Life After Death

Chapter 4

A long time ago I had a grandmother. Elizabeth Coleman – my mother's mother – and me, we were inseparable.

For as long as I could remember my mother had always put Nathaniel's needs before mine. There are many examples: When I wanted to try out for ballet – I couldn't because it would interfere with Nathaniel's karate lessons. When I wanted to start playing the piano – I couldn't because Nathaniel already played the piano. In all, it was always something.

Since my father had been working a lot when I was a little girl, I didn't have much fun growing up; until summer vacation came along and my parents would ship Nathaniel and I off to grandma Beth's.

I would watch the waves move on the surface of the ocean. Watch the froth of the water overlapping the shore.

That beach was my happy place.

So was the Pizza Palace that was about a block away. Grandma Beth would take Nathaniel and I every weekend and we'd have our fill on pepperoni pizza with extra cheese.

Sometimes when we arrived back to the beach house, Nathaniel and I would play in the backyard. He'd swing me in his arms, tossing me into a pile of leaves we had raked up on the sloping backyard, or a pile of new-mown grass. He would leap after me, and we would wrestle... my brother would laugh so hard he had to sit on the ground to recover, and I would leap on him, and the restlessness would disappear, chased out and forgotten.

I never realised how much I actually missed Nathaniel at that point.

I never realised the severity of everything.

I was dead.

But my brain – or whatever was up there – didn't register the information. Instead, it dismissed it, like some passing thought.

All that kept replaying like some broken record was: I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'll wake up. I'll wake up. I'll wake up.

I wanted that mantra to keep playing, because somehow it felt like the only thing keeping me intact, keeping me sane. It prevented me from screaming and ripping my hair out. I was afraid to accept it. I couldn't accept it. I didn't think I ever would.

The bus lurched to the front, and I clutched the upholstery seats in front of me for balance. I glared up at Death who was manning the stupid bus for what felt like forever; it felt so long that I had forgotten I had been in a bus. Until now, that is.

"Sorry," Death muttered an insincere apology and unbuckled his seatbelt.

The seats didn't have any seatbelts. How unsafe. Then the thought occurred to me: I didn't need seatbelts because I was –

"We're here," Death spoke again, and I noticed he had hopped out the driver's seat of the bus.

I wondered where 'here' was so I peeked out the window and my breath caught in my throat. It felt like I was back in time. Like I was eight again, and back on the west coast. That familiar scent – it was fresh and salty, it was one of the most distinctive smells on the planet, evoking memories of crashing waves, sandy beaches and a cry of seagulls. It caused a wave of emotion to hit me, and imaginary tears to spring into my tearducts.

"Meredith, are you okay?" Death asked. "You look like you just ate a mouldy lemon."

I looked down, and blinked rapidly, then looked up at Death to glower at him. "I'm okay, okay? Now, where are we!"

It wasn't a question. I knew where we were, but I just didn't understand what we were doing there. Grandma Beth died two years after my ninth birthday, so we couldn't be visiting her.