Waking Up Dead

originally published
November 25, 2010

“Sometimes it’s not a question of why but why not.” 

‘Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, 

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 

To the last syllable of recorded time; 

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 

The way to dusty death. 

Out, out, brief candle! 

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, 

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 

And then is heard no more. 

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 

Signifying nothing.’ 

(Macbeth, [Act 5, Sc 5, 19–28], William Shakespeare)

I woke up quietly, unafraid and lost to the world. There was no cold in the air and no heat I could feel. The room was tepid. Soft and silent, like the snow which was falling outside. I opened my eyes looking, searching. I glanced around and realized I was still alone. No fall had broken me. I was not sure what all this was and I wondered if this be heaven or hell, or someplace in between. My clothes were missing and I was bathed in blue and white. I tried to move myself about but I was dizzy and confused. I rose in the bed which had caught me and sat like a little boy, slowly waking from his first dream. I turned and angled myself from my place and stepped onto the floor below. It was cold and damp and sent chills into my shoulders. I did not know where I was. I raised myself up to a proper place and found balance on the edge of the bed I had abandoned. I closed my eyes once more and took a deep breath, then started out towards the door. The room seemed as large as forever and I wondered if I shouldn’t just find solace in the place from which I had come. I still sensed no reason for fear or trepidation. All was quiet but for a distant hum from a place unseen. I headed out. Step by step, predictably, I moved towards the large brown barrier which stood between then and now and for always. Quickly, I was overwhelmed and fell back to my safety. Like the ocean had found refuge in my belly, I reached for the pan beside the pillow and purged my seasick ways. Colours flashed before my eyes, dangling oddly fashioned rainbows made up of pills and ice before me. I reached for more, in spite of the surging sea, but missed my pot of gold. I still had no idea where I was. Once more I rose, this time with fortitude, longing to see what was behind the door. Was it mingled, like candy, all sweet and demure? Was it harsh and heavy like a burden stinging with prickly heat from below? My pulse raced and I stood, cavalierly turning from the pain into might. Each step was cautiously made so as not to provoke any demon that might be lurking about. One after the other, I scaled over each tile with precision in spite of my weakness. As I approached the door those colours, which had danced in rainbows, returned with vertigo and no safe place to find. With caution to the wind I lurched forward, falling against the door. I slumped down onto the tiled pavement and closed my eyes. The last thing I said to myself as I tumbled to the floor was "God damnit, it didn't work again."

I started popping pills the second I saw the town marker. It didn’t take me long to swallow almost 100 x 10 mg blue drops of valium salvation. Combined with the cold, and the wind, I was desperate to be rewarded. I made sure that this time I didn’t eat or drink anything for at least 3 days before. This had to work. I just couldn’t keep going, there was no fucking way. I headed straight into the heart of Stratford and turned onto the street that ran parallel to death alley. As I approached the cemetery entrance, my world started spinning. I thought, how convenient I did not have to ram the gate, as it was open. I was suddenly overcome. Everything seemed to go black and I couldn’t see where I was going. I sped up to secure safety in Avondale, then slowed as I pulled into the rustic entrance, all cast iron and majestic. I made a quick turn, heading for my new home. I swerved, barely missing one of the old relic headstones which greet you like Acolytes without a sanctuary. The world began to slow in speed, like some freeze-frame kaleidoscope, hoping to be turned. I was consumed in the tunnel. The music in the car started to slur like a crackhead asking for cash. The last thing I saw was the center median, piled high with snow, and the blur of contact, then into darkness. I fell over, slumping against the steering wheel, and closed my eyes for what I prayed be the last time. 

The light was queer and tiny, yet its shine filled up the tunnel like first light calls the dawn. I could hear it. The sound was constant and buzzing, like birds flying en masse to migration points in my soul. It was not maddening but peaceful, soothing like a summer wind or the feel of silk on a humid day. I did not see where it came from, for the walls of this tunnel turned in darkness, cloaking the life behind it for none to see. Ahead, the light began to grow stronger, grow larger. I did not need to move, rather it came to me like a firefly, growing bigger and constant, moving towards me in silent revelry. I did not think and I did not feel. I was baptized by the glow, dancing in the birdsong and swaying in the unknown. Two stood before me. Backlit with faces lost in the shadow. Both men were tall and strong. You could tell they wore beards from the hints of light that caused glimmers of who they were. The light filled all around me and I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. He came forward, with certainty, and called my name. His words were gunshots to my yearning sense of defeat and he said, “You cannot come. It is not your time.” I could not speak, although I tried to scream out that I did not wish to go back. He walked to me, touched my shoulder and lifted me into his arms. 

The door was cool to the touch and I could feel it through the blue and white hospital robe I wore like a tunic. The floor beneath me added its icy touch to an already cold disposition. I was pissed. How could this have happened? I made sure this time, I double checked. There is no possible way I could have survived a slumber in such ghastly conditions, filled with the poison that was supposed to kill. Waking to my parents faces changed my disposition but only until they had left me. Perhaps this was hell and the devil was tricking me, making me think I exist in the same place I had just escaped from. This could not be heaven for my burden was still heavy and I found no peace, just wanting. I tried to get up but I couldn’t. My legs gave way under me like a wimp trying to impress some girl with a feat of strength. I realized I had failed. I knew where I was and I wasn’t happy. I sat on the floor, leaning on the door and cursed nature and science and God. The Trinity I had relied upon had somehow failed me, like religion fails the poor and humble in their time of need. Slowly I found my resolve. I arose cautiously, my legs quivering like some little child caught outside in the cold. My ass was frozen. Finally, as I stood and turned, grabbing the metal handle, I opened the door and moved outside. The hum I had heard earlier sang out in chords to all around. The smell of sterility burned my nostrils and made me sick again. Down the corridor, I saw my Minister approaching me with an artificial smile. He explained to me what had happened. I had hit the median, and then fled, leaving the car running with the driver’s side door open. I left the music playing loudly and as I wandered through the cemetery, removing some pieces of clothing in the process. I must have fallen and hit a headstone. I continued walking until I found my destination. I threw myself into the snow. The next day, 15 hours after I entered the graveyard, I was found on the other side of this place, near the railway tracks, alive and very cold. When we finished talking, my Minister asked me how I got to the other side of the cemetery. I replied that I must have walked in my stupor. “Why?” I asked. “Well,” he replied, “they found your footprints leading to the grave, but they couldn’t find any leading to where you were found.”