“That’s not exactly helpful.”
Crosby gives me a sideways look. “You ever go swimming in a lake?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Just humor me.”
“I’m from Wisconsin and I went to Girl Scout camp. What do you think?”
“When you’re swimming in a lake, you can’t see where you’re going, right? Even in the best conditions, the water’s murky.”
I nod and sigh. “You can’t usually see more than a yard or so past your fingertips.”
“You can swim all the way across like that.”
“Yeah, but so what?” I ask.
“Atman is the same thing. If you only focus on what’s on the other side of the lake, you might forget to paddle.”
I lean back on the couch. “So, what’s at my fingertips right now?”
“In your first few days here, your focus is simple. You just need to remember the three A’s. Adapt, accept, acknowledge. You need to focus on adapting to your new environment. Take everything in, learn the rules, adjust to the schedule and your new living arrangements. Adapt.”
“I feel like I should be taking notes.”
“There’s no shortage of reminders and motivation around here.” He points to a sign hanging on the wall next to the door.
WE ARE ALL THREADS IN THE TAPESTRY OF ETERNITY
“You mean propaganda.”
“Tomayto, tomahto.” He smiles. “But it works.”
“So, what’s accept?”
“Accept your surroundings. Your soul isn’t ready to move on, but accepting the fact that you really are here is an important first step.”
“And acknowledge?”
“Acknowledge your feelings. Whatever they may be. You’re on an emotional rollercoaster. It’s important to acknowledge and give voice to your feelings while maintaining control of your physical reactions.”
“Give voice? Okay, I’m feeling cranky. And tired. And overwhelmed. And pissed off. That a good start?”
“It’s important to take this seriously. Especially the acknowledge part. It helps minimize side effects in the immediate aftermath of death. Fatigue and mood swings are the most common. Anxiety can reach severe levels if you aren’t mindful of your feelings. You can also experience what is called a link-burst, which is an energy surge between yourself and a close family member or friend on the other side.”
“What?” I ask, alarmed.
He waves a dismissive hand. “Hardly ever happens. If it does, you’ll find yourself feeling a little queasy is all. Following the acknowledge rule can help you avoid it altogether.” He stands. “How about we get out of here? You need some time to clear your head before you really dive into the manual.”
“Can’t wait.”
“There’s a cafeteria not far from here. Do you want something to eat?”
“Why would I?”
“You’d be surprised. Eating is one of the hardest things for many of our transitional souls to let go of.”
“Well, I’m not hungry.”
He holds out his hand to me. “Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
I consider him. “You done pinning me to the ground?”
He raises his eyebrows. “You done giving me a reason to?” He wiggles his fingers. “Come on. Fresh start, okay?”
I summon every bit of remaining irritation. “Fine. Lead the way, Bing.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
I'm sitting at a table next to Crosby and across from a girl I’ve been told I’m here to meet. The cafeteria is a virtual clone of my high school lunchroom, complete with long tables and bench seats, bright orange plastic trays, and horrible white linoleum speckled with black flecks.
Gross.
Posters hang on the walls, declaring their propaganda in bright, happy print. Reading each one makes my head swim.
THINK IT. BECOME IT.
EVER FORWARD!
TOGETHER WE STAND, INDIVIDUALLY WE LET GO.
A JOURNEY OF ONE IS MADE STRONG BY MANY.
Give me a freaking break.
In case the posters aren’t enough, no less than six clocks hang on the walls. Military time, down to the millisecond.
“You sure you don’t want anything, Dez?” Crosby asks.
My mouth curls into a sneer. “How is Coke going to help me move on?”
He shrugs. “Maybe it won’t. It all depends on the person. If you don’t feel a connection, great. That’s one less thing you’ll have to work on. But I’m telling you, if you go too long without eating—at least at first—you’re going to start to feel weird.”
Like this isn’t already weird?
With a shake of my head, I flip open the conduct manual, skim past the welcome message, and begin reading.
Atman Station and its surrounding environs have been specifically designed to meet the needs of transitional souls. The rules and regulations you will be learning, together with the schedule we maintain, may seem overwhelming. Please bear in mind that they are all in your best interest. Full cooperation and participation will hasten your departure.
I scan the pages with disinterest. The final entry on the last page catches my attention.
DORMITORY DAILY SCHEDULE
ALL TOWERS (SUNDAY–FRIDAY)
08:00–08:30 Morning meditation
08:30–09:30 Partnership Path to Progress
09:30–11:30 Individual work
11:30–12:30 Free hour (lunch)
12:30–14:30 Opportunities in Action Work Program
14:30–16:00 Open recreation
16:00–16:30 Sharing Circle
16:30–17:00 Active Body, Active Soul
17:00–20:00 Free time
20:00–20:30 Evening reflection
20:30–22:00 Quiet time in rooms
22:00 Dream-State Reflection begins
Note: Saturday is always a free day with no scheduled activities.
I flip the manual shut. “What the hell is ‘Active Body, Active Soul’? Do we even have bodies?”
“You’ll learn all about it, starting tomorrow,” Crosby says. “Just relax and be glad you died on a Saturday.”
“Lucky me.”
He looks at the manual. “I know it seems like a lot of jargon, but there is a reason for everything we do here.”
A dark, gloomy cloud hangs over me, expanding with each incomprehensible moment. “If you say so,” I mutter.
My gaze is drawn to the strange, silent girl across from me. She has dark, straight hair that just touches her shoulders. She seems to be actively trying to ignore my complaining; her eyes are fixed on a gigantic cup of soda she’s holding with both hands. She takes a long pull, and the straw makes that gurgling sound that lets you know you’ve run out. She keeps at it, swirling the straw around in the ice to find every last drop.
Crosby looks over at her. “Hannah? This is Desiree Donnelly.”
“Everyone calls me Dez,” I say automatically.
She looks up from her drink and smiles. “I’m Hannah Yoon. Everyone calls me Hannah.” She laughs, her brown eyes trained on me in anticipation. I give her an obligatory smile in return.
Crosby turns to me, looking wary. “You and Hannah are going to be roommates.”
“We have roommates? What for?”
I should be getting a college roommate in a few months.
“There are many reasons,” Crosby says. “The first is logistics: all underage souls reside in dorms, and you are each assigned a roommate accordingly.”
“Is the afterlife getting crowded or something?”
“No,” Crosby says flatly. “The second reason is that you benefit from the companionship of a roommate. After many millennia of experimentation, we arrived at this system because it’s what works.”
“Doesn’t God, or whoever it is, already know everything? And what do you mean by ‘underage souls’? How do you define that?”
Crosby exchanges a look with Hannah. “Remind you of anyone?” he ask
s her.
She holds up her hand with her thumb and index finger millimeters apart. “Yeah, just a teeny bit.”
“Remember when I told you to forget everything you thought you knew?” Crosby asks me. “The omniscience of God is not a good jumping-off point for ignoring my advice.”
“Fine.” I say. “But you didn’t answer my underage soul question.”
“Any person who dies before their eighteenth birthday is considered underage.” He crosses his arms and watches me, waiting for my inevitable response.
“Isn’t that kind of arbitrary? What about emancipated minors? What about people from nations where legal adulthood is reached before they’re eighteen?”
“It has nothing to do with the legal parameters set in life. At eighteen, your soul experiences a major metaphysical shift, making for a different set of needs after death. The shift is intangible in life, but it’s not a coincidence so many cultures associate that age with crossing into adulthood.”
“I’ll be eighteen in a few months. Does that mean I’ll get to move to the city?”
“I’m afraid not,” he says. “There is an interconnectedness of body and soul that leads to the change. Your soul must occupy your living body to experience the shift.”
“Great.”
“The good news is, once you move on, it’s like hitting a reset switch. A great equalizer, so to speak. But as long as you’re here, your soul is in a state of limbo.”
“If that’s the case, how are we supposed to grow and change?”
“You will. Just because your soul doesn’t change into that of an adult while you’re here doesn’t mean it won’t change at all. There are stages of growth in death, just as there are in life.”
“Sounds like a cryptic bunch of crap to me,” I say.
“Well, it’s all the answer you’re getting. We’re getting off track.”
Hannah jumps back into the conversation. “So what happened to you?” She angles her cup so the straw points toward her. “Plane crash.”
“Really?”
She nods. “You remember the KoreAir flight that crashed during takeoff in L.A.? About two years ago?”
A chill runs up my spine. “My dad’s a pilot. Flies the nonstop from Minneapolis to Tokyo, and sometimes fills in on one with a layover in Los Angeles. That crash happened two runways over from him, right when he was taxiing.”
Hannah shrugs. “No wonder we’re going to be roommates.”
“Because my dad was a couple of runways away when you … ”
“Died?” Hannah asks matter-of-factly. “It’s okay to say it.”
“How can you be so casual about it?”
“I’m not always. If I were really, completely okay with being dead, I’d be out of here.”
I close my eyes as the scream of metal echoes in my mind. The chill of the icy pavement on my road-burned skin sends a memory of goose bumps up my arms.
“Stay with me,” the trucker says. “Help’s coming.”
I check the time. Dad’s flight should be landing any minute. Are they having someone meet him at the gate? Are they taking him straight to the morgue? Was I alive long enough to be airlifted to one of the Twin Cities hospitals?
My dad is about to find out I’m dead.
He’ll never again give me that look that dads give their daughters for growing up too fast, and I’ll never again give him that look daughters give their dads for wearing socks with sandals.
“Dez? You okay, kiddo?” Crosby asks.
I swallow back bile. “Fine,” I say. It’s a monumental task, but I focus on Hannah and change the subject. “You've been here two years?”
She narrows her gaze, but doesn’t press me, instead holding up her wrist for inspection.
LEVEL 09-028-756
“756 days, to be exact,” she says.
“What’s the twenty-eight?” I ask.
“The number of days I’ve been on level nine. You’ll be on level one for thirty days, and then you get bumped to two. But that’s the only step up that’s guaranteed. The rest you have to work on.”
Crosby nods. “Level one’s an evaluation period. Your counselor and our staff will tailor the program to better assist you, and identify areas most likely to hold you back. After ten days, you’ll be assigned your first job rotation.”
“What’s the point? How is a job going to help me get out of here?”
“Everyone works here,” Crosby says. “You get a new assignment every ninety days.” He flips open the manual and points to an entry in the schedule: 12:30–14:30 Opportunities in Action Work Program.
“Awesome,” I say.
“It’s actually kind of fun,” Hannah says, smiling.
Crosby nods. “Once you move to level two, you can’t ever go back to one. You move up and down the scale from there based on your participation and cooperation.”
“Until you reach ten,” Hannah says. “That’s when you get to leave.” She holds up her wrist. “But this thing only goes to nine. It vanishes when they issue your ticket.”
“So you’re pretty close to getting out of here?” I ask.
She shrugs. “It could still take a long time. I've still got some stuff to work out, huh, Crosby?”
He smiles. “You're getting there. Each step forward—”
“Is a step toward completion.”
I make a quiet but noticeable gagging noise. “Is this what I'm going to turn into?”
“There are worse things.” His face is stern with a would-you-stop-it look.
Hannah looks down at the table, her smile gone.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn't mean to insult you.”
“It's not so bad, you know.”
“What?”
“This place. You have to get used to it. I mean, yeah, it’s hard. Really hard. There are tons of rules and the schedule is strict. They push us way out of our comfort zones, but it’s all for a reason. Whether we like it or not,” Hannah says, “we’re stuck here, so you may as well make the best of it.”
“Sounds great,” I grumble. From the sound of things, I have two choices in this creepy nightmare: fake it or fight it.
To go along or to keep fighting, that is the question. “So I’ve got this tome”—I tap the manual—“and I’ve got a roommate, but you’re leaving out one big thing.”
Crosby raises his eyebrows. “What’s that?”
“The city. You said you’d explain. It looks like the one fun thing to do around here, so what’s the deal?”
He folds his hands and places them on the table. “Underage souls are strictly forbidden from travel to and within the city.”
“We’re dead, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”
The look in Hannah’s eyes is a clear warning that I’m treading into dangerous territory.
Crosby’s face darkens. “There are only three things you need to know about the city. One, it is extremely dangerous; two, if the City Guard catches you there, penalties are swift and severe; and three, if I catch you, the City Guard will be the least of your worries. Got it?”
My cheeks burn. “Got it.”
Crosby stands. “I’m late getting back.”
“You’re leaving?” I ask, torn between lingering fury over the Crosby-slash-Gideon incident and the fear of losing the one person I know here.
“You’ll be fine.” He turns to Hannah. “Will you finish showing her around? Get her settled in?”
“Sure thing,” she says.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Crosby raises his hand and waves goodbye.
“Thanks a lot,” I call after him.
Hannah stares at the table and rips her straw wrapper into tiny pieces. “I was like you when I first got here.” She looks up at me. “Well, not so brave, but definitely angry like you.”
“I did just die today. Angry goes with the territory.”
Hannah angles her cup so the straw is pointing at me this time. “Yeah, but there’s more to it than that.”
>
“I don’t even know you. I’m not ready to pour out my life story.”
The casual conversations from nearby tables, the clattering of dishes, the hubbub of normalcy is enough to transport me home, if only for a brief escape. I can almost convince myself it’s just an ordinary day at school and I’m sitting with friends during lunch, Katie and Ava brown-bagging it while I take my chances with the school’s offering.
I’ll never have an ordinary day again.
“We all left lives behind,” Hannah says. “Proms we never went to, graduations we’ll never see. I didn't even have the chance to get my driver’s license.”
“That sucks.”
“Tell me about it. My parents wanted me to wait a few months to take the road test. Thought I wasn’t ready. And then I died on a plane.” She swirls the ice around in her cup again, and we fall into a gloomy silence.
No more girls’ nights, scaring the crap out of ourselves with cheesy horror movies.
No trip—Ava, Katie, and I promised we’d celebrate college graduation together in an epic fashion: unleashing ourselves on the hostels of Western Europe.
I was busy preparing for a life I’ll never get to live, and now I’m stuck in some afterlife nightmare of rules, sharing, and, inexplicably, cafeteria food. I wrinkle my nose, noticing an unnatural sweetness to the air.
“Smells funny, right?” Hannah asks.
“What is that?"
“It's just one of the weird things about this place. There are about a million of them.” She steps around the side of the table and sits next to me. “Where are you from?” Hannah asks.
I sigh. “A small town in Wisconsin you’ve never heard of. How about you?”
“Las Vegas. What’s Wisconsin like?”
“The townies always say it’s the kind of place kids should be grateful to grow up in. Safe, small, and tight-knit. Not like it matters now, right?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up stuff you’re not ready to talk about.”
I wave off her concern. “So, what’s Jhana Towers?”
“You remember those spires you saw when you first got off the train?”
Life, A.D. Page 4
