Finally. I’m dead.
Hospital. Hospice. Sighs and goodbyes.
I was in the ground, then above the sky, wearing my favorite sweats and walking on cloud tops. It’s light. It’s bright. The air is cool. Everything in this place looks so different, but it all feels so right.
There’s no one around but for Timmy.
“Did you get lost?” he said. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
His voice is sharp and strong. His eyes are clear. He has that haircut from high school, brown hair shiny like a Prell commercial. He smiles and sits atop a cooler.
“Can I get you a cold one,” he asked.
“Yeah. Why not? Why not,” I said. Pancreatitis and sobriety are behind me now. “I’d really like that.” I was good for a long time, and I’m really good right now.
I sit on the cooler next to him and turned my can’s tab to the right, so I’ll know it’s mine. We tap our beers.
“How’s your guitar playing?” I ask. “I haven’t found the time yet,” he said, “but I will.”
Timmy takes a long pull from his Miller High Life bottle, but the beer level stays the same. His bottle stays cold, same as my can w/ ice beads from the cooler. We tapped our beers.
“How’s the golf?”
“Great, but there are no putters here. Every one of your chips holes out from the fairway.”
“What about par 3s? ” “Hole in one. Every time.” “Sweet!”
We switch beers so he can try my Corona. His Miller is fantastic; always was when they’re crazy cold.
He puts his arm around my shoulder. “The wives won’t be here for years,” he says, “but the dogs are napping right over there. They’ll be happy to see you again.”
I open the Mario’s pizza box and take a slice. They’ve been closed for decades, but their pepperoni is still the best in this world.
“So this is what comes after?” I ask. “Finally,” he said.