by Tara West
A blaring trumpet, followed by a chorus of angels belting “Ahhhh!” blasted from the computer speaker, followed by a voice deeper than James Earl Jones telling me I had mail.
Okay, that was weird, but I should have been used to weird by now, right?
“You’ve got five hundred messages in your inbox,” Vickie said as she clicked on the first one.
“They started her off with a light load,” Nikki said behind us.
“Listen to each voice mail and either delete or forward it to the next level.” Vickie picked up a set of headphones and placed them over my ears.
“How do I know which to delete and which to forward?”
“Trust me on this.” She giggled. “You’ll know.”
In the next moment, I was listening to what I thought was a low moaning sound. I shot Vickie a look, but she shrugged and averted her eyes, the slightest sign of a smirk tugging at her glossy lips.
When the moaning was replaced by shrill cries of “Oh God, please. Yes! Yes!” and the distinct sound of bouncing springs, I pulled my headphones off and gaped at the pixelated screen.
Oh, yeah, today was going to be a long day.
Imagine the Seahawks stadium was an office building. Now imagine that office building filled with an endless sea of four by four cubicles. Section 3-B, cubicle ninety-six, was supposed to be my workstation for the next ten to twenty years of my miserable existence. Our messaging center handled every prayer request for the entire Pacific Northwest.
And believe me, from the moment I clocked in to the moment I clocked out, my inbox was inundated with new messages. It was my job to listen to each plea to our Lord and Savior and decide to either delete the request or forward it up the chain of command. Honestly, most of the prayer requests were stupid. Hey, buddy, instead of praying to God for a new television, why don’t you quit calling in sick to work and earn the money to buy one yourself. Your mom’s not charging rent. It shouldn’t take long to save up.
Occasionally, I’d get a prayer that broke my heart, like little Jessica whose cat was poisoned, begging God to bring her pet back to life. Even though I suspected there was little God could do, I forwarded that prayer. Even if God couldn’t bring back her cat, maybe he could offer the kid something to brighten up her day, like another kitten.
Unfortunately, I rarely heard kids’ prayers. Most of the day the prayers went something like this, “Oh, God, please don’t stop! Oh, God, Yes! Yes! Yes!” So basically, I got to listen to people cry out in the throes of passion most of the day. I wondered if people realized how often they called out God’s name while having sex.
What’s the deal with that, anyway? Did you forget the name of the guy who’s banging your brains out? Is that why you have to keep calling to God instead?
Geez Louise. How was I supposed to handle listening to that, day in and day out, when I’d left the vibrator I’d affectionately named Bubba back on Earth? I loved Bubba, too. I’d gotten him at the Megaplex for half price, and no, Bubba wasn’t used, or so the clerk reassured me. He had gotten me through the last five lonely years of my life. A wild and crazy idea crossed my mind, but then I quickly dismissed it. I’d thought about asking Grim to retrieve Bubba for me. Not just because I really wanted him, but because my mom was going to freak when she found it. I could ask Grim. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find it, top drawer, right by the pack of expired, unopened condoms.
I really could ask him, but I knew I never would have the guts. What exactly would I say? “Hey, I’m horny. Could you go get my vibrator?” What if he offered me his services instead? Even though I’d promised myself to never have sex with him, my resolve was about as tenuous as a fresh box of bon bons at a PMS Anonymous meeting.
Speaking of PMS, I had no idea if women got their periods in Heaven, but I’d been feeling bloated and crampy all day. I sure hoped I wasn’t about to start because I’d left my birth control pills back on Earth, and the last time I let my girly hormones get out of whack, I practically ate my way through every chocolate bar west of Mt. Rainier.
Hmmm. Maybe it would be a good thing if I got my period, then I would be too sick to be horny. Truthfully, I didn’t want to have sex with a vibrator. I wanted Grim. The real Grim. His real hard abs and thick thighs. His real penis. I wanted to straddle him and fuck him until we were both screaming prayers of our own.
Damn, this sucked. Listening to people screw all day and then going home each night to a vibrator-less apartment was going to drive me crazy. At this rate, I had no idea if I was going to be able to resist Grim, or anything with a penis for much longer, but of one thing I was certain: I had to find a new job.
Dear Purgatory, how do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways…. My tits are torpedoes, my job consists of listening to people get their brains fucked out, and my only potential dating prospect knows I shit my pants. Oh, and this afternoon I received a special visit from a not-so-friendly relative, Dear Aunt Flo.
That’s right. I’m on my period in Purgatory. Note to self. Dying sucks. Dying sucks big fat donkey balls.
I really didn’t think there was enough chocolate in all of Purgatory to drown my misery, but I was sure as heck going to give it a try.
What do I have to lose?
Nothing, but I might have a lot to gain, like five or maybe ten extra pounds? Oh, well, what’s a few added pounds on my thighs? Grandma’s poofy dresses were bound to cover the added weight. Besides, it wasn’t like I was going to worry about getting naked for someone anytime soon. Only ten to twenty years, I reminded myself. Ten to twenty, and then I could be skinny and happy and thoroughly fucked for all of eternity. I could get through this. All I needed was a bit more chocolate. I sank into the sofa cushions and sucked down a spoonful of ice cream. Thank God my uncle had taken me grocery shopping yesterday. I guessed in the face of all this misery, I should have counted my blessings, however small they might have been.
I scanned through all of my television channels again. Purgatory television stations sure were boring, but at least I’d learned a bit about my new home. Unlike The History Channel back on level one, Purgatory’s history channel gave us a rundown of the afterlife, which was pretty confusing. My hormonally charged brain could only absorb about ten percent of what the narrator was saying, but apparently, I lived in section 13 I-C, which was basically parallel to Seattle. People usually ascended to the sections parallel to where they died, unless they died in a catastrophe alongside hundreds of other people, and their assigned sections became overcrowded. I briefly wondered if Grim had been killed in a disaster, because he sure as heck had come a long way from Seattle.
Here’s the really crazy part. Those elevators I’d taken to get from Earth to Heaven and back to Purgatory hadn’t really taken me up and down levels. No, I was crossing dimensions. As in, we’re all still on the same planet, during the same time, taking up the exact same space. We’re just living in different dimensions so we can’t see each other. It had something to do with our auras. The people on Earth couldn’t see my aura, anymore, just like I couldn’t see theirs. Weird, right? The same thing went for each floor in Purgatory, and even the basement floors! I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.
The main focus of the nightly news seemed to be credits, the afterlife’s form of currency. Apparently, credits were really important to folks in Purgatory, since they couldn’t buy groceries or move up levels without them. Because people were so busy trying to cut corners and save credits, luxuries like modern computers and cell phones were virtually nonexistent. Now I understood why Grim had bragged about his flat screen and why my television cost me half a heavenly cheesecake.
I flipped through the channels for almost an hour until my tiny pint of ice cream was an empty carton, but I couldn’t figure out how the blondie twins were able to see their funeral on TV. Damn. I’d been hoping I could see if they’d found my body, and if so, how my mom was handling the news.
I sat up at the sound of a gentle knock on my door, my shoulders falling ev
er so slightly when I realized the polite visitor couldn’t possibly be Grim. It was almost eight o’clock, and he still hadn’t shown. Despite the fact I felt like total shit, I was still wearing my dress from today because Grim had said he was going to call on me. And the stupid, pathetic PMSing puppy I was had been waiting around all evening for him. I’d even recorded a karate movie for us to watch, since Aunt Flo would make certain he couldn’t get past second base tonight.
A cramp hit me square in my gut when I stood. I clutched my midsection and hobbled toward the door, not surprised to see Inés waiting in the hall.
“Hey,” I said. Feeling like a sack of old, moldy potatoes, I leaned against the doorframe for support.
Inés arched a sculpted brow. “You okay, chica?”
“PMS,” I groaned as she pushed past me and handed me a bar of dark chocolate.
“This is from loverboy,” she said with a wink. “He said sorry, he had to work a double shift.”
Though I should have been over the moon that Grim had smuggled me another dark chocolate bar, I was disappointed he hadn’t given it to me himself. I couldn’t quite place my finger on the reason why it bothered me so much, but my gut was telling me he was avoiding me and using the chocolate as a diversion. But why?
Inés sat across from me on the sofa as I unwrapped the foil. Yeah, a whole carton of ice cream was obviously not enough sweets.
“Want some?” I asked and then held my breath while I waited for her answer. Then I wondered what the heck was wrong with me. Back on Earth, if anyone had even looked sideways at my chocolate during PMS time, they risked the chance of losing a limb. I guess all of these overly nice Purgatory people were rubbing off on me.
I released a ragged breath when she waved me away with a toss of the hand. “No, thanks.”
“So how was your new job?”
“Agonizing as fuck,” I answered without hesitation.
She snorted. “Yeah, chica. Inés has heard stories about the call center.”
I took a bite of chocolate and leaned forward. “Go on.” Truthfully, I didn’t know if I wanted to hear her call center dirt, but if this place had a seedy underbelly, I’d best be prepared. Besides, I’d never been one to turn down a good bit of juicy gossip.
She leaned closer to me, eyes narrowing and features going hard. “That call center employees have the highest rate of do-over.”
“Do-over?” I scrunched my brow. “What’s that?”
“Aye, chica.” She gasped and then wagged a finger in my face. “You don’t want to know.”
But of course I did, and she knew it. I scooted so close our knees were touching. Then I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Tell me.”
“Reincarnation,” she said on a rush of air as her eyes widened. “People would rather become bugs than work there.”
Holy crap! That tub of ice cream hit the bottom of my stomach like a lead brick. “So they ask to become reincarnated?”
“Yeah. Poor fools.” She shook her head before making the sign of the cross. “They have to start over and work their way back up. It will take them a thousand years before they ascend again.”
Seriously, why would anyone want to start a new life as a bug? I mean, I understood my job sucked ass big time, but could anything be worse than being stepped on and swatted? “Wow. What about their family?”
“They get a new family. A do-over is exactly how it sounds.” She pulled a face and clucked her tongue. “They ain’t gonna remember nobody from their old life, and nobody ain’t gonna remember them.”
No family would mourn their loss? As if they’d never existed?
I thought of my mom, and how she would cry for me once they discovered my body. Today was Monday, so I’d only missed one day of work. They probably wouldn’t discover me for a few days, but when they did, she would be crushed. Would it be better if I did a do-over? Started as a dung beetle or maybe a microscopic bug that lived on a leaf? Small, insignificant, forgotten. Geez, the prospect seemed so tempting (insert sarcastic eye roll). Besides, if I wiped myself from my mom’s memory, she’d only have my self-centered sister left, and that was just sad.
“I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t want to forget my mom.” A familiar ache settled in my heart, the same ache I got whenever I thought of my mom. I missed her sorely, and I couldn’t help but worry about her. Then an idea struck me. If the twins could watch their funeral on television, then surely Inés would know how to find the channel. “Speaking of my mom, I have a question for you.”
She kicked off her heels and leaned back against the sofa cushion, smiling sweetly. “Ask me, sugar.”
“I heard that I can see Earth from my television. Do you know how to do it?” I eyed her while I waited impatiently for the answer.
“Chica,” she said in a surprisingly deep and masculine tone. “You don’t want to do that.”
“But I want to see my mom.” The whine that slipped into my voice made me sound like a sick, mating cat, but I didn’t care. I missed her terribly.
“Believe me, you don’t.” Her vibrant expression had turned to ice as she stared at me with arms folded across her chest. “People go loco watching Earth TV.”
“Please, Inés,” I begged. “I need to know she’ll be okay without me.”
Inés stood and peered down at me with fists cocked on her hips. “She won’t be okay, honey, and neither will you if you get addicted to that TV.”
“I won’t get addicted. I swear it.” I stood and made a sign of the cross, hoping if I did end up with an addiction, God wouldn’t bump me back down to level two for lying. “I just want to watch for a few hours.”
She finally relented. “All right.”
I practically jumped for joy as I threw down my chocolate bar (okay, I’d gone certifiably crazy) and handed her the remote.
“You’re on HDMI-13.” She clicked the input button and scrolled through the options. “You need to be on HDMI-1.”
Seriously? The answer was that obvious?
“HDMI-1 shows you your personalized options for level one. You can scroll through the channels to see what people you left behind are doing with their lives.” She handed me the remote.
Sure enough, as I clicked through each channel, I saw people I hadn’t even thought of: my ex-boyfriend and his skanky, cougar sugar-mamma; my eighth grade teacher, who’d found lice in my hair and caused a big scene in front of the class; the stockroom guy at work who was always giving me accusatory looks whenever I asked for a new box of paperclips or sticky pads.
Wait a minute! Why was the guy at my workstation going through my stuff? And what was he doing at work so late? Up to no good, I suspected. What a nosy jerk! If I hadn’t been dead, I’d have marched down there and given him a piece of my mind. I jumped off the sofa and waved my remote at the television, on the verge of launching into a tirade, when he pulled an unopened tampon from my drawer and began sniffing it.
Ewww.
Then he pocketed it and walked away. Okay, that was just weird. Well, at least that explained why I could never find my tampons at work. Psycho stockroom guy had been stealing them. I really didn’t want to wrap my head around why at the moment. I was supposed to be looking for my mom, but damn, he was psycho.
I scrolled through the channels until I found her, and then time ceased to exist as my gaze tunneled on the sight of her shadowed silhouette on my TV screen. Mom looked much like an older version of me, but her hazel eyes lacked the vibrancy they’d had when she was younger. I vaguely remembered her smile being brighter, and her laughter more robust back before my uncle died. My sister used to whisper to me that when Uncle Mikey passed, a piece of our mother had died with him.
I never knew my father. My mom said he left sometime after I was born, that he'd walked out on us because the responsibility of providing for a family was too much for him to handle. But that wasn’t the case with my uncle. He was like my surrogate father, and his death had crushed Mom’s spirit like a sledgehammer pounding a hole thro
ugh her chest. A few years later, my grandma died of stomach cancer, and my grandpa keeled over from a heart attack during her funeral. Imagine how my mom would react when she found my body.
Mom was sitting beside the bed of an elderly patient, reading a book out loud. And not just any book, but our book: The Giving Tree. I was barely aware of the tears that cascaded down my face as she read the words I’d known by heart. I silently chanted along, knowing when to pause for dramatic effect and when to go on. My mom had read to me every night before bed during my childhood, all the way up until my teen years when I’d asked her to quit coming into my room.
I’d never forget the heartbreak in her eyes when I closed the door in her face. No, I hadn’t wanted her to stop reading to me, but I was tired of my sister’s relentless teasing. She’d called me a baby who couldn’t sleep without her fairytales. And though I’d refused to admit it at the time, my sister had been right. It took me months to learn how to fall asleep without the sound of my mom’s soothing voice lulling me into slumber. That was probably one of the loneliest times of my life. Jack had died a year earlier, and then I had no mom to offer me comfort, all because I’d cared what my stupid sister thought.
If I could go back in time, I’d never shut that door in my mom’s face. I’d beg her to read to me every night before bed until I left for college. Actually, if I could go back in time, I’d fix a whole lot more than that, starting with gluing down the switch on my blow-dryer. I would have kept Jack locked up in the backyard until I got home from school. I’d also tell Travis and our professor to fuck off, and I’d stay in school, too. Finally, I’d make more time to spend with my mom, maybe I’d even volunteer with her more at the retirement home. Yeah, there were a lot of things I wished I’d done differently, but it was too late to change the past now.
I turned off the television and chatted with Inés, faking fatigue after about twenty minutes, feeling relieved when she took the hint and excused herself. After she left, I snatched up the remote. I watched Mom as she read to another patient, drive home, and finally say her prayers before climbing into bed.
