer living in the same house. A few beatings when I'm caught ain't nothing next to having a drug dealer under your own roof. It's kinda like I'm paying for the stuff with my blood and bruises.
Yeah, my stepdad. He's sitting next to my mom at the service, not even pretending to cry. The dickhead's probably ecstatic that I'm gone – now his alcohol won't keep disappearing out from under his nose. He and I, we never got on. My mom always said he and I were too alike to get on – wise, my mom is, though why she married the fucker beats me, what with all her smarts and all – that we'd be fighting against one another for the rest of our lives. Well, let me tell you, if I ain't headed for Hell, I'm gonna stick it out around here just so I can haunt that asshole for the rest of his life. I means, someone's gotta keep him from beating my mom when his favorite football team loses.
Life Lesson Number Twenty: When you pick a favorite football team, pick one that always wins, not one that always loses. If you gotta pick one that always loses, don't watch the game while you're drunk and your wife's in the room. Or don't get married. Or die early in life. (I'm a fan of that last one, personally.)
On the other side of my mom's my Aunt Suzie. Don't know why she's there, never mind why she's fake-crying. She always was telling my mom that I was a good-for-nothing reject and she ought to toss me out on my backside in the street so I could fail at living by myself. But she likes my stepdad. Go figure.
Ah, there's Jessi. She's coming in now with her folks. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Come on, Jessi. Don't cry over me like that. I ain't worth those pretty tears. Oh– GOD DAMMIT!
Robbie's walking up to Jessi now, crying just like she is. I bet you she's gonna– Yup. She smacked him. Ooh, that shut Aunt Suzie up. Shut up everyone else too. Nice one, Jessi. If I could, I'd kiss you. I wonder, if I concentrate just enough–
No, I go right through her. She shivers a little and looks around. Jessi! Jessi, I'm right here! Right next to you! Look at me!
"Ana?"
"Jessica, sweetheart, Anannya is dead," her mother offers, hugging my Jessi like I should be doing. Jessi, I'm fucking right fucking here!
Jessi and her folks sit down and more people are coming in, filling up the pews of the small church real quick-like. Seems like everyone from town's here, kinda like you'd expect of a little town like mine.
Look there, it's that cop I slept with to get out of that ticket! And there's the bouncer of the club we always went to who'd let us in even though we were under-age. It's 'cause his cousin was one of my friends and Greg always managed to talk him into letting us in. There's my boss, the jerk, not looking sad at all. On the bright side, now he doesn't have to fire me.
Life Lesson Number Eighteen: When you hate your boss and your boss hates you, just quit. Or die, I guess, if you're really desperate. Or dumb.
There's my high school principle! He hated me. I think, if Jessi wasn't behind me every step of every day and dragging me off to school even when I was just gonna fall asleep in class, he'd have expelled me in a heartbeat. I know he tried a couple times. Between Jessi and my mom, he never got very far, though.
Hey! It's Mz Picky, my tenth grade English teacher! She was a real bitch and we never did quite agree on the quality of my work, but we got on well enough. Our arguments over the use of words like "gonna" in an essay were always a good way to blow off steam and a sure way to wake me up. Jessi once dragged me to her room when I was walking around like a zombie and Mz Picky started in on my grammar and I jumped right in and woke myself up. And by the time I realized what had just happened, Mz Picky and Jessi were busting their guts laughing at me. It was pretty funny.
Life Lesson Number Four: That teacher you hated in high school? She's really very cool. No, really!
Look, there's Pearl-Head! She's this chick who lived next to Jessi. Always wears pearls, even when they're sure to get stolen. She's all religious and shit and flipped out when she found out that Jessi was dating a girl. Never mind that girl was me, the poor, retarded "Sinner of the Century" – her words, not mine. Pearl-Head once told Jessi that, if there was an award for person most likely to go to Hell, I'd have it.
Life Lesson Number Forty – Except Not Really: Being gay and tormenting rich Christians is fun.
Micky, my old middle school bus driver, is behind Pearl-Head. He and I always got on real good 'cause he always had some fucked-up story to tell about something he'd seen lately and I always had a story to respond with. It helped that we shared cigarettes and took cigarette breaks together all the time. It helped even more that he knew my stepdad and hated him like I did.
Jimmie's behind Micky. He was my dad's best friend. Was there when my dad kicked the bucket, too. He was the one that delivered my dad's last words to my mom and me when we got to the hospital. My dad, see, he worked construction – lots of bulldozing trees and making buildings that were never going to be used, but he was a good man. A pipe was loose in its bindings and he was trying to tell the crane operator that it needed to be fixed right away when the pipe broke free. It landed on my dad and crushed his ribs and lungs. Jimmie was there next to him, holding his hand, and my dad told Jimmie to make sure Mom and I knew he loved us. Then he died. Jimmie's been keeping an eye on Mom and me ever since then, like Dad woulda wanted him to. He's like an uncle. I wish my mom had married him, instead.
I'm sure there's a Life Lesson in there somewhere, but I'll leave you to find it, right?
Following Jimmie's his sister, Marg, and her husband and two kids, Sam and Kelly. Sam and Kelly are in elementary school now – about the same age as I was when my dad died – and they and I always got on good. For them, I was always a good role model; I even went sober for a month and refused to touch a cigarette when Marg and her husband went on a vacation that wasn't as short as they'd wanted it to be. I'd baby-sit them when Marg had to go into work suddenly and her husband was out with his friends.
Marg is a vet, see, so she got called out at all sorts of hours 'cause she couldn't ever let an animal suffer when she could be helping it. So she'd call me and I'd come over, even if I was out with my friends, and watch the girls. Marg never minded Jessi, either, so Jessi would come with me sometimes and we'd all four play games and make dinner and take a bath and tuck the girls into bed. And if Marg was running late and one of the girls had a nightmare, Jessi and I would let her sit down on the couch with us and cuddle until she fell asleep and Marg never cared when she got home.
Life Lesson Number Two: If you're gonna baby-sit for someone, baby-sit for someone cool.
God, who's Marg gonna call now when her man's out getting drunk with his pals and some poor cat's giving birth? Who are the girls going to get to read them Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings for the eighty-seventh time? Who's going to make Ana's Special Spaghetti when my girls have a craving? Who's going to talk Sam and Kelly into the tub to take their bath before bed?
I'm not ready to die! I can't leave my girls alone! Sam! Kelly!
But Sam and Kelly, both dressed in somber black and crying rivers, walk right through me with a shiver. They don't even pause to look around, like Jessi did. It's like I'm not even here.
You're not, Ana. I'm not here. I'm just a spirit, what's left of the dead, a memory that hasn't moved on yet.
God...
The music that had been playing as everyone filled in stops and the preacher stands and takes his spot next to my casket, setting his hand down on it with an obviously-fake sad look; well, obvious to me. I always hated him. I hate most people who get on well with my stepdad, actually.
"We're all here to remember Anannya Ioua Royal, a gentle soul who, though she went astray from the teachings of God, was loved by many and helped the community where she could. Without her, our lives wouldn't have been as rich as they now are. Truly, she will be missed."
Wow, he really knows how to lay it on thick. I'm impressed.
"Now, here's the mother of the deceased, Mavourneen Lawrence, with a few words."
My mom gets up. She's got a small sheet of paper in one hand and she steps up to the podium. With a sniff and an attempt to stop her tears again, she starts: "Ana was the best daughter a mother could ask for. No matter how many times she acted against my wishes, she'd always come home with an apology on her lips and sorrow in her eyes. I remember one time, when she got arrested for under-age drinking at a friend's party, and I had to come out to the station to pick her up. She looked at me when she came out and said, 'Mom, you should have just left me in there for the night. I could do with a night on a slab of concrete to remind me that I'm an idiot'."
I remember that time. She burst into tears after I said that and took me home, still crying. She wouldn't let me drive, either, and we almost got into two accidents because she couldn't see. But she never yelled at me, and every time I apologized, she'd just start crying harder. When we got home, she hugged me really tight and kept my stepdad off my back and tucked me into bed. It tore my heart to see her cry then, and it's tearing my heart again to see her crying now. Well, it would be tearing my heart, if I had one...
"...Thank you," my mom says, finishing her speech without my attention. As she walks back to her seat, I run forward and try to hug her, tell her everything is gonna be alright, that I'm still here and I love her... but she goes right through me and I scream my fury at the Heavens.
It's Hell, isn't it?
I look around behind me as Preacher Man gets up again and asks everyone to stand for a hymn. Behind me stands my dad, as translucent as me and just the way he looked in life: short hair, plain white shirt with a loose blue tie and his favorite pair of jeans. He's smiling, but it's a sad one and I smile back at him. Fancy meeting you here, I joke weakly.
My dad shrugs and comes to stand next to me, looks real close at my mom and sighs. Nee, why'd you marry him? he asks, then looks at me. Both of us know we'll never get an answer to that question; I certainly asked it often enough in life.
So, I start, uncomfortable with the stupid hymn and standing next to my dad who's been dead for eight years at my own funeral. Um, what brings you to this side of crazy?
Oh, you know. Checking up on my daughter, making sure she's okay, testing her to see where she's going in the afterlife. Those sorts of things, my dad says and flips his hand over his shoulder like this is a natural occurrence.
I gape at him.
My dad sighs. Annie, sweetheart, you're not set for anything when you die. It's your choices after death that pave your way, not during death.
Um, okay. So, what do I need to do?
The church freezes around us and I jump at the sudden silence. My dad offers me a faint smile, then sighs again – he does that a lot, I'm starting to realize – and asks, Anannya, if you could wish for one thing, what would it be?
I blink a few times then glance back at my mom, observe her tear-stained face, and think about the question. If I could wish for one thing in the whole world, what would it be? Well, I think I'd want to try my life again. Stop my dad from dying and my mom from remarrying. Not smoking or drinking illegally. Not jumping into that trash compactor without checking to see that it's not going to start up when the door shuts. Telling my mom and Jessi that I love them more often. And a million other things.
I see my dad walk forward and almost touch my mom's face. The expression on his face is so heart-wrenching that I find myself wanting to cry for the first time in years. Not even seeing my mom or Jessi in tears over my death hurts this much. I mean, what child expects to see their long-dead father mourning the life he can't have with their mom? What child expects to see such a private moment after so long without? Certainly not me.
Focus, Ana. One wish. What would I do with it? Would I wish to live my life over again? No, I don't think so. If I were to stop my dad from dying that time, what's to say he won't die the next time and my mom will still end up marrying my stepdad? Or that someone else won't die in his place and someone else will suffer? What's to say I'd ever meet Jessi? What's to say that I won't get mixed up in drugs again? Hell, what's to say I'll remember this past life at all?
Is there a Life Lesson in there? I don't know.
No. Living my life again won't do anything for me now. I'm dead and the dead are meant to stay that way. So, if my wish can't be for me... Dad?
My dad turns around and looks at me questioningly, eyes still sad and hand still outstretched, as if he's going to turn right back around and pull my mom into a hug. Go ahead.
Can I wish for something for someone else? Someone who's still living?
His lips twitch, as if he's trying not to smile. You may.
So, out of all the people here, who do I think could use a wish the most? Not Jessi, she's doing well for herself. I think she'll do better if she doesn't have to worry about me, anyway. Without me, she won't have anyone holding her back from her dream of becoming the first female president. Without me, she can do it, even if she's sad. I know she can.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my dad looking back at my mom. His hand's returned to his side.
What about Sam and Kelly? My girls could do with a person who's always there for them when their parents can't be. They could do with more joy in their lives. They could do with a real role model, not some girl who's only acting like a proper girl for them. Someone like Jessi. And Jessi could use their childish happiness to get over me. But Jessi's smart and my girls already love her. It's natural that they'll work that out on their own.
Maybe my mom could use this wish. Maybe I could wish my stepdad away. If she could dump that bastard, she'd be so much happier. And have more money, since he's the one always spending her hard-earned cash on beer and cigarettes. But, then again, Mom's smart enough that she doesn't really need my help to help herself. If she wants out, she can certainly do it. And I wonder if his leaving her would only make my death harder on her. To make her lose everything all at once? No, that's too cruel.
But no one else here really needs my help. No one else here means as much to me as those four. I wouldn't want to waste my wish on making someone else happy when I could have done something for one of them.
But, wait. Of course! What about the dickwad? My stepdad. Could I wish for him to stop drinking? To be a real husband to my mom? To be the father that he should have been, but never was?
Life Lesson Number One: Forgive those who have wronged you. It may help you forgive yourself for doing the same in return.
I turn to my dad and nod, my mind made up.
You know what you'd wish? he asks.
I nod. If I could wish for one thing, I would wish that Joseph, my stepdad, would stop drinking. I wish he would become the support that Mom needs and the husband she married for.
My dad smiles. So be it. The action around us starts again, as if it had never stopped. I cover my ears to block out the singing for a moment, but my dad looks unbothered by the mass of voices that so suddenly assaults us.
I look around myself after a moment of wincing, hoping to see a change. Some difference in my stepdad's eyes. Some look that says, "I'll change!" But he's still looking up at my casket with a scowl. Still holding his hands to himself. Nothing has changed. But...
It won't happen right away. People can't just change at a moment's notice. Humans aren't made that way, my dad says from behind me.
I nod. I know.
Are you ready to go? We can't stay forever.
I look over at where Jessi's standing next to her parents and where my girls sit behind her, tears running down all their faces and snot clogging their throats so they can only just sing. I turn to my mom and see she's in much the same state, though her face isn't as much a mess and there's a tissue in her hand with the hymnal. They'll be happy eventually, right? I ask, hopeful.
Yes, Annie. Eventually they'll move on and find happiness. Eventually, they'll leave this pain they're feeling right now behind them. It may never fully go away for some of them, but it will lessen and, one day, they'll be happy. My dad draws me into a hug and I find myself letting him. But their happiness isn't ours to share in.
I know.
I tug out of his arms and walk up to my mom, ready to say my last goodbyes. I reach out a hand to her face and stop just shy of touching her, like my dad did before. I find that it doesn't hurt so much when it's not obvious that she doesn't sense me here. Good-bye, Mom. I'll miss you, but I'm with Dad now, so I'll be okay. I move over to my girls and repeat the action with both of them. I'll never forget you, even if you forget me. Take care of each other, okay?
I walk around the pew and stop next to Jessi. Thank you, my love, I whisper, unable to come up with anything else to say. I look back at my dad and nod sadly. I'm ready.
"No, Ana. Thank you."
"Did you say something, Jessica?"
"No, Mom. Nothing important."
.
