I Woke Up Dead at the Mall (17 page)

Nick led us to his apartment building on Greene Street and through the door of a vacant apartment. Even though nobody lived there, it was furnished like a page out of an IKEA catalogue. Everything matched everything else's rectangular shape and was kelly green or navy blue. It looked so cozy and fake.

“It's for visiting professors at NYU,” Nick explained. “It's usually empty all summer.”

“Well. We're not visiting all summer. Right?” I asked Nick, as if he would absolutely know.

“Of course not!” Nick spoke with absolute confidence. “Hey. This is sort of random, but I'm not hungry. Are you?” Nick asked. Smooth subject change.

“No. When's the last time we ate?” I wondered aloud. “And hey, are we even able to eat? I mean, can we eat the food that's here? Are we going to starve? Is that even possible, since we're already dead? Why didn't Bertha talk to us about food here?”

“We're dead. We can't starve. But this is so annoying: I finally
have a kitchen and I can't cook,” Nick complained. “I so want to cook for us.”

This funny feeling settled over me. Like we were kids playing house in some model apartment. Look! Here's our modular furniture. Look! Here's our bland, generic book collection. Look! Here's our barely used cookware. And look! Here's us.

We ended up in the (only) bedroom.

Okay. Deep breath. This was a whole new chapter in our relationship. Was this just sleep? Or was this sex? Or was this sex followed by sleep? What exactly was about to happen? Most important,
what did I want to have happen?
(I had no answers to any of these questions. And that seemed like kind of a deal breaker right there.)

“I'm totally exhausted,” Nick said quietly. “You?”

I nodded and interpreted that as
We're just going to sleep now. No sex
.

Some small part of me felt relieved that I didn't have to make any decision right here, right now. If I were alive, I would have felt disappointed or rejected. But now everything about me was ready to collapse and disintegrate. If I had bones, they were weary.

We lay down on the bed, perfectly synchronized. We were drawn together like the puzzle pieces we really were. My head fit perfectly against his neck and I breathed him in. Our legs and arms wrapped around us. Our breathing aligned in an easy rhythm. Sleep was pulling me down like heavy, heavy gravity. I let silence contain us for a while. My brain slid backward to Lacey and her shock that Nick and I were both virgins. Assuming he was telling the truth.

“Nick? Did you really never have sex when you were alive?” I asked.

“I always meant to. But no, I never did,” he said in a half whisper. “You?”

“No. Didn't even get around to having a boyfriend.” My voice grew softer and smaller. Nick turned his head to look at me in disbelief, then drew me back in against his neck, where I inhaled trees and rainstorms once more.

“Well. That's final proof that life is wasted on the living,” he said. “Because we're both kind of fantastically desirable.”

He may have said more, but I wouldn't know. I left. My mind slipped away, into the cool darkness, relinquishing language and emotion. My mind, my spirit, my whatever-I-was might have slipped into Nick, into his body/nonbody. We were too connected just then for anyone in the universe to consider us separate people.

I was safe. I was whole. I was real.

Wait. No. Forget all that. I was happy. I took all my fear and worry and put it to bed for the night.

I smiled a tiny smile as I drifted into a dreamless sleep. I was where I was meant to be.

“Wake up!” Nick was smiling over me. “Come on, we've got a busy day of haunting ahead of us.”

I sat up, slowly coming to full consciousness. Yes, we were still here. No, it wasn't all a dream. “Well,” I said. “I want to make sure my dad is definitely out of there—that Karen didn't find him and drag him back so she could finish him off.”

“I bet he's filed for divorce and thrown her in jail by now! As for my mom, she's probably still asleep. But we'll see.”

Nick stayed obstinately optimistic as we made our way through the world. This morning the crowds seemed denser and a lot less beautiful. The sky was gun-metal gray. But that was okay. It didn't need to be pretty to be beautiful. And even if it turned dreary and ugly, just plain being in the world was nothing short of glorious. We could see people, hear music, and witness life in all its madness. The artificial mall world stood as a stark contrast to real, messy, crazy, beautiful, ugly life in the outside world.

Elizabeth Anne, the strawberry blonde, was still singing and therefore still alive, despite the Boy's attentions. Good.

It began raining lightly, and the raindrops passed right through us with a cool, refreshing sparkle. The bruise-colored sky made it easier to see the dead among the living. Wow. New York was already crowded and bustling. Add all these ghosts slipping through and around the living and Manhattan was a glowing patchwork of humanity.

Karen was alone in the apartment. Throwing a tantrum. She was on the sofa, punching a pillow. Her makeup was half cried off. It was early morning, and she was finishing off an expensive bottle of chardonnay.

“This is excellent!” I practically sang to Nick. “She's going ballistic because she's been thwarted. He's gone. She's screwed.”

Karen was working hard at pulling herself together. She
wiped the mascara tracks away, sniffling, shaking her arms and head like a runner about to start a race. She cleared her throat, picked up the phone, and dialed.

“What's she doing now?” I asked, as if Nick would know.

“Hi, sweetheart. So, what is this, voicemail number fifteen? I don't mean to nag, but, Charlie, I'm really super-worried about you, so just call me back to let me know you're okay, okay? Remember the doctor said to avoid stress, but I don't think that he meant that you should stress
me
out!” She tried to laugh.

After she hung up, she looked at the phone as if it had betrayed her. “You bastard!” And then she was punching a pillow again. “No, no, no!” She seemed to be losing steam, though.

“Wow,” Nick said. “Now, that's impressive.”

“No,” said a small voice. I wheeled around and there they were. The Boy. They stood in the middle of the living room, arms folded over their chests. They scowled at us, at each other, then back at us.

The girl Boy shook her head and asked me, “Are you trying to get revenge on her? Just so you know, we don't like that.”

“No!” I insisted. “I just wanted to be sure my dad was safe. That's all! I'll leave her alone now.”

The boy Boy looked up at the ceiling and sang, “I don't belie-e-eve herrrrr.”

Nick took a step toward them, which seemed insanely brave.

“You're here,” he said. “Among the living.”

The boy Boy smiled and said, “Oh yes. We go where we want. We're the Boss of You!” He laughed pretty hard at this, as if he had just thought it up.

Karen began to snore softly in the background.

The girl Boy said, “You two think you can do anything, but you can't. We can. Would it be easier for you to take us seriously if we looked”—in an instant, they changed into a wise-looking old man with a long white beard, who wore flowing robes and leaned on a staff— “like this?”

Actually, yes. Now they looked like a deity worthy of the big screen and Charlton Heston. I sort of wanted to bow or kneel or something.

“Sarah,” he said in a deep, kind voice. I think it had a built-in echo. “What do you seek here?”

“I seek…” (Oh, I had to come up with an answer that was worthy.) “Peace.”

“See?” he said, still in the deep, serious voice. “This totally works.” The words were jarring coming from this Old Testament star. “So does this.”

Right before my eyes he transformed into Mother Teresa.

“Please be sure that your actions lead to peace, my child,” she said. Her voice was frail and strong at the same time. “Alive or dead, your actions will have consequences.” She smiled sweetly and said, “This version of me is pretty cool too.”

I wasn't sure if I should laugh or cry. Nick let out a breathy kind of laugh that made me think that he was in the same place I was.

“Can we go back?” Nick asked. “To the mall, I mean.
Should
we go back? And you're probably the one person, or persons, or whatever you are…You can get us back there.”

Mother Teresa smiled at him benevolently. And then she transformed. (I'm really reluctant to reveal this next
transformation. As incredible as everything else had been, this was the one that blew my mind.)

She transformed into Oprah. (I swear.) She was wearing a glamorous pale pink dress and diamonds in her ears. She was made up and ready for television.

“You want to go back?” she half-laughed, and walked over to Nick. “Tell me something. You had the chance to go back and you didn't take it. Why is that? I think we all want to know.” She nodded in my direction.

“I—I couldn't leave her. I felt responsible. I had to fix things,” he answered. (He was doing a better job at keeping up with these transformations than I was.)

“Mmm-mm-mm. Son, you don't know the first thing about addiction. But you might know a little bit about codependence!” She turned to me. “And what about you? You were there. At the park. You could have gone back. But you stood perfectly still when your friends were begging you to leave. I know. I was swinging on the swings nearby. Why did you stay? Why are you still here?”

“You already know why I stayed,” I said. “Don't you?” (Seriously, was Oprah going to make me declare my feelings for Nick? Right here? Right now? Rude.)

Oprah (really? Oprah?!) smiled warmly and shook her head. “You should have watched my show when you had the chance.”

“Sorry!” I said quickly. Nick was still in some kind of shock.

“Well. That's all we have time for today,” she said, as if signing off from a show. “See you next time!”

We walked/glided our way into the building where we were (sort of) living. (Should I call it
home
?) His mother remained in some unknown state of being behind this heavy metal door. Nick's face was ever so slightly taut with worry.

“Should I—can I come with you?” I asked him. I wouldn't blame him if he didn't want me to see her like this, but then his face melted into a little smile.

“Thanks. Yes,” he replied. And we didn't speak again until we were inside.

CLUES ABOUT NICK'S MOM'S STATE OF BEING: GOOD VS. BAD

The place was still a mess = Bad

The television was still playing in the background, loud and largely ignored = Bad

The television was showing an entertainment gossip show, instead of all-day New York news = Good (but questionable taste?)

The vodka was put away on a shelf = Good (it would have been Excellent if she had gotten rid of it all)

There was a wet towel on the bathroom floor = Good (to hell with neatness—she was clean!)

She was sitting at a small table, drinking coffee = Excellent

She was eating an organic burrito = Pretty Good

She was dressed = Good (it would have been Excellent if she had also put on her “face”)

She was talking on the phone = Excellent

The conversation sounded like it was escalating into an argument = Bad