A Day In The Life...

"Everyone recognizes me, once they see me coming."

His shoulders slumped and he gingerly placed the fine silverware down on his plate as the subtle vibration effectively ended his meal.

“Infernal device.” He muttered to himself, wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, and reached for the smartphone he had been saddled with.

The message on the screen gave the usual rundown of information: name, address, religious denomination, and all the other little particulars that he needed.

Cold. Emotionless. Efficient.

He slid the phone back into the breast pocket of his blazer and finished what was left of the Beef Wellington in his mouth. It wasn’t the job that got to him anymore, it was his obligation after all, he just wished he could finish a meal before having to run off to his next call.

“Fantastic work Paolo,” he announced as he pushed the plate away from him and downed the single malt scotch whisky he had been nursing, “You've a real talent, a meal like this makes life worth living.”

“But you didn't finish.” He was genuinely disappointed.

“I'm sorry my friend, duty calls.”

“What kind of job prevents you from enjoying your meal?” He scoffed and picked up the plate that he knew would have to be discarded.

“The only one that matters, my friend.” He stood, wiped his mouth once more, and gave the chef a polite bow, “Put it on my tab, as usual.”

Filled with the warmth of top-shelf liquor, he hit the street and smiled to himself when those who passed close enough to him remarked on the unusual chill in the air.  He double-checked the time on his Rolex and resigned himself to “hoof it” from Midtown to Greenwich Village; a cab at this time of day in city traffic would have delayed him and thrown the entire day out of balance.

The apartment building he strolled up to was as old and dilapidated as any other one in New York City. Cheap paint was slathered onto walls already ten layers thick with every color imaginable and the yellow lights in the hallway provided about as much light as a candle in a cavern. He found it amazing where people would live and what they would pay for the “privilege” of living in the city.

A quick sprint up a flight of stairs that creaked with every footfall led him to the apartment he needed. The brass handle was so worn out that the design had all but disappeared.  But it was just a door, and man had yet to invent something that could keep him away.

The smell of marijuana, old beer, and dirty laundry hung in the stale air like a San Francisco fog and for a moment he had to wonder if he was too late. While the amalgamated aroma wasn’t quite as pungent as decay, it was close.

He sat down on the couch that seemed to be as old as the building itself and casually examined the stitching in the fabric. There was something to be said about so-called antique furniture and the craftsmanship of something produced by hand. The amount of time, energy, and care that went into the production of such finite things was, in no uncertain terms, extraordinary in his eyes.

Despite the obvious lack of upkeep, even the desk that was positioned between him and the window, with its finely carved wooden legs and elegant fretwork, was worthy of admiration.  Each groove was a testament to artistry and skill.

Unlike the man on the other side of it.

Obviously from good stock, his level of concern for the only body he'd ever have was as low as it was for the desk. He took a drag off the marijuana cigarette laced with heroin and he turned away from the window he had stared out of. With his eyes closed, he meandered back to the vintage leather office chair and somehow managed to land his overweight body in its seat despite the apparent free fall into it.

The fan on the laptop in front of him obnoxiously announced its return to life, as if the appearance alone of the piece of modernity wasn’t garish enough in a place like this. With eyes still closed, he took another drag, held the smoke, and carelessly tapped the ash onto the floor.

The cloud he exhaled hung in front of his face when he opened his eyes and stared vacantly at the screen. His chest heaved once, then a second time more slowly.

Another deep breath, a slow exhale, his eyes closed, and the poison pinched between his fingers tumbled to the floor.

“And there we are.”  From the couch, he clapped his hands once to get the attention of his charge.

“Wha—?”  The bulbous man stirred in his chair.

“Hello, Johnathan.”

“Who…?” His eyes looked in the general direction of the couch, but they lacked focus.

“Nope, we're not going to play that game.” He crossed his legs and interlaced his fingers over his knee, “Take your time, that fog in your mind should be lifting momentarily and then things will start to happen rather rapidly.”

Johnathan’s eyes gradually found both the couch and him.  With a furrowed brow, Johnathan’s head cocked to the side. There was a bit of recognition in the eyes now, along with a desperate attempt to figure out where he knew—

“Ah! There it is!”  He smiled as Johnathan’s eyes went wide with realization.

“No! No, it's too soon!” He shot up from his chair.

“My dear Johnathan, you've had years.”

“I'm so close…” He put his hands together in a steeple, as though a prayer would help now.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be clouding your mind with that rat poison, you'd be trying to clear it.”  He waved his hand in the general direction of the still-lit cigarette.

Johnathan looked down at his vice and dropped to the floor when the carpet caught fire. He smacked at the flames in a futile attempt to put it out, but it continued to spread.

“Stop it, Johnathan, you can’t prevent this.”

“I have to!”  He continued to smack at the carpet frantically.

“If it makes you feel any better, Beth and Candice will gain far more income from your insurance policy and posthumous sales from other books than they ever would have if you actually completed this particular novel.”  He examined his cuticles casually, he needed to set up an appointment with Miss Chen, or her lovely daughter, either would be fine.

“How could you know that??”  His hands stopped in mid-slap and his voice was laden with both disbelief and utter dread.

“Oh, come now, it's me.”

“How do I know that?” He tapped the side of his head with two fingers.

“Everyone recognizes me, once they see me coming.” He slapped his thighs and got to his feet. “Look, I know this is a lot to deal with. But that’s part of why I'm here, why I do what I do. The powers that be want everyone to feel comfortable as they… transition.”

“Look, I just need a few more days...” His voice lowered to just above a whisper.

“I'm afraid this is it, Johnathan.”  He smirked and playfully added:  “It's already been written.”

“You can’t know that!” Johnathan jumped back to his feet and grabbed at his thinning hair as he started to pace back and forth, “Why do you get to decide? Huh? Who are you to make this decision?” He pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“We’ve already established who I am.” He spoke softly, it was the easiest way whenever they got like this, “And you know full well that this was your decision.”

Johnathan’s face contorted in pain and rage while the flame continued its journey across the carpet, a trail of blue and orange in its wake.

“Every time you left your home to come to this decrepit place,” He pushed the point before Johnathan could begin to yell incoherently, as they usually did, “every time you chose to indulge in drink and vice because you thought it gave you some great insight.”

He moved a few steps closer to Johnathan once the flame reached the wall and began its ascent.

“Every time you left your wife and daughter behind in favor of debauchery.” He lowered his voice once again and stared into Johnathan’s eyes, “Every decision you've ever made led you to this point.”

“So…” He began to tear up, “…this is all my life was meant to be?”

“No, my friend,” he smiled politely, “your life could have taken any manner of different paths. You could’ve married Arlene Hasselmann instead of Beth, had a son, and been a moderately successful retail manager with no real fire in your belly. Or you could've chosen to hone your talents instead of relying on mood-altering substances to get a glimpse at the infinite.”

“I failed…” he dropped to his knees and the back wall ignited while tears streamed down his round face.

“Not entirely, you have a very successful catalog of art, a daughter that will grow to find success in her own right, and despite your faults, you found a woman that loved you.” He crouched down in front of Johnathan and grasped the back of his neck, “You just didn’t see what you had while you had it.”

He sobbed as the flames now raced across the apartment.

“I'm going to Hell, aren’t I?” He wiped the tears and snot from his face.

“There is no Hell Johnathan, the afterlife is much like life, it is what you make it.” He gave a smile that he had practiced for longer than he'd ever admit, one designed to comfort and to allay fear.

“Alright…” He sniffled like a child, “Can I—?”

“No, I'm afraid not.” He put one hand on the larger man's shoulder and gently guided him back to his feet, “But know that you won’t have to wait for very long to see them again, things work a little differently over on the other side.”

Johnathan nodded and looked around at the apartment while it burned down around him.  His gaze settled on his lifeless body slumped down in the chair as the sirens from the FDNY trucks filtered in from the street outside.

“Okay, I'm rea—"

Like someone had thrown a switch, the apartment was replaced by a pure white landscape devoid of anything.

“It’s okay,” he steadied Johnathan, “that first step can be disorienting.”

“Wh-what is this?” He spun around in his desperation to find something tangible, just as they all did when they got to this point.

“Think of it as a waiting room.”

“What are we waiting for?” He stopped his drunken pirouette.

“You'll see.”

Nothing happened.

“Uh—"

“Shh!” He looked off into the distance and smiled. “Here we go.”

Just as they had appeared in the whitespace, two others materialized. A woman in her prime years and a man who looked exactly as he did.

“Johnathan?” the woman tentatively walked toward them and then broke into a run.

“Beth!” Johnathan ran to her and like a scene from a cheesy romance, lifted her into the air and embraced her.

She ran her fingers through his full mop of hair and remarked on how she could once again get her arms around him. They cried and spoke of how much they missed each other.

“What now?” Johnathan looked back and forth between the identical men as the other joined them.

“You're being allowed to learn from your past mistakes.” The other one explained. “Think of your physical life as a trial run, this is the big show.”

“Don't screw it up this time.” He gave Johnathan a friendly slap on the back.

“But—" Johnathan’s youthful face was full of wonder and confusion.

“Don’t worry, you'll figure it out, everyone does.”  He turned Johnathan and Beth around and gave them a gentle push.

He and his other self watched as the restored couple faded into the white, hand in hand, ready to start their new adventure together.

“I like the easy ones.” His other self smirked.

“You know,” He smiled back to his other self, “jobs that smooth make being Death not so bad.”

The vibration in his pocket took his smile away.

“You’re not going to be saying that after that one.” His other self nodded toward his pocket. “Good luck.” He popped out as quickly as he had popped in.

He scrolled through the information on his next charge and sighed heavily.

“Just another day…”