I haven’t figured out how to come back to life yet but I’m determined to do so. Dying, I’ve decided, is vastly overrated. Moreover, that bastard came out of nowhere- I didn’t even have time to prepare! Suddenly, I’m just expected to blend in to the atmosphere and float on some thermals? What a crock. Where the hell am I, anyway? Miles of water, but I can tell you this much- I didn’t drown.
I’d read books about dying. Actually, I just got really into this romance/mystery ghost hunter series (which I ordered online so as not to embarrass myself with an in-store purchase). I didn’t think too much about the details of the stories at the time- after all, how much stock can you really put into a series about a ghost hunter who falls in love with someone who’s dead? However, I do recall reading about how you can supposedly communicate with people on the other side. If I knew where anyone was, I’d try it. It would mostly be for my own amusement, but in a way I almost wonder if dying can make you more visible to those on the other side.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been over here. This is really the first day that I feel as if I’m conscious of anything, and yet, the details of that day- whenever it was- are still somewhat fuzzy. Bruno Mars was on the radio, and I was poorly singing along. I couldn’t tell you the lyrics now even if it meant saving my own life- grossly ironic. The car in front of me had suddenly honked as it sailed through the intersection, but I didn’t know why until I’d already been hit. Had he tried to warn me? There was nothing I could have done at that point anyway. The real kicker is how many traffic tickets I’d gotten for rolling through stop signs or merely slowing down for right turns on red lights. Police always seemed to catch me. This time, my light had been green- bright as a beacon. I remember that much- clearly it’s a bitter point.
Oddly, I’m most upset that the most vivid detail about my last moment is that I was listening to mainstream pop. I also recall my last thought before I lost consciousness being that I was wearing ratty old underwear and a plain grey bra. They didn’t match each other. My mother never missed an opportunity to tell me to wash my panties or buy new pairs. “If you ever end up in the E.R.” she told me “you’ll want to look nice when they have to cut off your clothes.” Honestly, who says that to people? I miss my mom- I wish she were here, right now. She’d probably know where I was or what I needed to be doing.
I can’t remember if it had been spring or fall. I’m not sure if there was a breeze and if it made me roll down my windows so that my hair was ravished by the wind or turn up the heater to keep my toes from going numb against the gas pedal. I wish I could remember where I’d died- maybe if I could recall that, there would be a way to get back, somehow. After all, this couldn’t really be how it all ended, could it?