Afterlife

By Rosemarie DiCristo

“I got nothing.”

My grin was snarky because I meant that both ways: what you say when you have absolutely nothing to add to a conversation. And literally. Because I had no re-memory.

My Eternal Counselor, Mirah, looked distressed. “Please, Ms. Iandolo…”

“Ronni,” I corrected. “Since we’ll be here a while, might as well be on a first-name basis.”

“Ronni.” Her voice grated. “You were asked to select a Replay Memory prior to your appointment. You must have some immersive experience to comfort you during your time in the pod.”

“Nope. None.”

“Impossible.” She nodded toward some old gal to my right, who was using the option of sharing her re-memory on one of the Vid-screens in the humongous processing center.

Sharing. Right. So not for me.

A kid-version of the gal sat with an elderly man at Old Tiger stadium. “Just three months until we’re together in Afterlife, Pop-Pop,” her current-self sobbed. “Until then, it’s re-memories of the best baseball season ever.”

“At least she’s not singing ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame,’” I muttered.

Mirah’s voice tightened. “Don’t you have a favorite sports team?”

I grinned. “The Knicks. Enough said.”

“A work re-memory?”

“Work re-memory? As my comfort for the next three months?”

“I thought maybe your co-workers…”

“Yes, I want to re-memory Wesley-the-Office-Suck-Up. Or maybe I’ll re-memory how I worked non-stop at the last judicial conference, then got charged for a ‘group breakfast’ I didn’t have time to eat.”

“You know Earth will explode at 8:30 tonight, right?”

Rhetorical question. Everyone knew. It’s why we were there.

“It’s just I’d like to finish the paperwork and blast off in my pod by”—Mirah gave a huge fake shrug—“oh, dusk, maybe.”

“You’re not obligated to stay. And I don’t want a re-memory until you guys can process all of humanity off Earth, onto their pods, and into Afterlife.”

Mirah sighed.

“What? You’re really expecting that could take up to three months? Well, I’m good at staring at walls.” I added, “You think you’d have planned this better. Oh, right; the world abruptly ending someday was totally unexpected.”

Mirah scowled. “Pan-America insists you have a re-memory. For your sanity.” Then her voice went professional. “Surely, you’ve got family. That’s the thing about Afterlife. Everyone who’s gone before will be waiting. But until then, even one re-memory…” She started scrolling her screen.

My glare stopped that cold, because I absolutely did not want an Eternal Counselor scrolling through my life history. I didn’t even want to “scroll” through it. “I’m alone.” My voice sounded like shattered glass. “Have been for decades. Everyone’s dead.”

Her voice softened. “The plague?”

I wouldn’t look at her. “And other things.”

I heard her tap-tapping her screen. “No fellas? Friends?”

“Friends betray you. Enough said.”

“You don’t have to say.” Her voice turned harsh as she nodded at her screen. “I have the records, remember? And I can see that much of that was down to you.”

“Hurt them before they hurt you.”

Mirah smiled a fake-patient smile. “A pet?”

“I’m allergic to fur.”

“Birds? Turtles?”

“A goldfish.” My smile wasn’t patient. Or a smile. “Belly-up in one week.”

Mirah muttered something a counselor shouldn’t mutter, planted her hands on her desk, pushed so hard her chair zoomed back and smacked the wall, then stalked off.

That meant I was getting a new counselor.

My thirteenth.

No, check that. Gi-Tak sat down before me. He’d been my first.

“What? I’ve run through every counselor and am starting again?”

“Yeah.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Aren’t I lucky?”

Lucky…

Lucky wasn’t my dog; He was my cousin Joe’s. But each June when we drove out to Commack for Aunt Mary’s birthday, that gangly black mutt tore out of their yard, planted his paws on my chest, and licked like crazy.

There’re no allergies.

I lied.

The matron didn’t allow dogs.

What institution doesn’t allow nine-year-olds to have dogs?

But that was later.

During those blessed, beautiful Junes in Commack, Mom and Dad were there, plus every aunt, uncle, and cousin, all four grandparents, the in-laws of the in-laws… Typical Italian get-together.

Suddenly, re-memories of them flitted onto my screen. I hastily muted the sound, so Gi-Tak wouldn’t hear, so I wouldn’t share, but touching the screen immersed me. I was there.

Lucky barreled toward me, stinking like wet dog, his dry-ish tongue caressing my face just like the crepe-y dryness of Grandma Tessie’s cheek did when I tip-toed up to kiss her.

Teri, my cousin, stuck her warm hand in mine, dragging me forward, and the icy pool shocked us as we cannonballed in, sending chlorine whooshing up our noses until our feet smacked the rippled rubber pool bottom, propelling us upward.

Next, the smell of the burgers Uncle Tommy grilled, the taste of ketchup on a patty oozing juice, the feel of toasted bun in my mouth. And of course, cousin Antoinette’s lasagna, Aunt Faye’s cheesecake, Nathan’s lemonade…

That night, we slept in the living room, a pile of sleeping bags and half-asleep kids. The instant we dozed off, Joe and Richie, our brothers, attacked Teri and me with Silly String so we waited until they slept and doused them with water. The colossal mess drove the grown-ups bonkers.

Re-memory lets me relive the entire day, every part of it, exactly as it was, for those three months until I’m rocketed from my pod to Afterlife and finally see everyone again.

Suddenly, I believe it. I will see them again, I’ll have them again, after all these years, for eternity. And that’s not all, because I’ll also see my Lord and my God.

Blinking against the tears welling in my eyes, I pushed away from my screen.

“It was a good one, wasn’t it?” Tears filled Gi-Tak’s eyes, too.

I nodded.

He pressed Save, then Upload, gesturing for me to rise.

“Hmm. I guess I got something.” I bit my lip so Gi-Tak couldn’t see my smile, then jogged for my pod.

Enough said.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rosemarie DiCristo never wrote fantasy until she discovered Havok and she’s delighted and humbled to be published among so many excellent stories. While most of the names and relationships in Afterlife have been changed to protect the innocent, Rosemarie did have a “cousin” Lucky. If all dogs go to Heaven, she expects to find Lucky there, licking her face like crazy. Thanks to Diana M., whose dream suggested this story.

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