A Symphony Of Cicadas Part 4

The cops swarmed the room, pouncing on us without warning since we were the only two people left in the house. "She needs help!" I screamed as they pried us apart. A large officer had his arms around me, hugging me from behind as I struggled against him with my kicking legs. I could see the officers pulling Jane to her feet, catching her as she fell over and carrying her from the room. I had no choice but to stop fighting, my strength no match against the determination of the officer who was restraining me, knowing that soon I would have my own troubles to deal with when they called my parents. I never saw Jane again, as she didn't come back the next fall.

"So what'd you die from? Overdose?" I asked Jane as she sat on the bed drinking in the image of me in my wedding gown with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Naw, that s.h.i.t was nothing compared to the cancer," she said with a casual wave of her hand.

"Wait, what? You had cancer? When?" I had heard rumors that Jane had pa.s.sed away a few years after I'd last seen her, but no one knew anything for certain. I'd always a.s.sumed she had died as a result of her reckless lifestyle, so to hear that it was from something like cancer caught me off guard.

"I had it as a kid and beat it. But it came back in my twenties, and this time it was a b.i.t.c.h. Apparently if it attaches itself to enough organs it becomes inoperable." For a moment her body transformed to reveal the gaunt image of her former self, her bones pushing against skin that held no fat, her eyes hidden within the dark circles that surrounded them, her stark scalp shining white underneath a few patches of wispy brown hair. But it only lasted a few seconds. Within the blink of an eye, her emaciated appearance transformed back into the Jane I remembered. She wore her dark hair short, cut close to her head in a pixie haircut that would have looked masculine on anyone but Jane. But for her, the cropped style only enhanced her pet.i.te features, revealing the wideness of her coffee eyes and the dramatic bone structure of her flush cheeks. The heavy makeup she wore in our college days was now replaced by a more natural look. As in life, she had chosen a more punk style a sharp contrast to the wedding gown I was wearing. Her tight jeans were ripped at the thighs, and she wore a cropped tank top underneath a black leather jacket that was adorned with small chains and buckles. Despite her rock-and-roll fashion, she had a captivating radiance I'd never seen on her before a warm appearance that had once been hidden under a mask of constant intoxication and hard knocks.

"So what's the big occasion? Getting ready for prom?" she joked.

"Funny. Actually, it's my wedding day. At least I think it is. I just kind of appeared here when I was thinking about my wedding day, so I'm guessing this is the day. And since I couldn't wear my dress in actual life, I might as well get to wear it now, right?" I studied my image in the mirror, trying to ignore the look of disdain she was giving me.

"Are you for real?" Jane asked. "Okay, first of all you need to get a handle on your traveling technique," she sighed in exasperation. "You own the power to move where you want to go, not the other way around. You shouldn't just be showing up places and not knowing where you're at. Second, this is not your wedding day. You're dead. Third, the sooner you move on from your former life, the better. Trust me on this."

The memory of Aunt Rose in the forest burned through me, her warning ringing in my ears like a bell. I shook my head to rid myself of her image.

"I will," I promised. "Soon. But give me a little time. All this is still so fresh, and I just need to stick around a bit more for closure."

"Your closure, or theirs?" Jane asked. "Because last I checked, they've already lost you and are fully capable of coming to terms with your death without some ghost haunting them. And sticking around people you love who ignore your presence isn't exactly the recipe for getting over longing. I mean, isn't that what bad relationships are made of? Stalking someone who doesn't want you around?" It was hard to ignore her dripping sarcasm.

"That's not fair," I told her. "They don't know I'm here. But if they did, I think they'd want me to stay. I'm not haunting them, I'm just..." I paused, trying to come up with what I was doing. In all honesty, I didn't know. Was I doing this to provide them comfort? Was I being selfish by hanging around? Was I just being codependent on people I loved who had no idea I was even there? What was I trying to accomplish by dressing in my wedding gown on the day that was supposed to be the happiest of my life, a day that would never happen because I was dead?

"You're just being pathetic," Jane said, finishing my sentence. I whipped around and glared at her.

"Maybe I am. But don't I get that right? Everything in my life was finally perfect, and now it's all over before it even began. Can't I be pathetic about it for at least a little while? I just died, for Christ's sake. I think I should get at least a little bit of empathy from you. After all, you weren't exactly the most brilliant being in your former life." She smirked at my attempt to shoot her down, her eyes twinkling as the insult left her ego unscathed and sailed right past her.

"Fine. Wear the dumb dress. Let's go see what your family is up to. If it gets too dreary, maybe I can cause a few things to fly around the air and liven things up," she said laughing.

"You wouldn't, would you? Promise me you won't?" I pleaded. This made her laugh even more, and I realized she was only joking.

"Rachel, they wouldn't see anything even if I turned the room upside down. We're in a whole different kind of world."

I still didn't understand this, knowing she was referring to the same truth Aunt Rose had lit upon when we were in the forest. But I didn't want to distract her from accepting my need to hang on to my former life for just a bit longer. So I gathered up my skirt and started for the door.

"Let's go to the church," I said as I walked out.

"Whatever you say, corpse bride," she joked. I was ready to walk the whole way there, but she grabbed my elbow to stop me. "Honestly Rachel, you need to stop acting like you're human. Walking? Really?"

It was going to take a while for me to get used to my new reality. Feeling sheepish, I smiled at her, and then closed my eyes in deep concentration. In my mind, I visualized the tall ceilings of the church, picturing the dark wood support beams that were in contrast with the white of the walls. I could see the sunlight streaming through the colorful gla.s.s windows that showed the scenes leading up to the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ. In my mind the communion was all laid out on silver trays sitting on white sheets draped over the altar. I could almost smell the incense from the bronze thurible, the smoke wafting through the intricate design of the round metal censer.

And soon, I could.

I opened my eyes and we were there. The room was empty as Jane took a seat in the last pew and I made my way with thoughtful steps toward the front of the church. I couldn't help but pretend that today was real, that there was someone waiting for me at the end of the aisle. When I reached the front, I paused and then turned. No one stood between me and a large statue of the Virgin Mary at the side of the apse, holding up her hand as if to comfort those who looked upon her.

An audible snort could be heard from the back pew, and I turned and glared at Jane.

"If you are this amused by something that is so not funny, maybe you should just go," I spat out.

"No, no. Go on. I don't want to miss the part where no one says you may kiss the bride." She snorted again, not even covering her mouth as she burst into a fit of giggles. The look on my face must have shot daggers through her, because when she looked at me again she did her best to control her laughter. "I'm sorry. I'm being cruel. I'll try to be better."

Standing there at the front of an empty church with a dead addict judging my every move opened my eyes at the absurdity of the whole scene. Why was I here? To play one big game of pretend? Was I hoping that my death would turn out to be just a dream? Was I actually so deluded to think if I wished hard enough, John would appear and we could live happily ever after? I realized I was avoiding reality with silly lies.

I sat on the front pew in both embarra.s.sment and a feeling of confusion. I didn't know where to go from here. The idea of moving on and letting my life go was terrifying to me. What would it say about my life if I just walked away from it? Did it mean I loved John less than I thought I did? Would it mean my life and Joey's life meant nothing?

With a start, I became aware that someone was making their way up the aisle. I turned to see who it was, holding my breath as John reached the front of the church and paused. In an awkward motion, he genuflected while facing the altar, and then sat on one of the pews opposite me.

"He's a looker," Jane called from the back of the church. I ignored her as she gave a low whistle.

John leaned forward and rested his head over his closed fists, and I could hear the murmur of his whispers while his eyes were closed. I realized with a start that he was praying, something I had never seen him do when I was alive. I leaned in to listen, afraid to get too close despite the reality that he wouldn't even know I was there. While anyone else in the room might have heard the shuffling of his lips without any words taking shape, I could hear his prayer as clear as if he were whispering it into my ear.

"Please, Lord, give me strength to make it through every day, especially today. I know I haven't been the man you created me to be, and I haven't really done that much for you or for others. I don't attend church anymore, and I can't remember the last time I donated anything to those less fortunate than me. Lord, I know I don't deserve your kindness, and maybe you're paying me back for not doing enough. But I can't do this without your help."

John sighed, whispering "Please Lord" over and over as his prayer. He stayed like that until the audible sound of the doors in the back opened, signaling that he was no longer alone. He ended his prayer with a flurry of hand movements from his head to his heart before touching each of his shoulders. Whispering "Amen," he turned to see who was coming in the room. My parents held hands as they walked down the aisle, followed by Sara and Kevin. I peered around them to see if Megan and Lily were following, but they weren't anywhere around. The four of them joined John where he sat, my mother resting her hand for a moment on his shoulder. By the way she pursed her lips, I could tell she wanted to say something. But instead, she squeezed his shoulder before sitting right next to him.

A few more people filed in, and took a seat. Looking around I could see that these were all people we had invited to our wedding, although they were not dressed for a celebration. Wearing different shades of navy, gray, and black were my cousins, a few aunts and uncles, some friends of my parents, and a few acquaintances, many of whom slid into a pew close to the back. The turnout seemed to be fewer than the affirmative RSVPs I had received in prior weeks. I sat in solitude on my pew in the front row, as did John and my family steps away from across the aisle.

The priest came from a doorway next to the front of the church wearing a long white ca.s.sock crested with a purple stole that wrapped around the back of his neck and hung long on the front of his robe. He walked to the altar and lifted the thurible. Swinging it to the right a few times, and then the left, he sang a low prayer in Latin before placing it back on its hook with care.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," he said, lifting his hands in the sign of the cross towards those now standing in front of the pews. "Please be seated." The pews creaked in complaint as everyone took their seat and waited for what would happen next.

"Hallelujah!" the priest exclaimed. The room jumped at his sudden proclamation, not expecting his voice to be so explosive. The priest held his hands out in a V. "It is said in the Book of Revelation nineteen, verses six through nine, 'Our Lord G.o.d Almighty reigns. Let us rejoice and be glad and give Him glory! For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready.'" I held my breath at these words, afraid of how they might affect John as he sat next to my mother on what was supposed to be our wedding day. "'Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb,'" the priest continued, adding, "These are the true words of G.o.d." I peered over at John, but he held no emotion on his face as he listened with intent to what the priest had to say.

"Friends, today was expected to be a different kind of celebration, one with much joy and laughter over the beginning of a new life of unity for John and Rachel. But the Lord works in ways we cannot understand, sometimes changing the course we have set for ourselves and closing off the paths we expected to travel." He paused, letting these words echo off the stark walls, puncturing the silence among my friends and family. "I do not pretend to know why the Lord called Rachel home early, or the plans He has for you, John, in the wake of her death. But as a servant of the Lord, I can only determine that He has a purpose in all of this.

"The verse I just read is of the feast that awaits us in the second coming, when the world is no longer and we are reunited with the Son and our Creator. The bride is the church, the people who have spent every day of their earthly lives preparing for the moment they come face to face with our Lord and Savior to serve Him in all eternity." The priest took another dramatic pause against the quiet before continuing. "Rachel may not be here today for a wedding celebration. But friends, she is attending a wedding celebration of another kind. She is with our Father, our G.o.d in Heaven, reunited with our Lord for all eternity in a feast unmatched by what can be created on earth. Today, Rachel attends a wedding celebration more beautiful than anything we can imagine."

The priest continued to speak of life after death to the small crowd of mourners, but his voice became lost in the background as I tuned out. This afterlife he described seemed like the stuff of fairytales. My upbringing had included Sunday visits to church, and stories out of the Bible; I had been fed lines of hope, just like these people who gathered in memorial just weeks after my death, that there was something wonderful waiting for me on the other side of life. But I stopped attending church in my adult years and lived life with little thought of religion. Even so, I was at peace believing that those who pa.s.sed before me were headed for Heaven. It seemed much easier to believe that there was life after death than to believe that our life on earth was all there was.

But now, here I was, continuing to exist despite the absence of my human body, and I had yet to see any pearly gates, angels singing in exaltation, or a G.o.d in Heaven who was welcoming me "home."

Anger overwhelmed me all at once. At a time when I needed help most of all, I felt abandoned and deceived by the stories fed to me in my youth. I wanted to create a scene, shake the room, do anything to get the attention of everyone who was there and reveal that all this religious talk was nothing but a lie to give them comfort that in fact I was stuck on the other side of life with nothing but my overwhelming emotions and a loneliness like nothing I'd ever felt before.

I could see by John's face that he was finding peace in the priest's words, and my anger intensified. How dare this priest drag John into believing this bulls.h.i.t!

"It's all a f.u.c.king lie!" I screamed, jumping from my seat and facing my family and friends who sat watching the priest from their pews. "Don't listen to him," I shouted at them. "There is no Heaven or h.e.l.l, there is no G.o.d welcoming us home or devil trying to snare our souls! When you die, you just exist forever in this nothing of a h.e.l.lhole. There is no reason, no purpose, nothing!" The small crowd looked in my direction, their expressions peaceful as they peered right through me towards the priest as he spoke.

I marched over to John, pushing my billowing white skirts to the side and kneeling in front of him so that my eyes were at his level. "John, there is no magical reason for all this," I whispered inches from his face. "There is no higher purpose as to why I died. I was killed for no other reason than to serve a selfish need of someone on the other side of life. It wasn't to open your life up to better things or because G.o.d was calling me home. Our destiny was shaped by the whim of a lonely woman. That's all."

I was pained by the vacant look in John's eyes, even as I tried to catch his attention with my intense gaze. I missed the recognition that had lit up his expression whenever he saw me, how his eyes had smiled down upon me even when his mouth wasn't doing the same. Being near him now after death, I knew there would always be this invisible barrier between the two of us as long as he was alive and I was not. For a brief second I was able to understand the intensity Aunt Rose must have felt in my final moments of life, but I shook the feeling away as fast as it came. There was no way I would ever feel any kind of compa.s.sion for a woman who upended the lives of so many in favor of her own longing.

The energy in the room shifted as the priest gave his final thoughts on life after death. When he finished speaking, those in the pews filed out one by one. The last to leave were John and my family. They stayed just long enough to thank the priest before making their exit through the large wooden doors that led out of the church. Even though it had been my intention all along to follow them, I stayed behind in the almost vacant church. I watched as the priest bowed his head over the altar and moved his lips in a silent prayer. He then gathered up the tray of Communion and the thurible, and disappeared through the same door he came in at the beginning of the service. The church was now empty except for my spirit, as well as the spirit of Jane who still sat almost forgotten in the back of the room.

Eight.

I could feel Jane come up to me in quiet kindness as I sank onto the pew in front.

"You know it isn't always going to be about you." She sat down next to me, folding her hands in her lap. We both faced forward, the statue of a dying man on a cross looking down at us. "They're going to move on, live life without you, forget certain details about you as their lives keep going."

"I know," I whispered. "Coming here was a mistake, wasn't it?"

"I don't know," she replied. Her sarcasm was gone, replaced with a seriousness I had never experienced from her. I sensed she would answer any questions I had in the moment, but I was so confused I didn't even know where to start. After a few moments of silence, I decided to begin with the most obvious.

"Is the idea of G.o.d a lie?" I asked, turning toward her. She smiled.

"I don't think so," she said.

"What do you mean?" I asked, more confused by her lack of a definitive answer. "How can you not know? You've been dead for years!"

"First, time is relative. To you it felt like years since our paths last crossed, but to me it varies from feeling like a mere moment to feeling like an eternity. Second, we still exist even though we're unattached to our bodies. The fact that we don't just evaporate into a vast nothing tells me that there must be a force greater than ours. Have I seen G.o.d? No. But I feel Him, and I believe in Him, and that gives me hope that there's a reason behind all of this."

"Like the hope those people were given about where I am in death, even though it's nothing like where we actually are," I muttered.

"You could see it that way," she said. "Or you can believe like I do, that this isn't our final destination. I can't help but think there's more to this, that we haven't seen all there is to come."

"But you've been dead for over a decade! I know to you it's 'all relative,' but in human time, almost fifteen years have pa.s.sed since you were alive. And you still haven't seen G.o.d? You're going to tell me that, despite all that, you're still waiting for something more to happen? What if this is all there is?"

"Rachel, if every person who died had a spirit in the afterlife, wouldn't this place be crawling with them? And yet, how many spirits have you come across?"

"Two, including you," I admitted. I hadn't thought of that. "So where are they?" I asked her.

"That's the part I don't know. I can only a.s.sume there's a Heaven. I've felt the pull toward something unknown out there, a feeling that entices me to leave all this behind for something much bigger. But I'm not ready yet. I loved the world, and despite appearances, the world loved me. So I stick around just to see life unfold without me, and find my own sense of Heaven in that."

"Do you know where my son is?" I asked her.

"Maybe Heaven? Maybe a reality that differs from this one? I don't know. But I wouldn't worry about him. Nothing can happen to him if he's already dead," she said, not even trying to be gentle about the truth. Despite my own lack of life, the mere mention of his death made me wince.

"I can't help but worry about him. This is the first time I've ever been away from him. It kills me that I couldn't protect him in life and he died as a result. I don't know how he's handling death, if he's scared and alone like I was, or what. I want to find him, but I feel helpless because I don't know the first place to start."

I stopped there, even though there was more to it. The bigger truth was that I felt torn. The mother in me, the woman who loved her son more than life itself, wanted to race to the ends of the earth to find him and make sure he was safe. But a deeper feeling had taken root, overwhelming my maternal instincts, and it wanted me to stay where I was. My desire was to stay close to the people who were still alive and see how life went on without me. But that desire was being translated into a mess of jealousy, longing, sadness, anger, and frustration, a war of emotions as I viewed the people I loved-maybe even loved more in death than in life. And yet, as close as I got to them I still felt separated from them. Just remembering the way John looked through me while in the church filled me with an unquenchable thirst to be noticed. Even though I now had more power than I had even attempted to discover, I missed how it felt to be human, to feel emotions on a lesser scale and tethered to the earth in my body. I missed being in John's arms and how it felt when he breathed into my hair. I missed the sensations I took for granted in life, like being cold or hot, hungry or tired, and all the other feelings that I once dreaded.

Amidst the reality of my death was the somber awareness that being around those still alive was more important to me than knowing where my son was. I tried to tell myself it was because he was okay. After all, he was already dead. I ended up okay after death, so why shouldn't he? But truth be told, I had no idea if he was okay or not. And while I was worried, I was afraid to leave behind everyone I loved in life to go search for him. Besides, I didn't even know where to start.

"Let's get out of here," Jane said, interrupting my thoughts. "I know the perfect distraction for you. But first, you really need to get out of that dress." I looked down at my wedding gown, then gave Jane a sheepish grin. I closed my eyes and concentrated, envisioning myself in a different outfit. It took just a moment for the weight of my wedding dress to be replaced by the feel of a lighter fabric. I looked down and smiled at the filmy yellow material of a sundress, a color that had washed out my complexion in life whenever I had attempted to wear it. Now, my skin radiated a brilliant gold next to the sunshiny hue.

"Okay, ready. Where to?" I asked her.

"That, my dear girl, is a surprise," she smirked, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me into a vortex of speed, darkness, and light. The dramatic lighting and silence of the church was left behind, soon replaced by the sounds of laughter and music, flashing lights, and the smell of cotton candy and popcorn. My eyes adjusted to my surroundings and I grinned at the scene around us.

"A carnival?" I squealed. "That's your distraction?"

"Can you think of anything better?" she asked. I shook my head with a smile as I surveyed the grounds. I recognized this place; we'd traveled to the boardwalk carnival in Santa Cruz. I hadn't been there since I was a child, and I flashed back to when my parents had packed up my sister and me for a weekend trip to the rides and roller coaster on the beach. I remembered how the three-hour car ride had felt like an eternity, though the soundtrack of Genesis singing 'Home by the Sea' and 'Illegal Alien' through the tape deck helped us to sing the time away. Years later, that alb.u.m still transported me back to seven-years-old, when our only view was of the ocean as we went round and round on the Ferris wheel. And now seeing the same view, I felt seven-years-old again, the excitement inside me hard to contain. I watched the people traveling from booth to booth, trying their hand at shooting targets to knock down ducks, or throwing darts to pop balloons. The dings of the bells filled my ears as someone won a prize. A carnival worker handed a lady a bouquet of balloons and she thanked him with a hug. Then, without warning, she floated into the sky as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What?" I asked, unable to believe my eyes. "But I thought..." It was Jane's turn to be sheepish.

"Okay, so you know how I said I don't know where everyone goes when they die?" she asked with a grin. "It's not exactly a lie. I really don't know what comes after this. But I do know where some spirits go when they're not ready to leave the world. Usually it's places that are filled with happiness and lots of other people. When I died, that's all I wanted to find. That's how I discovered this place. Apparently I wasn't alone."

I looked around. Now that I knew what I was seeing, it was clear that there were more spirits here than just us. Among the carnies and the laughing families in the living world, I caught glimpses of those in my own world hitching a ride on the fun. A group of boys ran past us, joined by two more they couldn't see who wore cropped pants and b.u.t.ton-up shirts from another era. Spirits joined the living on the colorful rides, nabbing untaken seats just before the ride began. As if they were a little brighter, I was soon able to spot the dead from the living. Some wore old-fashioned clothing; others wore the styles of today. They all seemed to be having fun.

"Come on!" Jane prompted, grabbing my hand and pulling me to follow her through the crowd. I laughed as I followed, getting wrapped up in the vibrant colors and delicious smells, the sounds of ringing bells and laughter becoming a part of us. Jane grabbed a tuft from the top of an unsuspecting child's cotton candy and placed it in her mouth. With only a slight hesitation, I copied her action and placed the stolen pink cloud in my mouth. I was surprised when the brightness of the sweet candy sparkled with flavor on my tongue, just as it had years ago as a child.

"We can still taste food?" I asked, and she laughed.

"Of course we can! Can't you hear, smell, and feel? Why can't you also taste?" I immediately grabbed another handful of cotton candy from a kid pa.s.sing by, this time a baby blue, and stuffed it in my mouth. A hot dog lying on a cart became my next meal, and I savored the way the hot juices exploded in my mouth with each satisfying bite. All the foods I had resisted as I worried about calories and getting fat were now beckoning me to indulge in a feast of culinary abandon.

"I never thought anything could taste so good," I said in between bites of nacho-cheese-covered tortilla chips, popcorn, and chocolate-covered ice cream, inhaling the feast I had laid out in front of me. Jane had her own spread of forbidden foods in front of her, gorging on pizza and a hamburger as if she hadn't eaten in weeks.

"I know!" she exclaimed with a full mouth, making it come out in a garbled answer. Holding her finger up, she chewed for a few more moments and then gave a hard swallow. "When I was a kid, I was totally fat," she told me. I blinked in disbelief.

"But you were so thin when I knew you!" I exclaimed. I'd only seen her with a lean frame, her appearance showing no hint that weight had ever been an issue for her. I had a hard time envisioning her as anything heavier than the healthy weight she now carried.

"Trust me, I knew how to pack on the pounds. I guess I just loved food so much I didn't know how to say no. The worst part was that my mom and sister were naturally thin. I took more after my dad who sported a gut almost all of my life. My mom was always on my case about food, comparing me to my sister. 'You'd be so pretty if you just lost the weight,' she'd tell me. 'Look at Tabitha; why can't you be more like her?' she'd ask, holding me up to an impossible goal. My mom would limit my foods and hide the sweets from me. But I knew where they were, and would constantly skim off the top, sneaking in bites of hidden candy and feeling guilty all the time. When she had me put the dinner leftovers in the refrigerator, I'd take advantage of the food in front of me and help myself to another serving. My favorite snack was a heaping spoonful of peanut b.u.t.ter and ice cream. Food was my addiction, and because of it I got up to two hundred pounds by the time I was fifteen years old."

"So how did you stop?" I asked her, picking at the nuts that covered my ice cream. I could relate to the love-hate relationship with food all too well. Like every woman I had ever known, I'd fed into the impulse to be thinner and more fit, especially as my wedding approached. Thing is, even when I'd lose the five pounds I had set my mind to, it never seemed enough. I'd end up losing and gaining the same five pounds over and over again, all the while certain that those few pounds were a screaming billboard on my thighs and waist. But even as I thought about my own struggles, I knew they were small compared to the struggle with obesity Jane was detailing.

"I guess I just became aware of the way people were looking at me and how I was being judged by my weight. When my mom did it, it was one thing. But eventually my friends started hanging out with me less, a swimsuit was the most terrifying contraption in the world, and I kept growing out of my pants before they were even broken in. I found the motivation to change when I realized that no one wanted to be around the fat kid, not even me." She smirked, popping a French fry in her mouth. "Of course, you got to see how that turned out."

"You mean the drugs?" I asked.

"Yup. I started out with the best of intentions, cutting my meals in half and avoiding all foods that made me want to binge. I began taking walks around my neighborhood and riding my bike everywhere. I even began to see some weight loss. But you know how the teenage years go. Someone introduced me to speed, and I realized I could lose weight even faster while also experiencing this incredible adrenaline rush. With that came my liquid diet of tequila. And soon I was on a constant high with whatever I could get my hands on. I traded one addiction for another." She took another bite of food, this time chewing much slower before she washed it down with a drink of soda. She then looked at me and grinned. "I guess that's one of the reasons I love it here so much, because of the food. It's my favorite part. I can eat whatever I want and never get sick or full, or even fat. And I can actually enjoy my food because there's no guilt. I think it makes it taste even better that way."

I looked off to the lights of the Ferris wheel as it turned its lazy rotation against the darkening sky. The blinking red, yellow, and blue held their own slow beat, beckoning me with a hypnotic pulse as they went around and around. I held Jane's hand and felt only the slightest pull as we left the feast of junk food and found ourselves sharing a seat at the top of the ride looking out across the whole of the carnival.

At the highest point, the park looked like glowing embers. We could hear the faint metal sound of the roller coaster whipping around the tracks, screams echoing in an ebb and flow of fear mixed with delight. Carnies called out from unseen games, their words not quite audible to us as they got lost in a sea of noise. The whole carnival was alive, filling us with that void in our afterlife, feeding us the heartbeat and pulse of blood we were missing as we pretended to be a part of it all. In the distance I could see the spirits of those who had pa.s.sed, rising and falling into the night sky, plunging against the stars while holding dozens of balloons.

"I think I could stay here forever," she said, and I agreed.

We studied the view in silence on our slow journey around the wheel, catching our breath at the jump in our bellies as it picked up speed, and taking in the gusts of air that rushed past our cheeks and through our hair. I closed my eyes and leaned back, reveling in the moment of being off guard, out of control, and at the whim of the ride. But in the back of my mind was John, his unshaven face and sad eyes staring back at me in abandonment. Even further behind him was Joey, his evaporating image haunting me with the knowledge that I still hadn't found my son. I opened my eyes and looked at Jane. Her eyes were still closed as the wind whipped her short hair away from her face. A small trail of tears was traced from her eyes into her hairline, the constant rush of air pushing it back from her face instead of down her cheeks. I realized the Santa Cruz carnival was her escape, where she hid from all the demons that haunted her in life and followed her into death. It was here that she was able to leave them all behind, even for just the moment. But did we ever really get to leave behind these hurts that ate at our souls while we were living? Judging by the emotional stream on her face, I guessed not. I took her hand again, and she opened her eyes and smiled at me. The tears evaporated as if they never existed.

"I can't really stay here forever," I told her, and I saw the slightest quiver in her smile before she squeezed my hand.

"I know," she said.

"I have to find my son," I told her.

"He'll find you when it's time."

"I need to stay with John," I whispered. Her smile was wistful.

"I know," she repeated, whispering the words back to me. We let the weight of that statement hang between us in the moment. I knew I was willing myself to be weighted down in the afterlife by focusing on the living. I was beginning to understand even more what Aunt Rose had described to me, the addiction that takes place when surrounded with those we loved in life, and how much heavier it became with time. I knew that on this Ferris wheel I was being presented with a choice to walk away or to run back into the addiction. I knew that I was making the wrong choice. But I didn't care. I realized that no heaven was truly perfect unless I could see John's face every moment of the day.