“What’s the real deal with that boy? You’re not telling me the whole story.”
Fate took a deep breath. “The boy wasn’t the only character in that story who went rogue.”
“I’m sorry, what’s that now?”
“My plan was for the boy to simply crash at the bottom of the hill and have the paramedics come. His mom is single, one of the paramedics is a single dad, and, well, you get the idea. He wasn’t supposed to nearly die. The thing is, I didn’t factor the car.”
Jeezus. What was it with Fate and car accidents?
“You see, it’s not all managed, scripted, and predetermined. Like the boy, I didn’t see the car coming. I was too wrapped up in my own work to see the bigger picture.”
Holy shit! Even Fate misses the forest for the trees? Maybe this is proof that Fate is also just a reflection of myself. Of my energy. I felt so much relief. I felt so much compassion for him. Instinctively, I gave him a hug and tried to joke. “I get it, man. That’ll teach you to text and change the universe.” I wanted to know what happened next. “So the boy went back and . . . what happened?”
“Out of my hands,” he was quick to offer. “It’s up to the mom and the paramedic.”
I was starting to better understand how it worked. Fate didn’t always change the course of our lives; he simply tried to give a nudge from time to time. Fate didn’t create the love when two people felt magically connected; they did that. He just provided the opportunity. Even then, it didn’t always work out as he envisioned.
As we continued to stand in the hallway, I told Fate that I remembered reading a story about two sisters from South Korea. They were separated as young children. Forty years later, they found each other, now both nurses, working in the United States . . . and in the same hospital.12
“That stuff doesn’t just happen,” I said with a cross between a declaration and a question.
Fate shrugged. “Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. We all need some help. Some accept those experiences as God’s work or even my own. Some call it coincidence. Some don’t need to define it at all, and they are simply grateful. And still some? Some don’t even find magic in those situations. They brush it off without any thought at all.”
I was curious. “Do you need the credit?”
“I think it all balances out. The Universe isn’t perfect. There are a lot of variables,” he told me. “We can only do what we can do. Validation doesn’t make anything right or wrong. The need for it is a false idol.” And he added with a gentle poke in the ribs, “. . . as you know.”
I knew that he was right. I didn’t always see what was right in front of me, or I did and pretended it wasn’t there. He was just happy when people were genuine. That was Fate’s only goal. That was God’s only goal. I guess that made it my only goal too.
“People are always searching for a bigger, deeper meaning, regardless of their beliefs, but it’s all really simple. The secret of life is authenticity. True, unapologetic authenticity. Living in harmony with the soul.” Fate was in the middle of explaining in more detail when I blurted out—
“Iwannagobacktoo.”
“You do, do you? You want to go back?” he asked with enough of a tone that made me think it was possible. And in a way, that made me think that he had been waiting for me to ask all along. There was a kind of delight and enthusiasm in his query. Playfulness. As though mentally, he was eagerly rubbing his hands together on the verge of finally getting to try out a new magic trick.
“I guess I do,” I told him. But only if I knew for sure that I’d be able to take this experience and insight with me. I wanted the “if-I-only-knew-then” secret sauce. What was the point of the do-over if I didn’t have the tools to do it over correctly? I wanted a guarantee that I could, in fact, learn from this experience. I wanted to go back with the experience woven into my DNA and also my memory. I didn’t want to write another near-death experience book; I wanted to write the first-ever death experience book.
“Can I?” I asked hesitantly, with a hint of anticipation. I joked, “Beam me down, uh, God?” There was just enough of a lag between my question and his answer that I was able to imagine a new life. It was that same kind of “life flashing before my eyes,” but instead of flashing my memories just before my death, this slide show was of the experiences I wanted in a new life.
In an instant, I imagined being able to explore and accept an entirely new level of love, not only for myself and Jess, but for all. I imagined the freedom of forgiveness and a conversation with my mom and sister unlike any I’d ever had before. I imagined a future telling my story to packed rooms and inspiring people to achieve what they perceived as unimaginable. I imagined being able to fearlessly speak my mind. I imagined changing lives. Starting with my own. It was such a beautiful picture. I was practically figuring out what to wear for my return flight when Fate interrupted.
“I’m . . . sorry.”
“What?” I responded in total disbelief.
“You can’t go back, Erik. It’s not possible.”
“That’s it? You’re sorry?” I didn’t want to accept what he was sorry for. Not immediately. I wanted to hear him say it.
Sometimes, Fate minced words or beat around the bush. Sometimes, he buried the lede. Not this time. I had my life. And for a moment, it felt like I had totally wasted it.
I tried to shake him off without showing much disappointment. “I mean. Sure. Yeah. Right. Duh. Obviously. I was half kidding anyway. I had my time. It’s the boy’s turn now. Why would I want to go back?”
Fate was compassionate. His voice lowered. Almost to a whisper. Like he wasn’t supposed to be telling me this. “You don’t really want to go back. It sounds good on paper, but you wouldn’t have a memory of what happened here.”
I wanted to protest, using those near-death experience books. They got to go back! But I didn’t protest at all. I didn’t say a word. And then . . . the awkward silence.
“Listen. Ummm, I stopped you because I just wanted to tell you that I was proud of what you did with the boy. I wanted to thank you. I’m sorry I raised your expectations for something more.”
His words were nice to hear, but my grip on the moment was loosened, and I was still lost somewhere between what might have been and the reality of what was. “Sure. Of course,” I mumbled while his “I’m . . . sorry” painfully echoed in my head. The words felt like a concussion. I really wasn’t going to hold Jess again. Or make love to her again. I wasn’t going to see Timmy or have breakfast with Adam. I knew that now for sure.
“There’s more,” Fate continued.
“There’s more?” I thought I’d had enough.
“Because of what you did, you’re now the boy’s guardian angel.”
“Do I get wings?” I asked sarcastically to hide my discomfort.
“Better than that,” he replied.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A struggling young woman is bullied in school. Convinced that her life will never get better, she contemplates harming herself. At a crosswalk, a woman behind the girl sings the chorus to Katy Perry’s song “Roar.” When the girl finally turns to look, the woman isn’t there.
Guardian angel? Do I get wings? Obviously, I was intrigued. What could be better than wings? Wings! I probably could have asked about a hundred questions. In half a second. But I spared Fate as he told me to follow him down the hallway. We quietly walked toward the music. “Imagine” had been replaced by one of my favorite Prince tunes, “Let’s Go Crazy.” You know the words.
Ironic. Equally appropriate, I guess. Whoever was DJing was inside my head. Had to be God. Right? As we approached the room, I could see arms flailing and bodies jumping. Those with what seemed like professional moves were in lock-step with the White Man’s Overbite. Nobody cared how they danced. They only seemed to care that they were, in fact, dancing. “Dance like nobody’s watching” was a motivational poster in life. Apparently, a reality in death.
