Penni Jones - Suicide Souls

Watching her grieve was a mixed bag. I wanted the ability to cry with her, to find companionship in our sadness. Until she shouted, “why, Gawd, why?” at the ceiling. That’s when I learned that I still had the ability to laugh. It wasn’t malicious. It was the laughter that comes from seeing something so adorable that your body doesn’t know what to do. Ruthie Mae, my country mouse cousin, was adorable to me in that moment. And then I was gone.

“I gave that homeless guy that hung out on the sidewalk in front of my office a dollar every single day. I know it wasn’t much, but that’s one thing that shows that I cared about people.”

“That required no sacrifice.” He looks into my face and says, “I’m not saying you were, are , a monster. But you need to improve. You don’t get another chance until you do something good.”

“What about Oblivion?” My voice goes shrill just like it used to when I felt like I was getting a raw deal.

“You have time to spare. It should be okay.”

“Should? That’s all you’ve got?”

“Get over yourself, Naomi. You’ll be saving someone besides yourself.”

“Whom will I be saving?” I lean my elbows on the table.

Edgar says, “You will be saving Luke.” He crosses his arms over his chest again. “Luke is a tragic young man who ate a bullet in Missouri in 1997.”

“1997? What year is it now? How long have I been dead?”

“Right back to you, Naomi? It’s 2007. You’ve been dead a little more than a year.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ve been wearing this awful dress with my tits half-out for an entire year. I should have never let Eliza talk me into wearing this fucking thing.”

“Yeah. That was a bad choice. Didn’t you have any gay friends to dress you?” He’s glaring at my boobs with a mixture of wonder and distaste.

“Not that night.”

“Back to the business at hand, please. I need your help.” His eyes move to my face. “Luke hasn’t eased through the grief process like you did.”

“Yeah. No shit.” I cross my arms over my chest, mimicking his pose. “What does this have to do with you?”

“The Shadow is upon Luke. He’s running out of time. If he is taken to Oblivion, then so am I.”

“Because you’re his mentor?”

“Yes. But also because I’ve made some mistakes that I’ll have to pay for if Luke doesn’t make it.” He sweeps his right hand through the air to let me know he isn’t going to tell me what he means. “Mentoring is tough. And you don’t get to this spot because someone likes you. You become a mentor because you really fucked up.”

“What did you do?” I can’t help but smile at the revelation that Edgar is probably worse off than I am.

“I ran the Royal Roost in New York City.” He straightens his tie.

“Never heard of it.”

He stares at me blankly and says, “Oh, right. Small town girl.” Edgar props his elbows on the table and leans forward. “It was the place to be back in my day. We had all the greats: Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie.”

“That’s cool,” I say.

“It was more than cool, woman. It was transcendent. But it turns out that God hates jazz.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

He smirks and says, “How many people have you slept with?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ballpark it, slut.”

“I stopped counting after twenty.” I try to slap my hand over my mouth, but it doesn’t quite work out.

“You tried to say ten, didn’t you?”

“Yes. What the fuck?”

“You can’t lie here, Naomi. If you have no choice but to be honest with yourself and others, enlightenment comes more easily. It gives you a better chance of success in your next go-round.”

“I want to talk to your supervisor,” I say, fully aware that I sound like an entitled bitch. I’m not looking for enlightenment. I just want to get out of this fucking dress and get into a real human body again.

Another waiting room. I wonder what Greg thought of the waiting rooms when he got here. Did he try to find a way to skip them like with the traffic lights?

A door opens but no one steps out. I walk through it anyway.

“You must be Naomi,” the woman says but doesn’t look up from the sheet of paper in her hand.

“Yes.”

“Sit down.” She points at a chair across from her desk.

“Do we ever stop with the sitting business?” I lower myself into the chair as I ask. It’s more of a hover than a sit. “It’s not like we need the rest.”

The woman looks up and grins. “Some do eventually stop, but in the areas where the recently deceased frequent, we find it’s best to keep up some of the old habits and mannerisms. It helps put souls at ease.” She holds out her hand, punctuating her point. “I’m Doris. I’m your caseworker.” She’s wearing one of those big collars that Gloria Steinem made famous.

“Nice to meet you.” We shake, and I return her smile.

“What brings you here?” she asks even though I’m certain that she already knows.

“I finished my grief watch in record time. I’m ready to move on to the next step, and since I’ve done what was required, I should be able to do so.”

Doris nods and looks at my face. She’s either listening intently or making a great show of it.

“Edgar insists that I’m not ready and I have to help some guy from Missouri who can’t get his shit together.”

Doris raises her eyebrow, so I add, “Pardon my French.”

Doris sighs. Or makes a sighing noise since we don’t breathe here.

“Naomi,” she leans forward with her elbows on the desk. “You have done an exceptional job with grief watch.”

“Thank you,” I say. Doris holds her finger up, ending my plan to continue speaking.

“If making people cry was the only goal, you’d be tops.” Doris leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “My worry is that if we send you back right now, you’ll fail. You haven’t learned the lessons you need about helping your fellow human beings. If all you have is yourself, which is understandably how you felt when you were alive, you’ll end up committing suicide again.”

“But Edgar told me that if I kill myself again, I’ll end up in Oblivion. I won’t kill myself if I’m armed with that knowledge.”

She slaps her hands down on the desk. I wait for the noise that doesn’t come.

“You killed yourself the first time with no certainty of what would happen. You’re telling me you weren’t depressed enough to submit to Oblivion that night?”

I open my mouth to argue, but there’s nothing I can say. I’m sure I would have submitted to Oblivion. A small part of me thought I might go to Hell for killing myself. Oblivion sounds better than that.

“It’s what’s best,” Doris says.

“What if it takes too long and I lose my chance?”

Doris shakes her head and says, “You’ll be fine. You have plenty of time.”

“Promise?” I ask, then hate myself for doing it.

“I’m afraid not. But chances are, you’ll be back here in no time. If you don’t get him through it in time, he and Edgar will both go to Oblivion. It’s a big responsibility.”

“That’s a crock of shit,” I say, for lack of a better option.

“You have a chance to save a young man’s life. You do have the right to refuse. But I don’t recommend it.”

Doris stands without waiting for me to respond. She’s tall in a weird, stretchy sort-of-way.

“You’re special, Naomi. You make a goal and you go for it. You just have to learn how to incorporate some compassion and empathy into your ambition.”

“Thank you.” I’m grateful for the compliment after Edgar made me feel like such an asshole.