I Woke Up Dead at the Mall Read online

  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

  “I need work! You gotta find me something,” she insisted.

  “Mom works for a bunch of temp agencies,” Nick explained while we studied her. “She does secretarial stuff, babysitting, dog-walking, all sorts of things.”

  “Yes, I’ll hold!” she shouted into the phone, then sighed loudly, drumming her fingers against the table. The television took her attention as the host prepared to break for a commercial. She watched the commercials attentively, phone to her ear, waiting for the call or the show to resume.

  Nick was roaming the apartment, but he returned as soon as his mother spoke again.

  “Yes?” She sat up straight as she turned her attention back to her phone. “Where is it?” She brightened up. “Easy commute. Okay, what are the hours? What’s the pay?”

  She shook her head and folded herself down a bit.

  “That’s part-time. I’m going to need more.” She listened. “No, no, no! I’ll take it. I mean hey, it’s a start, right?” She listened. “Thanks. And keep trying to find me something? Maybe another part-time gig and I’ll be in good shape.” She looked around the apartment. “Well. I’ll be in better shape than I am right now.”

  She hung up, shut off the TV, and went to the refrigerator. She stared at its contents for a long, hard minute.

  Without a word, she grabbed her phone, her keys, and her purse and went outside.

  Progress = Good

  New Yorkers have excellent peripheral vision. We need it. We need to know, at all times, who’s getting close enough to grab our stuff and run. We need to turn on the lights and check for anything scurrying across the floor. We need to be aware of the world around us. Always.

  That didn’t change after we were dead.

  Nick and I were passing through scaffolding on a side street where it was extra-dark. Our own blue glow showed us the way, and it put a spotlight on a sudden movement up ahead to our left. Nick and I both halted all movement and sound.

  “Hey! Let go!” a woman’s voice cried out. “Help me!”

  “Shut up, bitch!” a man’s voice growled at her. It didn’t take long for us to find them, enclosed in this wooden alleyway. She was putting up a hell of a fight for her purse. She scratched his face, which really pissed him off. So he punched her in the jaw, knocking her to the ground.

  She looked like somebody’s grandmother. She was whimpering in pain.

  “Stop!” I shouted as loud as I could. The guy jumped and looked around for the source of the sound. When he didn’t see me, he went back to work.

  He kicked the woman in the stomach. She moaned, curling her body into a tight ball. He took her purse, he took her jewelry. He looked ready to kick her in the head, when Nick put himself between the two of them.

  The man froze for a few long seconds. He saw Nick, but he didn’t understand. His face was a map of fear and confusion. (Good.)

  “Police!” I shouted. And that was it. The guy took off at top speed, holding tight to everything he had stolen. I followed after him. “Police! Police! Police!” I shouted into the night.

  We couldn’t, we wouldn’t leave until the ambulance worker wrapped her in blankets and bandages and took her to safety. She was crying as they wheeled her out of the scaffolding. And then the siren took over, crying on her behalf.

  The quiet that followed was thunderous.

  “We helped,” Nick said.

  “Not enough,” I answered. I was stuck on the image of her curled up on the sidewalk.

  The land of the living had turned unlovely just now, and I desperately wished to go back to the lush greens and blues of the park or the hushed warm earth tones of home.

  chapter thirty-four

  sunday in the park with nick

  Nick and I were relaxing, sort of, on a bench in Washington Square Park. The light rain had gained some power and it showered through us. As it passed through me, it offered a gentle silver feeling of endless cool. We sat in our cool silence together for a long while.

  The ghosts of Washington Square slowed down. Some of them stopped and opened their arms to welcome the rain passing through them. Maybe the rain was flattered, because it grew even more intense.

  The super-skinny ghost sat down next to me. “You blew it, didn’t you? I knew you would. I knew it. I saw you and I thought, ‘Oh, she’s here to do something important. And she’s gonna blow it.’ ” Her voice picked up speed, pitch, and mania. “I knew it. I called it. I was right.”

  “As a matter of fact, I didn’t blow it. I saved my dad’s life. Nick’s mom is getting better. So even if we get stuck here with…people like you…we did what we came here to do.” And I just had to add, “So there.”

  She didn’t acknowledge a word I’d said. Instead she jumped up from the bench. “I have to keep moving,” she said. She began to jog in place. “I have to go. I have to go,” she repeated as she jogged away. “So close to my goal weight.”

  “Can you kill someone who’s already dead?” I asked Nick.

  Lightning woke up the park, punctuated by a satisfying clap of thunder. The ghosts around us made sounds like they were excited. But their movements slowed even more.

  “This is so weird,” I said to Nick. “Do you mind if we stay here? For just a bit?”

  Part of me knew that this was a dangerous question. But most of me felt slow and thick, sort of the way I’d felt the night I died. Could someone have drugged me?

  “Let’s enjoy this,” Nick said, leaning back on the bench, arms outstretched, turning his face to the rain. I rested my head against his shoulder.

  “We have all the time in the world,” he called out over the heavy sheet of rain that enchanted us both. “They’ll be okay. We’ll make sure.”

  He took my hand in his, and that’s when I saw it. Both of our bracelets were a heavy brick red. I thought about saying something, but the rain was gentle and mesmerizing.

  Tomorro
w morning, set your alarm and get up before dawn. Then get yourself outside, or to a window or to a rooftop, and face east. But be careful. It’s so unreasonably beautiful, it might kill you.

  “This was here every day when I was alive?” Nick asked as he shook his head. We leaned forward and studied it, like we were witnessing magic. “I had how many thousands of chances to see this—and I missed most of them?”

  We had been in the park all night, and we both stayed awake for most of it. The gorgeous sensation of rain was something we didn’t want to miss. Not one drop. It was too amazing.

  I felt it, and I let my mind drift. When I tried to suggest that we go home, the rain hypnotized me into silence. It washed everything clean. My forehead was unknotted and my breathing was even. Now the damp ground glittered in the sun, and the city eased into life (and into death, for some of us). The noise increased—in the world, and in my thoughts:

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Yes it was.”

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  Ah yes. The sounds of the living and dead were starting to fill any blank spaces. The strawberry-blond singing girl was show-tuning her way through a thicket of ghosts (I was so glad she couldn’t see us), while that heartfelt troubadour with the guitar and the hat overpowered her with a tragic ballad. A garbage truck honked and challenged them both but didn’t stop either of them for a beat.

  Yes, it was true that the city could be brutally ugly, I knew that before I died and got reminded of it when I saw a man kick an elderly woman in the stomach. So why was I so entranced with it? Why couldn’t I let go of its beauty?

  “Sarah,” Nick said softly. “Is it so bad—being here among the living—with me?”

  (Another dangerous question.)

  I couldn’t lie, not even a little, but I couldn’t answer right away. Sunlight was passing through me, and I felt as if I might be a ghostly rainbow of refracted light. I looked in Nick’s eyes and saw something I’d never noticed before. The gold flecks in his irises were old (arresting) news. What I saw was that Nick was right for me.