(Reprise) Dead Man: “I do not feel dead.”

"Say wot?" I said in an inexplicably British accent.

"Your death," he repeated softly.

"I do not feel dead. I feel, well, great!"

"Yes. Regardless. You are, in fact, dead…at least for now. Technically." He smiled again.

"You're playing with my head," I accused, starting to feel petulant.

"I am telling you the truth, one layer at a time, because I know you. I know you very well."

"How's that? Granted you look familiar, but I can't quite place the voice or the face. Or the teeth."

"Patience, my friend. Trust me."

"Is this Heaven, then?" I asked.

"Why do you ask? I mean specifically. I tell you you're dead and you ask if this is Heaven, which makes sense, of course. But what specific detail caused you to ask now?"

I thought about it for a bit, inclined to answer flippantly because petulance demands either flippancy, or pouting, and I was too old to pout.

"No glasses," I said. But as I answered, so did he, exactly in unison. The same response, in the same tone. He even pointed at his eyes, just like I was.

"Told you I knew you," he said. "And, no. I am not 'playing you.'" Which is exactly what I was thinking.

"Your back doesn't hurt, either, which is the second reason you asked about Heaven," he continued.

"My back always hurts," I replied, pouting.

"But it doesn't now, because you're dead. And you would have said something about it, but now you won't because I just did, and you hate to play into people's expectations. It makes you feel like a puppet."

"I don't like you," I said.

"But you do!"

Damn that smile! Could you even say damn in Heaven?

"It's not exactly a common exclamation, but it's been heard on occasion."

"Now you're answering my thoughts, too? That's, that's... impolite!"

Devastating comeback, I know.

"Yes, I suppose it is. But it continues to make my point so you can begin to trust me, because you'll need to."

"What point? That you know me."

"Yes, exactly!"

I waited, mulling.

I knew I should be more upset, but that peaceful sunlight, and that breeze, and the serene summer sounds. It was hard. And while I was strangely content to just lay there for a time, I was really looking forward to getting up and going outside under the blue, blue sky, and maybe running again, and feeling the warm air on my face… and my eyes. I hadn't felt that directly, and still been able to see clearly, since second grade; a very long time ago.

It was a small thing, but suddenly, very significant. I didn't know why. I didn't care why.

But there were questions, and so far, precious few answers. Actually, no answers.

"So, how can I be dead, 'technically, for a time'?"

He chuckled. It was a friendly sound, not at all derogatory.

"Don't tell me," I said. "You saw that one coming."

"Yes, I did. Like I said. I know you. I've studied you."

"I'm flattered."

"No you're not. You're annoyed. You think I'm trying to distract you. But I know better than that. Your laser-like focus is 'undistractable'."

"Now you're making fun of me. And that's not even a word - 'undistractable'."

"Yes, I am. A little. But I'm sure you don't mind because…"

"Yeah, you know me. I get it. So?"

"You are aware of the true definitions of death, yes?"

I merely raised my eyebrow. I only have one, a unibrow extending across the width of my forehead. Two could play this game of being enigmatic.

"Relax," he said. "It was a rhetorical question. I know exactly what you do and don't know."

"You're that good, eh?"

He smiled. Despite myself, I did like him. It was difficult not to.

"You have undergone the First Death. Your consciousness, your spirit, has been separated from your physical body."

"So I'm unconscious, and this is a dream. What'd I have? Heart attack? Stroke? What?"

"No. You are not unconscious. You are dead."

"Dead?"

"Yes. Now you're getting it."

"I should be really upset then. "

"Perhaps."

"How? I mean, why? What killed me?"

"That's not important. Your family is safe. I know that's what you're now primarily concerned about. They are fine. They don't know, yet. You really do worry too much."

"When you asked me what's the last thing I remember, I saw me on the ground. I didn't look dead. I looked old, and well, immobilized, but not dead, dead."

"Nope."

"Whaddya' mean, 'nope'"?

"You saw what you could handle at the moment. Your Father is like that. Merciful. Kind. He knows you far better than even I do."

"And I can't handle how I died?"

"No. Not at the moment. It would embarrass you too much, and distract from 'the Now'."

I blinked. "So, I'm dead."

"Yes."

"And this is Heaven?"

"A small piece of it, yes."

"What I can handle right now?"

"Yes. Exactly."

© Bill Lilley 2011, 2013