I Woke Up Dead at the Mall Read online

  “Could you pass the salt?” Nick asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Will it disappear forever and never come back, in the afterlife or the next life?” I asked before I handed it over. “Does it have serious mother issues?”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Is this how you two flirt?” Lacey asked. “Because if it is, you kind of suck at it.”

  I gave Nick a look that said: Well. Tell them. But he didn’t figure it out, so I said, “Well. Tell them.” Out loud.

  “No. Not till I hear from Bertha. I should wait,” he said.

  “Great idea. Wait until everyone feels really exposed and vulnerable. Then tell them.” The words came out a lot harsher than I had intended.

  “Wait for what?” Alice asked. “What’s going on?”

  Yes, I was being kind of bratty. Sorry. But no one had ever broken my heart before. I didn’t know how to behave. And then it got worse.

  We trudged our way to Bertha at Staples. She was waiting by the entrance, which wasn’t her usual thing. My heart was in a permanent state of broken panic. This was it.

  Bertha took Nick aside for a private chat. They spoke quietly, but I heard bits and horrible pieces.

  Bertha: somethingsomething honor system. That’s why I offered you the choice to somethingsomething.

  Nick: It’s only right that I somethingsomething.

  Bertha: It’s rather late for such a somethingsomething.

  Nick: Before I go, tell me who brings all the somethingsomething.

  Bertha: Ah, those are somethingsomething. They do it because they somethingsomething. And now…

  She reached out her hand and he removed his bracelet. She took it from him. Oh no.

  Done. I could hear blood rushing through my ears. It overpowered me. Every possible emotion was flowing through it.

  Bertha and Nick remained together, separate from the rest of us. Bertha began a little speech. I didn’t hear most of it. I didn’t want to. “Somethingsomething heroes belong in another somethingsomething.” And “Angels are somethingsomething.”

  It was real. They all knew now. Nick was leaving us, and it would be just as sudden and as permanent as death itself. Maybe even more permanent. We stood in mournful silence in the absolute emptiness of the mall.

  Alice stepped forward. Her voice sounded younger than ever.

  “You’ll look out for us all, won’t you, Nick?” And then her voice broke. “We need angels. The world is a dangerous place.” And with that she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. She cried on his shoulder.

  After a bit he gently removed her arms. She let them fall as she stepped back. He looked at Lacey, whose gaze was locked to the floor. He said, “Hey, Lacey. You’re already in charge of the afterlife. Next time around I think you’ll run the world.”

  When she looked up at him, her face was streaming with tears. She shook her head, unable to speak. So Nick stepped over to her and held her tight. She cried, rather loudly, then took a sudden step back.

  “This hurts,” she said. “This kind of goodbye. It isn’t right. Are we actually supposed to be happy for you?”

  Nick had no answer for that.

  Lacey looked in my direction. “Oh, Sarah. Holy shit, girl.” But I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have any. I was past language at that point anyway. I looked at Nick, and he looked at me. Nobody else existed.

  When he scooped me into his arms, I couldn’t move a muscle. My arms dangled at my sides. Useless. I tried to turn away from the trees and the rainstorms, but they were inescapable. Wherever he wasn’t touching me, I felt the hard-edged fluorescence of the mall.

  Deep in my heart (or my brain or my stomach) I knew that this was my one, final, only opportunity to speak to Nick and say my goodbye to him. To give him my love in language. But my central nervous system (if I still had one) had shut down. No words came. No movement either. I was missing my chance and I knew it.

  “Sarah,” Nick whispered to me. “I love you. That will never change.”

  My arms moved upward and rested on those shoulders that had captured my attention when I first saw him.

  “I’ll find you,” he assured me. “I’ll look out for you.”

  My arms tightened around him and his around me. He studied my face and kissed me, then kissed me again. “Please,” he urged me. “Please tell me you forgive me.”

  “Nick.” Bertha tugged at his arm. “We must go.”

  Nick held me tighter. “Please tell me you love me.” But I had no words, no sound. Something inside me was gone and I couldn’t find it. Come on. Open your mouth. Open your heart. Say it. Speak. Connect. Now. I was missing my chance and I knew it.

  He began to let go. “Please. Let me take that with me. Sarah!”

  When he stepped away from me I crumbled to the ground and dissolved into a fog of grief. And when I looked up, he was gone.

  I had missed my chance, and I knew it.

  My bracelet was the color of blood. I was enjoying the irony in that.

  Could everyone see that I was walking around with a gaping hole in my heart? Did it run straight through my body, like a cannonball had shot through me? Did they know that I now, finally, felt like I had actually stopped living?

  I refused to join Lacey and Alice as they scurried off to participate in Bertha’s brand of group therapy. No thank you. Was it okay to blame Bertha for taking Nick away? For falling for his “I died a hero” bit? Please. If you wanted to get technical about it, when I died, I saved my dad. And then I went back and really, really saved him. So there.

  I eavesdropped on Bertha’s group therapy sessions but stayed on the outside, invisible like a (say it with me) ghost.

  “We very nearly had a new arrival!” she crowed. “A young man in a coma was near dead, following a gang-related shooting. But he pulled through. Another modern medical miracle.” She sounded really bummed that the kid survived.

  Besides feeling allergic to Bertha, I really didn’t need to hear her do a whole song-and-dance number entitled “If You Fall in Love at the Mall, You’ll Ruin Your Life and I Told You So.”

  I lingered outside, peeking around the corner whenever I could. Lacey and Alice sat, obedient and attentive, on folding chairs. With any luck that coma boy would give up the ghost and help fill up the room. Meanwhile, Bertha happily instructed poor Lacey and Alice.

  “Today I want you to write the story of your life, if you hadn’t died when you did.”

  Writing assignments in the afterlife. Talk about irresistible!

  The next day I listened as Bertha joyfully preached at poor Lacey and Alice.

  “Today I want you to immerse yourself in your anger about your murder until you can’t stand the taste of it any longer. Alice, we’ll start with you. If you could speak to your murderer, what would you say?”

  Suddenly Alice let loose a tirade that just couldn’t be coming from such a small girl. She screeched, “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” She said it again and again until her voice went raw. I recoiled from the doorway, blown back by the sound and the fury.

  “Yes. Well. Very good!” Bertha sounded a bit shocked at the volume little Alice had reached. “Now. Lacey, your turn.”

  But Lacey spoke quietly. “I don’t think Alice is done yet. Are you? Alice?”

  She was silent for a long time. Then: “I’m ever so done. I’m so tired of hating him and hating Ma and hating Da. I’m so tired of it. It’s a satchel full of stones and I want to put it down. I need to put it down. I choose to put it down.”

  I peeked around the corner. Alice was crying softly, as Lacey and Bertha sat on the floor with her. Finally Bertha pulled herself up and straightened her clothes.

  “Well then, Alice. I think that you should…” But something about Alice’s expression must have stopped her.

  When Alice finally said something, it felt like she was speaking to herself. “It’s done. No more. I’m laying it all to rest.”

  She breathed. She sm
iled. Her eyes were clear. Her bracelet was pale pink.

  I slithered away.

  chapter thirty-seven

  and then this happened

  The Mall of America is hugely big. There was no reason for me to stay on the fifth level and hang with the dead when there was plenty of room for me down here. Give me the living, any day of the week. I would stay down here and just haunt.

  There was a gaggle of little girls, all carrying American Girl dolls, each girl dressed to match her doll. Their mothers abandoned them (temporarily) for caffeine at Caribou Coffee. One of the little girls was the clear leader of the group. She was giving a speech to her smallest follower, while the others looked on.

  “Well. Zoe told me that Seana never liked you.” Her words hit the small girl right between the eyes. She clutched her doll a little closer. The leader girl seemed pleased, so she continued. “She only pretended to like you because you had a trampoline and she wanted to do trampoline Olympics someday. But now she knows there’s no such thing, so she doesn’t need to be nice to you ever again.”

  The small girl was crying now. The leader girl grinned. “I’m telling you this because I’m your friend and I think you should know the truth.”

  I leaned close to the leader girl and said, “You’re a terrible human being. You’re going to die someday. And you will be haunted by regrets.”

  Just like that, the leader girl started to cry. The followers followed and started crying too. Their mothers emerged, coffee in hand, to comfort them.

  “What’s wrong?” one of the mothers asked.

  “I don’t kno-o-o-ow!” the leader girl wailed.

  Great. I just made a bunch of children cry. What an achievement. For the record, I was not proud of myself. And I was now getting really good at slithering away. There were lots of places to see.

  I smiled as a pair of (living) senior citizens in tracksuits power walked through a cluster of dead mall walkers. None of them saw each other. Can we all pause to enjoy this moment a little bit? The living were mall-walking to fend off death.

  “What a good idea. I think I’ll go for a walk,” I said to myself. I laughed just a little, but it felt like acid in my throat. I walked among the living on this level. And then I walked on the next level. And the next. And the next. I went upstairs among the dead, where I wouldn’t make anybody cry. When I got to Crate & Barrel, I stopped. Really, I should have gone inside, but I just didn’t want to. Not yet.

  I made a turn and decided to keep walking. So yeah. I walked. Not fast. I walked. Just steady. I walked. The rhythm of my walk began to cast a spell on me. I walked. It was calming. I walked. It was rhythmic and seductive. So I walked some more. Keep going. I walked. I walked. I walked. I…

  chapter thirty-eight

  sisyphus had it easy

  I’m at the wedding. The lights are too bright and the music is too loud. I know what’s going to happen and I’m powerless to stop myself. All I have is pure terror at going through this again. Again. Again.

  There I am. I’m eating way too much. I steal a glass of champagne from the dais table. Its sharp taste bites at my mouth. And then I eat some more. The food is meaty and savory, and I feel sort of cruel eating it. And then I’m feeling sick, so sick. Now I’m on the bathroom floor in my mango bridesmaid gown. I’m going under. I’m being torn from my body, thread by thread by thread by thread. It hurts like hell. And then…

  At the wedding. Eating. Drinking. At the wedding. On the bathroom floor. Going under. Hurts like hell. Start over. At the wedding. Eating. Drinking. At the wedding. On the bathroom floor. Going under. Hurts. Start over.

  (Stop, please stop. I hate this. Make it stop!)

  At the wedding. Eating. Drinking. At the wedding. On the bathroom floor. Going under. Hurts. Start over. At the wedding. Eating. Drinking. At the wedding. On the bathroom floor. Going under. Hurts. Start over.

  (How long have I been doing this? How many times do I have to do this? Somebody? Anybody?)

  At the wedding. Eating. Drinking. At the wedding. On the bathroom floor. Hurts.

  (Please! I’m begging you! Nick! Bertha! Alice! Lacey! Boy! God! Oprah! Anybody! I’m in here, and I’m stuck watching myself die over and over again. Make it stop! Please, please, please. No more. Nick!)

  The lights went big, loud, super-bright. Blinding. Piercing through my eyelids. But then it was over. There was a calm darkness around me.

  Was this me giving up? Was I done now? No more? Had I exploded into ash? What comes after all this afterlife, after all? I supposed that it was safe to open my eyes.

  I was at home. I was sort of breathless and confused. (Aren’t you?)

  Still. Any kind of change from that awful, endless loop of dying and death was a good thing. I’d overlook the fact that I was standing in the middle of my living room dressed once more in the hideous mango bridesmaid gown because, hey, at least I wasn’t watching myself die again.

  Because the real problem was, I wasn’t just watching myself die. I was feeling it. I was in it. And that horrible sick feeling of being extracted from my body was bad enough the first time. The repetition was unbearable.

  So I’d wear anything as long as that stopped.

  In fact, home looked sweeter and more precious than ever before. I smiled with more joy than I may ever have felt when I was alive. I was here! In the land of the living!

  I finally took a step and felt the carpet give way just a bit beneath my feet. Wow. That felt excellent. I looked around and saw Dad, sitting on the sofa.

  And Karen.

  She was holding his hand in both of hers. And he was tolerating that. She was smiling.

  “Dad!” I yelled. “It’s Sarah! Please don’t trust Karen!”

  He didn’t hear me. Not even a little. And then my skin started to feel funny. Sort of like a sunburn that somebody was pushing and twisting. Oh no. The lights changed and flashed. They hurt my eyes. No, no, no. (Maybe it’s just a dream? Just a dream. Stop worrying. Just breathe.)

  At the wedding. Eating. Drinking. At the wedding. On the bathroom floor. Hurts.

  At the wedding. Eating. Drinking. At the wedding. On the bathroom floor. Hurts.

  At the wedding. Eating. Drinking. At the wedding. On the bathroom floor. Hurts.

  If you watch yourself die enough times, you get just a little bit numb to it. The awful feeling becomes tolerable because you know just how bad it will feel and how long it will last. It becomes a repetitive story with a predictable ending, even though you care enormously about the protagonist. That’s what was happening with me.

  I was a little bit aware of some stray intrusions on this cycle, but I didn’t manage to dream (or haunt?) again. And I mostly knew that yes, I was now a mall walker. There were sounds on the breeze now and then, and they may have come from the people at the mall, but I couldn’t be sure. I was safely uncomfortable repeating the story of my death over and over and over again. My legs and feet were serving as the motor that ran the story again, once more from the top.

  I could swear I heard Bertha a few times, saying, “Wake yourself up, dear. You can do it. Haven’t you suffered enough?”

  But I couldn’t answer her. (BTW, the answer would have been No. I need to suffer more.)

  Or maybe I was just being awful. To her and to me. Just try waking up. Just try. Just for a change. I summoned strength/courage/free will/fury/love/chutzpah/and anything else I could find. Wake up. Wake up. Now.

  I didn’t see the wedding, the bathroom, or my home. Things were sort of darkish. And then I heard a new voice. A male voice speaking right to me. It was Declan.

  “Wow. This sucks,” he said. I had to agree. I could see him, sort of blurry, like he’d been photographed with the wrong filter, but it was definitely Declan. Walking right by my side. We were in rhythm.

  “Are we awake now?” I asked him.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t feel awake. Maybe this is like a dream. Or haunting. Or something.” Clearly he didn’t know t
he answer. “Whatever this is, you just made it happen, Sarah.”

  Me?

  The lights were medium-bright, showing us that we were now in a hallway. “Where are we?” I asked.

  “We’re in a hallway,” Declan answered, helpful as ever.

  Up ahead of us was a mahogany-brown door that I had never seen before. Of course we opened it. Of course we walked through it. Of course.

  So far, every dream had happened in a familiar place. But I didn’t recognize where I was now. This looked like a kind of living room, with pretentious art masks on the walls and a big desk on one side. Everything was brown or olive green. Sort of like the floor of a forest. I had definitely never seen this place before.

  And there was my mother. (It wasn’t fair that I was dead and people were haunting me.)

  “Now what, Mom?” I asked her. “Is this an intervention? Is this about Nick? Because I’m not done being upset about him, so don’t bother yelling at me to get over it. And have you actually returned from the dead to nag me? Really?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think I’m the one making this happen,” Mom interrupted. “You are.”

  “Um,” Declan began. “Okay then, Sarah, first of all, thank you. Even though things still do kind of suck, and I may have to go back to reliving my death over and over again, I’m really thankful for getting drawn into this break. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I replied, even though I wasn’t sure that I was the reason for any of this. But hey, he was saying it to me, so I accepted it.

  “What’s going on? Are you trying to wake us up?” I asked Mom.

  “Here’s the thing.” Mom sounded very confident, like a TV news anchor. “You’ve got a big problem. Besides mall-walking. You didn’t finish what you were supposed to do. Karen’s winning. I mean, I hate to sound like a jealous first wife, but she’s really awful.”

  “But Dad left her. I saw him leave,” I insisted, trying really hard not to panic. “I’m the one who got him to leave, and I know, I know he understood what I was saying.”