What about all of these supposed circumstances that apparently made the heavens laugh but brought me so much anxiety and suffering? Did Fate intercept the soul-exposing letter from the (then) love of my life that explained that she wanted to give it a shot? I never received that letter. And we never got that shot. Was it funny to Fate that shortly into my friend’s failed marriage, he randomly and innocently reconnected—until now, I thought it was random—with his secret grade school fantasy crush and couldn’t do a thing about it? Seemed to me that Fate was maybe kind of cruel. I tried to stifle the thought I had because it couldn’t possibly have been more inappropriate at the time, but still quietly mumbled, “Goddamnit.”
I looked around the room and saw smiles, laughter, and what I assumed was joy. I felt like I was experiencing something completely different than the others in the room. I never was very good at joy.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A woman finds a lost wallet that contains a “Dear John” love letter written sixty years earlier. She tracks down the woman who wrote the letter and the man who lost the wallet. They live in the same retirement home.7
I was struggling to believe that our lives were predetermined. Or if not predetermined, dramatically influenced. Which events were the result of Fate, and which were the result of free will? For that matter, how did God play into this equation? What was his role? Did he really give up that kind of control just to amuse himself? Could Fate, did Fate, influence free will by altering the path that I took? If I decided on my own accord to go left, and it turned out to be the greatest decision I’d ever made, couldn’t Fate then drop an obstacle or person in my path, which would then force me to change directions and potentially end up going the wrong way? I guess what really bugged me was that I felt like I wasted so much time struggling to be happy. I spent most of my life feeling like I didn’t belong. Feeling like an alien. If it’s all just scripted, why would that happen? “God’s will” was the answer to some of the most complicated questions, but was “Fate’s will” just as prevalent? Fuck.
When things weren’t going right, I had on many occasions asked, “Is this some kind of joke?” The fact was that maybe, just maybe, it was exactly that. And the joke was not just played on me, but on all of us. It was more than I was prepared to handle. Or understand. How was I supposed to process this? Where were Jond and Ira? Did they know this was going to be happening? They must have.
I just wanted to go back to the woods with Blondie. Back to my virtual reality. Who cares if that meant I wouldn’t meet God? I didn’t know what that meant anyway, right? It’s not like he was walking around the table, asking us all how we enjoyed our meals and refilling our water glasses. Plus, if I thought that God was the sum of my experiences, then I already knew him, her, them, it, anyway. I was working overtime to justify my desire to get out of this house. If leaving meant I could have some peace and make the questions stop once and for all, or if I could exist in this “happily ever after life” with the little bit of romance in which I still believed left intact, I didn’t need to meet God. I didn’t need to learn more about the true meaning of Fate.
The problem was that this wasn’t exactly the kind of dinner party from which you excused yourself with a fake story about not feeling well. Presumably, our assumed host could literally see right through us. I could see through myself. No. I knew I wasn’t going to leave until I was dismissed. I was in for the duration. And I was spiraling.
This spiraling feeling was not new. It always left me exhausted and depressed. But, again, in heaven? Shouldn’t this be the place where I was finally freed from this internal conflict? Wasn’t heaven supposed to be the reward for having suffered through life? Wasn’t this the place where I should finally find peace and relief? I once read a book called 10% Happier. The author, Dan Harris, wrote that he wanted the title to be, “The Voice in My Head is an Asshole.” I was starting to think that maybe that voice was Fate.
I was in danger of a full-blown panic attack when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was the kind of gentle, reassuring touch that said, “Dude, just take a deep breath and let the process unfold.” I turned to thank Mort. Unaware of my meltdown, he was sitting with his hands pressed to his face in delight. He clearly loved every minute of this show. Even the part, especially the part, where Fate took credit for the car accident that first introduced him to Jeanie. I looked toward the shape at the end of the table, and unless my eyes were still playing games with me, it gave me a gentle nod. The kind of nod that said, “Just take a deep breath and let the process unfold.” And then gently, “Trust yourself.”
Trust who? Trust what? And then, silence in my head. I finally ran out of questions.
Fate had a mission, and it was bigger than me. Bigger than my endless stream of questions. Bigger than my insecurities. The show must go on. I suspected I wasn’t the first person to feel some level of shock. Fate probably knew exactly how to deal with guests like me. I took a few deep breaths and came to grips with the truth.
If I were totally honest with myself, any disappointment I felt was owed to my inability to take advantage of the opportunities that Fate allegedly gave me. This disappointment and my reaction were on me. My fault. Not Fate’s.
Fate was still talking as I regained consciousness of the moment. “—And so I invite all of you to clear any glasses, utensils, or napkins to the side and imagine your placemat is a screen.”
I wondered what I had missed. It made me wonder about all the things I had missed when I was too busy asking myself too many questions.
I turned to Mort, who gave me a look that was a combination of compassion and curiosity. He shrugged with a big smile and turned his attention to his screen/placemat. I didn’t get the impression that Mort ever asked too many questions. I think he was all in for whatever was in front of him. I’m guessing he lived his life like that, and I bet it had served him well. He had a plan, and he had faith. No sense stopping now. I had run out of questions and figured I’d give that strategy a try. For once. I was here. I may as well appreciate it, try on a little faith of my own, and see how it fits.
Still, I felt strange looking into a placemat. I was self-conscious even though everyone at the table was doing the same. I found myself stealing glances out of the tops and corners of my eyes. Kind of like I did when I took my first yoga class and felt totally out of place. Or maybe more to the point, when I was a kid in temple, spying on those around me who were praying. Even then, I was uncomfortable with the vulnerability of my faith. That’s exactly how faith felt. Vulnerable. It required a sort of letting go that was simply foreign to me—even if I wanted it. It required me to give up control. I heard a different voice in my head this time. Mine. Trust yourself.
Fate continued. “This is a unique opportunity that you’re all about to experience. When you were alive, did you ever wonder if those in heaven could see you? How many of you asked if your grandmother, spouse, son, or even dog could look down on you?”
That was a question everyone could relate to. We all raised our hands.
“Now that you’re here, who would you like to see?”
There was a collective anticipation manifested by a single gasp. Playfully, Fate said, “Well? What are you waiting for?” Then Fate commanded, “Let there be no light!”
It was funny. I wondered if God was amused as Fate riffed on one of the all-time most famous lines. And I wondered how many times it had been delivered. I wondered if it got old, like a band playing its greatest hit night after night.
The room went dark, and a wave of thoughts raced through my mind like a slideshow. I had heard that some people literally see their lives flash before their eyes just before they die. I experienced something like that only in reverse. Sort of. Not exactly opposite, I guess. I saw my life, but I was already dead. I saw Timmy, Adam, Blondie, teachers, people, moments, the cars, and, of course, Jess. My expectation was that the placemat would show me how she was doing. I was so eager to see what Jess was cooking and hear what music she was listening to. I wanted to know, I needed to know that she was okay. Maybe she’d be sitting outside on one of our old, beat-up chairs sipping tea. Did she still live there? Maybe I’d see Tim. I could find out who he was dating. I wondered what kind of car he was driving now. Maybe I’d interrupt him mid-coitus. Is this a PG placemat? Oh! My boys at The Gym! Was my seat still there? I hoped they were all okay. I almost felt giddy. Any of these scenes would have been amazing.
I was shocked to see my mom and sister.
Maybe my placemat was broken. Do these things have bars on them to let the user know if the signal is strong enough? I looked over at Mort’s placemat, and he whispered with tears streaming down his face, “It’s Jeanie. My Jeanie.” Everyone seemed to be seeing their most beloved. I was looking at my mom and sister. The two people from my life who I felt understood me the least.
I raised my hand and asked quietly and hesitantly, whispering, “Ummmm, is it Fate? Mr. Fate? Yes? Mr. Fate, I think there must be some mistake. Maybe a crossed signal? Does that happen with these placemats? Like phone lines getting crossed? I’m pretty sure that you’re giving us the most incredible opportunity to reconnect with the hearts of our lives, and I’m not sure—”
Fate interrupted me by placing his finger up to his mask. The angels sang, “Shhhhhhhhhh . . .”
Wow. Did I just get shushed in heaven . . . by angels?
This death thing was not turning out the way I had expected. I felt that invisible hand on my shoulder again. If I were going to have this opportunity, I should, at the very least, see what it meant, right? Maybe it was a sign? Were there still signs in heaven? Oh wait. I was done with questions. I was supposed to be a new man. Fine.
My sister and mom both sat silently in the living room of the house where I lived until I left for college. This was the room I sprinted through during my escape to the backyard when I ran away as a kid. My mom was in the oversized red chair next to the fireplace, and my sister was on the white couch. The room hadn’t been remodeled since the early 1980s, and every piece of furniture had a different floral pattern. My mom used to say that she loved this room because the patterns created a “botanical garden of furniture.” Now the floral patterns were old and faded and no longer coordinated with one another. The garden was dead. The art on the walls was equally faded and straight out of earlier decades. The room would have been the ideal setting for a retro porn shoot. Now it was just a setting for two people unsure what to say to one another.
There was a time when my mom and I had gotten along. We were close. It was before my therapy unwound where I came from. Before I understood how my parents’ fights fucked me up. I always said that the hardest part of therapy is picking at the scars. Once you open up those things, it’s hard to stop picking at them and even harder to stop the bleeding.
She would read to me in this room. We would play games in this room. All three of us. All five of us: my mom, dad, sister, me, and Blondie. We’d laugh and pretend not to notice the tightness in the air. The tension. We were, after all, a model family. We had an impression to maintain. But that’s all I ever wanted. More than anything. Not the perfect family, but a close one. A family that could fight and love again. Or maybe even not fight. Just love. When my sister moved across the country, we tried to become close, but that was hard too. We just couldn’t seem to get out of our own way. Looking into my placemat was making me sad. I was still picking at the scars.
Fate spoke with the kind of tone that a therapist or hypnotist might have. Calmly. Slowly. Monotone. “Keep watching your loved ones.” He went on to explain what or who we were seeing. “I don’t have anything to do with what appears before you. If your heart is free, you will see the person you love in the purest, deepest way.”
That explained Mort and Jeanie. Before I could raise my hand, Fate continued. “But if your heart carries regret, that is what you will see.” That hurt. Fate had just punched me in the gut.
I had a friend whose mom had died. We were hiking together, and I remember asking him if I would regret not repairing my relationship with my mom if she died before I did. He never hesitated. In fact, he stopped walking, grabbed my arm, and looked directly into my eyes in a way that was completely out of character. He wasn’t fucking around.
“Yes,” he told me. “Do whatever you have to do to figure out how to exist together in peace. Do not, under any circumstances, allow anything to be unresolved.” He had never talked to me like that. I felt his pain.
I tried. I really thought I had tried. Each time I thought we had it worked out, we just slipped back into the same old patterns. Finally, I just gave up. It turns out I carried the regret with me through life and into death. It didn’t matter if she died before me or I died before her. So now instead of experiencing Jess, I’m experiencing that regret. My friend was right. I felt like I was in prison expecting a conjugal visit, and my lawyer showed up instead. Still fucked. Just not in the good way.
I watched as my mom and sister put down their books and started talking to one another. They were talking about me. Remember when this . . . Remember when that . . . They talked about the time Jond and I snuck out of our rooms and hid under the eucalyptus tree. My mom talked about my series of sports injuries, especially my broken leg and concussions. My sister asked my mom if she knew what I was writing about. She asked how long it had been since my mom and I had talked. My mom didn’t know the answer to either question. She started to cry.
“I lost him at some point. I tried,” she told my sister. “I really thought I tried. Finally, I just gave up. Each time I thought we had it worked out, we just slipped back into the same old patterns. And now all I feel is regret.”
I slowly looked up at Fate. He was prepared, waiting for my eyes. I meant to think it but said it out loud, “That’s exactly what I just thought. Word for word. She feels the same way. Exactly the same way.”
