by Ron Savarese
She rests her hand on my leg. I look down. Her hand seems to pass through me as if I am nothing more than air. “They’re preparing a celebration for you,” she says.
Maria continues. “Joe, at one point during the celebration, a woman offered me a bottle. I think the woman was Ava. I thought it was a bottle of wine. But it was something else—a powerful elixir. When she handed me the bottle, everything stopped. I opened it and the most fragrant aroma filled the room: the smell of peaches and cherries and strawberries and almonds. I knew if I drank from the bottle, I would stay here and be with my daughter again.”
I reach to touch her face and my hand passes through her cheek, trailing sparks of colored light behind it.
“It was a difficult decision,” she says. “But I was heartbroken after my daughter died. She was our only child, and she died too young. Joe, after her death, I felt like a part of me died with her. Oh, I knew Mark would be sad, but I knew he was strong enough to go on without me. And I wanted to be with my daughter again. Look around you, Joe. Look at the light and the colors glistening off the snow. Look at the beauty. Have you ever felt peace like this? We all have to leave the Earth sometime, Joe. It was my time.”
“So, is this place heaven?”
Maria smiles. “I guess you can say it’s some kind of heaven—but no more than the heaven you can have on Earth, Joe. Everyone makes their own heaven, or hell for that matter, one way or another.”
“So you drank from the bottle?”
“Oh yes, I drank, and the nectar tasted so sweet and pure. It was the nectar of everlasting life. As soon as I drank, the long thin cord that connected my heart to Earth snapped. When that happened, I knew I wasn’t going back again. I had made my decision. My physical body died. It was painless.
“On Earth, they said it was an aneurism. I heard them talking about it there. Did you hear static when you first arrived here Joe? Well, I did. That was part of it I guess. And I saw them standing over my body and trying to revive me. But I didn’t feel a thing, just the snap of the cord. And then I was here. I think I died of a broken heart Joe. It just stopped beating.
“You helped me. After the cord snapped, I was in the water with you. Remember your dream? You put my daughter in my arms and she came back to life. Remember? And then we walked out of the water together. Then I was with my daughter, here in this place.”
Maria looks up into the pink light. “No one ever really dies, Joe. It just seems that way on Earth. It’s passing from one realm into another.”
As Maria speaks, a soft, delicate hum rises and floats effortlessly in the ether: a soft harmonic resonance—an oboe, a violin, a harpsichord, notes and sounds, drifting and lingering.
“Ava was trying to give you a gift,” she says. “A gift of higher consciousness—an awareness of being pure light and love. Ava was trying to show you how to tap into that— how to tap into the kind of love that survives everything.”
Maria is changing. She is a panorama of light and fire. Radiant and sublime. Her form is barely perceptible, and yet, undeniably present. And now I sense her desire. An inexhaustible desire to keep her flame alive.
“My time is almost up,” she says.
Is it the insight of dying that brings me the realization, or am I becoming more aware? I don’t know. But in this moment I realize Maria has summoned every bit of her will to appear before me. “Wait, please stay,” I say.
“I’m sorry Joe. I’ve already stayed too long.” Maria’s image flickers on and off. But she persists. And her image stabilizes faintly. “Oh Joe, remember how we used to play? Remember our first kiss? We were just children then. But children grow up and confront the harsh reality of the world, don’t they? Your world changed after the fire at your house, Joe. I was so sad for you. But you were strong. You persevered. You pushed ahead so valiantly. I knew you would make it in the world and be a success. But I always believed you would be a force for good and spend your talents on things that really matter.”
I reach for Maria’s hand. When I touch her hand the colored light sparkles around it. “Maria, tell me what really matters.”
Maria caresses my cheek. Softly. Gently. “You’ll have to learn that for yourself Joe. I can only tell you what really mattered to me. What really mattered to me was that I opened my heart and gave love.”
She kisses my lips.
“I love you Joe. It’s time.”
Maria’s image dissolves to a blur of circles and lines and back again, slowly fading in and out. “One last thing, Joe,” she says. “As beautiful and peaceful as it is here,” she says, “If I could have my daughter with me, I would make the choice to live life on Earth again—it’s such a gift.”
Then there’s a flash of light. And Maria appears in front of me perfectly clear one last time: her almond eyes, her olive skin, her hair curling softly to her shoulders, her lips pressed together in a soft smile.
I sit on the bench and watch her fade into the falling flakes of snow.
ALBERT
The news of Albert came rolling in like a thunderstorm over the Great Lakes.
I was lying in bed next to Jessica that night. I had just finished reading the first chapter of a new book. I had turned out the light, and was about to fall asleep, when the phone rang. I had my usual response to a ringing telephone at that hour of the night: a knock in the pit of my stomach, and then a tightening in my throat.
I reached for the phone. Who the hell is this, I thought. I knocked over the glass of water I almost always set on my bedside table to drink during the night, but usually didn’t. Water spilled onto the floor.
“Ah shit. Hello.”
“Joe.”
“Yeah… Paul?” His voice sounded different: gruff and gravelly.
“I have some bad news. I hate to call you now so late, but.” He cleared his throat. “But I didn’t want to wait until morning.”
“What’s going on?”
A long pause. Paul cleared his throat again. “It’s about Albert.”
I pulled myself up and rested against the headboard. “What happened?” I knew what Paul was going to tell me but I didn’t want to hear it.
“I don’t how to tell you this.” Paul’s voice cracked and he started to cry. I heard whispers and a shuffling sound in the background and a woman’s voice, hoarse and raspy. “Here Paul, give me the phone. Let me talk.
“Joe, this is Nancy. Albert was found dead late this afternoon outside his apartment. We’re not sure what happened.”
I sat up and turned on the light, squinted in the brightened room.
“The police are still there with the family,” Nancy said. “Somebody said somebody heard a gunshot. But we just don’t know yet. Paul’s really upset. Everyone is.”
Jessica rolled over and looked at me—a puzzled look on her face.
“Oh shit Nancy. Damn. Damn. I should have done something. I knew it.”
Jessica sat up, dazed and startled. “What is it Joe?”
“It’s Albert. He’s dead.”
THE LIGHT PLACE
Pink dissolves into grey. Tangerine and raspberry mix with the seraphic whiteness. Colors crisp and sharp. The snow falls hard. I sit on the bench and look at the cottages just beyond the stone bridge. I think about what Maria said. This is not a dream. This is real.
Crystal blue lights line the edges of the bridge. A woman carrying a small pot walks over it and vanishes into the curtain of snow.
A scatter of branches shakes behind me. I turn. Two forms emerge from a forest through the dense, falling snow, and make their way: a boy and a white dog. The boy sits near me on the bench with his dog at his feet. He loosens the orange scarf around his neck.
“It’s you! You’re here,” I say.
“You didn’t find me,” the boy says.
The boy commands his dog to sit, and stay. He touches the dog’s head gently and runs his hand over its fluffy white coat.
“You didn’t find me and your time is up.”
Here he is at last. How could I have possibly found him? If it is a game we’re playing, then I have lost. Who is this child? Is he the reason I’m here? The woman said he had something for me. This might be my last chance.
“I know I didn’t find you. But you found me. Do you have something for me?” I look at the boy. I can’t help but notice what used to be my own body: my torso, my arms and legs, my hands and feet, now a bundle of white and violet and pink reticulating a human shape and form.
The boy looks at me and then turns and glances at the forest. He ignores my question. At least he’s consistent. “The game is over,” he says. Snow falls. Whiteness now blankets the misty sky. The boy looks back at the path and the forest again.
He says the game is over but does he want to keep playing?
“Is someone in there? Who’s in there?” I ask.
The boy straightens. He commands his dog to jump. The dog jumps on the bench and sits. “My family,” he says.
“Your family?”
I move my hand to touch his dog. The dog licks my open palm. The boy tightens the scarf around his neck and swings one end of it over his shoulder and looks up.
“They heal me,” he says.
It’s been snowing hard since the boy arrived. White flakes float to the ground in heaps and piles. I notice the snow weighing down the branches, how it has piled up on the bridge and covered the cottage rooftops. The lights in the cottages are barely visible through the snow. The blue lights lining the bridge are now just snow-covered domes. I see the faint glow of a lamplight and its reflection in the glossy surface of the dark blue stream. I watch the boy.
“The game is over. It’s time to go,” he says. He jumps from the bench.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
He taps his dog on the head and runs toward the bridge. The dog leaps behind him, leaving no tracks in the snow.
“Wait. Come back!” The snow falls hard. I can’t see the little boy or his dog. I hear a faint call as he trails off into the billow. “It’s Christmas!”
I sit for a moment. I look at myself, all violet and white and pink, meshed and mingled and woven. Then I jump up and run across the bridge. I open the cottage door. The boy sits in front of a fireplace with his dog.
He looks at me calmly, as if he expects me to follow him. He stands. His image and form begin to change. He looks at me. He changes to a young man and then back to a boy. The image shifts back and forth in waves. Finally, it becomes clearer and I can see it’s a young man. It looks like Albert. He speaks muffled sounds that I cannot understand at first and then his form becomes stable.
“Albert, is that you?” I ask.
“I’m sorry Joe. I’m so sorry.”
There’s blood on his clothes and his face is scruffy and unshaven. He turns and shows me a wound in the back of his head.
“Oh Albert! So you’re the little boy!”
“I’m sorry Joe. I’m sorry you had to be the one.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For bringing you here.”
I move closer to him. “You brought me here?”
“Yes, I called you. You came. I need you here.”
“You called me here?”
“Yes”
“But how—what do you mean, you called me?”
“That night in the snow.”
“You mean you were the child in the field?”
Albert, or whatever he is, steps toward me. Blood is caked on his neck and splattered across the front of his shirt; his clothes are tattered and torn. “Yes, in the field.”
Albert steps again toward me, extending his bloodstained hand. I move away. “Albert, are you dying?”
“No, I already died. You’re dying.”
“But I’m not dead yet, am I?”
“Look at yourself.”
“I know. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“You’re close to the end now.”
Albert tries to touch my hand.
“Don’t be afraid. I can help you.” His form vibrates in waves. Then he spins, rotating, faster and faster.
“Albert, what’s happening?”
The spinning continues and then slows until I see him as something altogether different: a being of perfection, young and beautiful.
“Albert?”
“Yes it’s me—me, as I really am.”
“I know about the symbol,” he continues. “I can show you something.”
“You know…What are you talking about?”
“The fourth symbol—the symbol of awakening and immortality. Listen, there’s not much time,” he says. “I think you know what I’m talking about—your connection with Ava. She’s been a part of my healing here. She understands the future of our world. Conflict and greed and negativity will destroy it. But it can be changed if enough people awaken. That’s what Ava was trying to teach you. And there are others who have the knowledge and it’s time for them to share it.”
“Albert, what you’re talking about—it’s too big. No one can…”
“Joe, it’s not too big. And there’s hope. But the human mind in its identity with the ego can’t understand it. The ego will destroy the earth. The ego is the illusion—not this. No, this—what you find here—this is not a dream or an illusion. This is the truth. This is a world of love and light. And it can be this way on Earth too. It can be heaven.”
Albert continues. “I’m going to show you how I died so you’ll know the truth,” Albert says. “It was an accident.” He changes from his perfect form to something awful: pathetic.
He wipes some blood from his face. He stands there gray and ashen. His cheeks smeared with dirt and grit.
“Albert? What’s happening now?”
“This is the last time you will see me this way. I’m doing this for you, so you will understand what happened to me—I was an addict,” he says.
I see now what it was I had tried to avoid. His life—the sadness and despair, the wretched condition Albert had lived in. I try to move toward him, to comfort him. “Did anybody know you were addicted?” I know my question is insincere. I knew. I knew.
“Just the ones who didn’t care.”
I flinch at his answer. “You could’ve called me. I might have been able to help. I could have sent money.”
“Yes, I could have called, and you would’ve come, or you would have sent money, and you would have tried to stop me. Do you really think your money would have helped? I would have just used it to buy more junk. I didn’t want to stop. And it wouldn’t have helped. That’s why I didn’t call. But I called you here.”
I look away. I don’t want to see this.
“Look at me,” he says.
“What about the family?”
“They tried to love me and take care of me. It wasn’t their problem to fix. It wasn’t their fault. They did the best they could. I know that now. I didn’t mean to do it. Really I didn’t. I didn’t mean for it to happen. But I was messed up.”
“The gunshot?”
“Went off when I hit the ground—a freak accident.”
“The back of your head?”
“Not a pretty sight is it?—blew out the left-side of my brain. This is how I looked when I arrived here. But I won’t be like this much longer.”
I try to touch him. But he raises his hand as if to signal that he cannot be touched. “These wounds are almost healed now—remnants of memories and desires.”
He’s becoming a boy again, slowly, before my eyes.
“I went to church that day,” he says. “I’m not sure why. I felt better for a while. It was icy cold, and the roads were slick, but it was a sunny day, and that cheered me up. But as the day wore on I became depressed. I was so tired. I tried to take a nap. There was too much noise in my head. I couldn’t turn it off. I kept hearing voices and feeling the sadness. I just wanted it to stop. But it didn’t.
“So I got up from my bed and walked to the closet. I put my hand in the old shoe box where I kept the gun and
pulled it out. I looked at it. I sat on the bed. I took my little kit out of my dresser drawer. I spread a piece of aluminum foil on my lap and put a little mound of dust on it. I rolled a five dollar bill and put it in my mouth and made a flame underneath the foil. Then I lit it up from below and made sure to inhale all the fumes. It was as if my skull had been torn apart and all its contents mixed with the universe. I was so high. I walked down the stairs and opened the front door. I didn’t see the ice on the steps.”
He turns and gently pats the back of his head and shows me his hand. No more blood.
“Everything disappeared,” he says. “I thought when I died I would see a light. I thought I would be greeted by friends or angels. But all I got was a black pool. And it was just black for a long, long, time. A hundred years, a thousand, maybe more. I don’t know.
“Then I heard my mother crying. And I saw light. My mother was on her knees praying for me. She was all alone in her room. I heard her prayers and I came out of the black. A mother’s love, Joe—the power of that kind of love survives everything, even death. Love and prayers, strong enough to pull me out of hell, the hell I created for myself on Earth.
“I went to her. The light got brighter. I was coming out of the darkness. I tried to put my arms around her. But she couldn’t feel me and I couldn’t feel her. I began to see more light. As I came out of the darkness, I saw people and things. I was there but I wasn’t there.
“I wondered if I had ever left. I was looking at everything through a filter. I tried to talk to people because it was so real to me. After a time I realized I couldn’t communicate with anyone. That was the strangest part of all—to be there next to someone, so close—and yet not there at all.
“So I wandered around with my hazy vision in a place between Earth and some other place. At first I was aware of everything that had happened. I saw people standing over my body. I saw them carry me away. And when I saw the pain I inflicted by my actions on the people who loved me, I began sinking again, down into the black pool.”
If I have a face, it is wrenched in sorrow, if I have eyes they are crying. My Albert, my sweet cousin Albert.
