Live it Again (2 page)

Wishful thinking, idiot.

“Was that everything?” Gary asked after a
few more moments.

Hugh folded the paper over a few times and
shoved it in his back pocket. “Someday Gary, a guy like me, or some other poor
fool in this town, is going to win big and you’ll regret being such a prick to
customers all your life.”

Gary Reynolds chuckled and waved him away
with the back of a liver-spotted hand. Hugh went back outside and lit another
cigarette. He took a few drags as he walked back to his car. It was getting
slippery underfoot and it was almost completely dark out. He put the lottery
ticket on the passenger seat, turned the engine over and wheeled back out on to
Main Street. The sleet was sticking to his windshield, and when he went to clear
it he saw the wiper blades had frozen against the glass. He cursed and pulled
over once again. A car blared its horn as he stepped out too quickly.

“Asshole!” Hugh yelled and used his middle
finger for the second time since leaving work. He leaned across the hood and
pulled on the blades until they ripped free. He noticed the build-up of ice
above them all across the windshield. “I can’t see through that,” he muttered. The
car hadn’t warmed up enough to melt it off so he knew he’d have to scrape it
off before driving again.

Where had he put the ice scraper? He hadn’t
used it for at least six months, so that meant it must have worked its way
somewhere under the driver’s seat. He hated winter, not because of the cold and
snow, but because of everyone’s inability to be prepared for it, including
himself. He should’ve known better at his age.

With the door wide open, Hugh bent down on
one knee and began to fish around underneath. All he could find was dirt, a
flattened paper coffee cup minus its lid, a few pennies, one nickel, and a
cough candy stuck stubbornly to the carpet.

There should be a mandatory week set
aside in October for people to get ready for this shit.

He felt the cold wet work its way through
his pants to his knee. The goddamned scraper wasn’t there. He stood up and
leaned against the car as a truck sped by; it sprayed him with dirty sleet.

He cursed the ice buildup on the windshield
and scratched at it with his fingernails. That was hopeless. Hugh patted his
body, searching for anything with a flat edge. He found his wallet and tossed
it on the seat. Then he remembered the newsletter in his back pocket. He gave
it a try, but the paper was too soft and bent as soon as he put any pressure on
it. He threw it aside in frustration and watched as the wind blew it up against
the back tire. From the dim light of a nearby lamp post, Hugh could just make
out the rows of winning numbers getting wetter with each moment.

Was
there
some hidden formula to winning? He shook his head at his own stupidity and reached
down for it. He put it on the passenger seat with the ticket and wallet, and returned
to the front of the car. The defrost was slowly beginning to melt the ice away
near the bottom.

It would have to do, he thought, settling
back into the driver’s seat. He tried the wipers again and watched as they
cleared away the first few inches of ice. There was now a clear spot of glass
roughly the size of teacup saucer that he could see through. With his head bent
down and his eyes peering through the spokes of the steering wheel, Hugh began
to drive once again.

It wasn’t far to go…another half mile down
Main Street until he hit Highway 16. Home was another mile past that down a
gravel road. He reached inside his coat for a third cigarette. Only two left
for the night. He flicked his lighter with cold fingers. If ever there was a
night he would need to smoke, this was it. Maybe if he searched around the
house he’d find some more, or if the need was bad enough, he could always resort
to ashtray butts.

His three kids rode his ass about smoking
almost as much as his wife did. Dana, the oldest at sixteen, was Cathy part
two. She looked like her mother and nagged just as well. Julie was fourteen,
more reserved and soft spoken. She too had the annoying ability to get under
his skin, only in a quieter fashion. She could guilt with a wide-eyed stare
that was worse than any verbal abuse. Colton, the youngest at twelve, was the
most impressionable. If Hugh had a hundred good reasons to quit the filthy
habit, his son would be number one. He’d already begun to swear like his
father, and Hugh worried he may have already experimented with booze and
cigarettes with his friends.

“Fuck it.” He lowered the car window half
way. He threw the remaining smokes outside and tossed the half-finished one out
after. “I don’t need them anymore.” It was about the four hundredth time Hugh
had vowed to quit, but in that moment of guilt and fear he felt confident it
would be the last. He pressed the passenger window button down as well and
watched with satisfaction as the remaining smoke was sucked out into the cold.

A sudden, freezing blast of wind struck the
left side of his face, buffeting the car on the slippery road. Hugh gripped the
wheel tightly and attempted to steer it back. He overcompensated and the back
end began to fishtail on ice. He gave it a quick tug to the right and felt the
vehicle come back under his control. His heart felt like it had jumped into his
throat. He laughed nervously and congratulated himself for not panicking. Winter
driving was one thing he hadn’t forgotten over the summer months.

He started to raise the driver’s side
window when another gust of wind hit the car. Hugh was ready this time; he held
the wheel firmly in place. The lottery ticket and newsletter lifted off the
passenger seat and headed for the open passenger window.

Hugh clutched at the fluttering papers,
taking his eyes off the road. In that short eternity he wondered why he was
even bothering.

How can people make such stupid
decisions in so small an amount of time?

His cell phone began to vibrate in his coat
pocket, diverting his attention for another fraction of a second.

He ignored it and his fingers caught the
newsletter. The ticket; a possible forty million dollar slip of paper that
could change his life forever, was gone, whisked out of the car into the early
evening air.

He was about to laugh again when he saw
something red and white out of the corner of his eye. Through the small, clear
portion of his windshield, now the size of a dinner plate, he saw the stop
sign. Hugh slammed on the brake with both feet and the car began its final,
uncontrollable slide. The sign passed by and there were two words now glaring
at him in bright yellow.

FENCO FUEL

Even through the melting ice, Hugh could
see the orange border around the letters. He could even see where the metallic
stenciled ‘L’ was beginning to peel from the top. Dirty, grey snow was
beginning to stick to the letters and gather on the metal rivets running
vertically along the sign.

“Jesus!” Hugh screamed as his car smashed
against and underneath the semi-trailer tank at forty-seven miles an hour.

Brown.

Everything around him, everywhere he could
see, was brown. Not that he could see far, or close for that matter. He wasn’t
sure how far he could see at all since there was absolutely nothing to focus on
but the single color. There were no objects around him, no ground beneath his
feet, no sky above, no discernible horizon ahead or behind. It was as if he’d
shut his eyes, but instead of seeing black, it was all brown. It wasn’t even a
nice brown. It had a dark, rusty quality about it. Hugh sniffed the air. It had
a metallic smell, thick enough for him to almost taste.

He didn’t expect the afterlife to be like
this.

Where was the tunnel of bright light? Where
were all the dead relatives and friends from his past?

Hugh knew he was dead, of that he was
certain. In the split second after the collision he’d seen his body torn in
half by the semi trailer’s undercarriage. It was as if he could see through the
twisted metal and mangled roof of his car. His jacket and shirt had pulled away
with the upper part of his body leaving his neatly severed lower half still
sitting in the driver’s seat. Surprisingly, there was little blood, just a mass
of innards and below that his bare, white belly and hairy navel. He felt
embarrassment knowing his friends on the Braedon Volunteer Fire Department
would see him like that. Would they be sickened by the gruesomeness of the
wreck, or would they marvel at how far he’d let himself go the last few years?

Only half of the poor devil left, and he’s
still overweight.

Hugh felt remorse at how his body had ended
up. Besides a few minor bumps and breaks here and there, it had treated him
pretty well. Now all that remained of it was a flabby gut and two legs straight
as boards hammered down on the brake pedal. At least there hadn’t been time to
piss himself.

He sighed at the thought of that last sad
moment of his life and looked at his hands in the brown. His right one still
held the crumpled lottery newsletter.

Who said you couldn’t take anything with
you?

He saw his feet below, the shoes still wet
from the snow and ice he’d stood in. He breathed in deeply and lifted each leg
experimentally. Not bad, he thought, at least he wouldn’t have to spend
eternity in two pieces.

He held his arms out protectively like a
blind person and took a few steps forward. It felt as if he was walking on soft
pillows. He stopped and did a complete turnaround. There was nothing to anchor
his senses to and the sensation made his stomach turn. Hugh closed his eyes and
waited for the sensation to subside. It didn’t. The feeling of vertigo made him
dizzy and he sank to his knees. The hand with the newsletter clutched at his
gut, the other covered his mouth.

No fair. You shouldn’t have to puke in
the afterlife.

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself,” someone
to the left said.

The sickness left Hugh instantly as he
snapped his head in that direction. There was nothing but brown. “Who said
that?”

No one answered. All he could hear was his
own labored breathing; all he felt was the accelerated beating of his heart. It
ached in his chest and thudded between his ears. Was it possible to have a
heart attack here and die twice?

“Quit thinking like an idiot,” the voice from
the left said.

“I don’t understand,” Hugh said. His own
voiced sounded muffled. “You tell me to quit feeling sorry for myself and stop
thinking like an idiot…how am I supposed to act? I’m dead, for fuck’s sake.”

“For
fuck’s
sake.”

“That’s what I said!” Hugh shouted. He
remembered the last second of his life, what he had said in that final moment. He’d
yelled
Jesus
. Hugh never attended church, and had in no way been a
spiritual person. Sure, he believed in something, perhaps some universal intelligence
with its own unfathomable agenda, but he never had a clue what it might be, or
what plans it had in store for him. He should’ve yelled for
‘fuck’s sake’
when he plowed into the semi-trailer. It would’ve been more fitting…it would’ve
been more Hugh.

“Why do you think you’re here?” The voice
asked.

It wasn’t coming from the left, Hugh noted,
it was only being
heard
in his left ear. He felt his right one carefully
to see if it had been damaged. It seemed all right…no blood or brains on his
fingers.

“You’re not all wrecked up here, Hugh.
Might look like you were beaten, bashed, and bruised back on the highway, but
here you’re fine.”

Beaten, bashed, and bruised? What a strange
thing to say, Hugh thought.

I was severed neatly in half.

“Why do you think you’re here, asshole?” The
voice in his left ear asked again.

“I guess I’m dead, but I don’t know why I’m
here…I don’t even know where this is.” Hugh thought about things for a few
moments. “Why did you call me an asshole? Shouldn’t you be nice?”

“Nice? Why? Where do you think this is?”

Hugh wanted to say heaven, but he didn’t
want to risk sounding like a hypocrite. This wasn’t the pearly gates and the
voice definitely didn’t belong to Saint Peter. The voice did seem familiar,
though. Was it someone he’d known when he was alive? It was neither male nor
female, it was just there in his head, and he didn’t want it to leave. It’s all
he had now.

“I’m sorry,” the voice said. Hugh could
actually hear it sighing. “I really don’t know where this is either, but I do
know I’m here to help you.”

“Are you going to take me somewhere else?” Hugh
asked hopefully.

“Not too sure where to go myself yet.”

“But you’ll stay with me, right? You won’t
leave me alone?”

He heard the genderless voice sigh again,
sensed its frustration. “It’s hard being nice to you, Hugh. You really weren’t
a great guy.”

“I-I did my best,” Hugh struggled. “I loved
my wife, my kids.” It was the first time he had thought of them since the
accident. A moan of despair escaped his throat. How would they take the news? How
would the kids be without their father?

Oh Cathy…I’m so sorry.

“In the last ten minutes of your life you
called Cathy an ungrateful bitch, you thought of your three children with
contempt, you recalled your lifelong friendship with your boss with secret
jealousy and hatred, you considered what it would be like cheating on your wife
again, you called Gary Reynolds a prick, and you flipped off a complete
stranger, calling him an asshole. Would you like to recall the ten minutes
before that?”

Hugh was speechless.

The voice spoke again after a full minute
of silence. “Don’t feel too bad, most people are like that. We’re all cruel and
petty.”

“Is this hell?” Hugh finally asked.

“No such place. If it were, there would be
a lot more people.”

“So what now?”

“That’s completely up to you. You can leave
this place and carry on to some other dimension. You can try the reincarnation
thing and go back as a dog or as a tick on a dog. You can be born into a
sheepherder’s family in northern Afghanistan, or you can try life as a baby
girl in Brazil. I’m new to this too, you know.”

“Did you just die as well?” Hugh scratched
his left ear and tapped the right one with the fist holding the newsletter. It
was as if he was wearing headphones that had only one working speaker. The
voice didn’t answer. “I’ll take that as being none of my business. Any other
options?”

“You can surrender your soul to the cosmos
and let some other being claim it.”

Hugh didn’t like the sound of that. “What
else?”

“You can try again.”

“What do you mean try again?” Hugh asked. “Like
go back to that last minute of my life and make sure I don’t slide past the
stop sign?”

“Life and death aren’t that easy, idiot.”

Who did this voice belong to? Why was it
sympathetic one second, and so cruel and cutting the next? Why was it so alien
yet so familiar? “So what, then?”

“A lot of people never suffer any kind of
remorse when they come here, or so I’ve been told. You’re not a great guy,
Hugh, but you’re not a stupid one either. Your conscience is still pretty much intact,
and you have the basic understanding of where you went wrong.”

“Yeah,” Hugh said weakly.

“So are you willing to try it again?”

“Do you mean live my life again as Hugh
Nance?” His mind, his whole spirit filled with renewed hope.

“Don’t get too excited. It wouldn’t be
easy.”

“You’re offering me a second chance…right?”

“I’m not God, you dink.
I
don’t have
that kind of power.”

Hugh smiled. There was the voice’s flipside
again. The part that seemed familiar to him. “But you’re here to make the
offer, and someone, or something else can make it happen?”

“Now you’re beginning to get it.”

Hugh looked about in the brown. He feared
that if he remained here much longer, he would become a part of it. “I want to
do it, I want to go back.”

“It won’t be easy.”

“You told me that already,” Hugh said
anxiously. He was almost prepared to accept the tick reincarnation at this
point. “Just let me go.”

“Sure.”

“Who are you?” Hugh wished he’d asked the
question earlier.

“It’s time.”

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole,” Hugh called
out. He had the voice’s identity on the tip of his tongue, a sense of who it
was, but he knew there wouldn’t be enough time to put a face to it. It was like
trying to remember a certain song when another one would keep playing in your
head.

“Cover your eyes and count to ten,” the
voice in the brown said.

Hugh did as he was told.

“One…two…three…four…five…”