This Is a Book - Demetri Martin [36]
George just couldn’t accept that the relationship was over. He was holding on to something that was no longer there, and everyone but George could see it. He’d even had the tattoo of her name underlined, hoping the added emphasis would somehow help him rekindle things with Lori. Of course, it didn’t. It only made it look like George had the title of a book on his leg. People would look at his leg and say, “Who’s the author?”
George’s friends were worried about him. He was drunk more frequently these days. And he wasn’t a good drunk. Some people become talkers when they’re drunk. Others become huggers. When George got drunk, he became a tackler. After a few drinks he’d get that crazy look in his eyes and start to rock back and forth. That’s when anyone standing near him knew it was time to move out of the way or find something sturdy to stand behind.
So, that afternoon, as George charged across the ice, his buddy, Owen, calmly stepped behind a tree. George barreled past him and careened off the tree. Then, with all the grace of an injured water buffalo, George crashed through the ice.
When the paramedics fished George out of the ice, he was unconscious and blue. They rushed him to the hospital, where he died just after 8 pm.
Emerging from total blackness, George found himself suddenly standing on a boat in a warm, sun-drenched place, moving gently toward a coastline. There were other people with him on the boat, most of them were older. The boat was overflowing with passengers, all crowded together, all completely silent, all dead. George didn’t know if this was Heaven, but he knew it wasn’t Earth. It’s too “glowy,” he thought. He knew he was dead, because when you’re dead, you just know it. It’s like stepping in gum. As soon as it happens, there is no question about what it is.
As strange as it all felt, it was also familiar and wonderful at the same time. George felt warm and serene, and relieved, kind of like the way you feel right after you sneeze or take off some ski boots, but even more so. And he wasn’t drunk or even a little bit hungover. He checked his breath. It didn’t smell like beer or vodka but more like strawberries. George hadn’t eaten any strawberries. He knew this was a special place.
There was no tunnel or relatives, or pearly gates, just some strange people waving at George and the other recently departed folks arriving with him. Rolling hills stretched out into the distance behind the friendly-looking people who stood on the shoreline. As the boat floated toward the waiting crowd, George spotted a couple of angels, who, on closer inspection, looked more like some guys wearing taered angel costumes. Still, this was more beautiful than any place George had ever seen. Of course, he had spent most of his life in New Jersey, so that’s not saying much.
George scanned the faces of the waiting people. Every one of them emanated kindness. Although, a couple of them had an expression like “Do I know you? Oh, I don’t… well, I’m disappointed, but welcome anyway.”
One of these faces seemed to glow brighter than the others. It was the face of a woman. From the moment he saw her, George couldn’t stop looking at her. Unlike the other people who were waiting there, she seemed to be walking by. When she saw George, she stopped and smiled at him. They gazed at each other unself-consciously. Then one of the angel guys floated in front of her face, blocking her view of George. She batted the angel away. The angel looked annoyed about it. She kind of told him off as he floated away. Then she looked back at George and smiled. He smiled back.
George walked through the crowd and made his way to the woman. When he got to her, he didn’t know what to say. He was mesmerized by her beauty, and also a little jet-lagged from dying.
“Pretty annoying angel, huh?” said George.
“Yeah.” She laughed. “They’re not angels. They’re just guys dressed up like them. They’re here to help people make the transition after they’ve, uh…”
“Died?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t know