popcorn

It is a strange thing to be dead. I have only been in this state for a few months now, but I can’t say I’ve adjusted to it fully. Well, it wasn’t like I had a choice. It came upon me one night in a fit of rage, lust, tears and a weak railing on my apartment balcony, to be clear. But I guess I thought I would figure things out a little once I made it here. Hell, who am I kidding? I didn’t plan on being able to *think* let alone have the opportunity – no, the burden! of figuring things out.

That’s the part that really bugs me, I guess. I thought, hell, here I am, dead. And I had to sit back and watch the rest of the world pass on. They kept going, of course after a bit of grief and sadness. How could they not? I impressed upon them a lot. Even though it was called a travesty, and even though they all thought I was taken so soon, I know that they enjoyed having me as a memory. As a measuring stick, of sorts. They wanted my stories to be their stories – remember that time when Eddie said this? ate this? did this? Yeah, you get the picture. They wanted me dead, in a not-so-subtle-way, so that I could clear the room of my own presence and let my memory be their folly for humour! The nerve.

So death is kind of like a long bus ride. You see many people get on, get off. They sit beside you, and they don’t talk. It’s the opposite of friendly. You share this common journey and they just sit there. They don’t motion, and if you wanted to open your mouth to talk, you can’t. It’s shut. Believe me, I’ve tried. You know that ability to shout, the one that’s buried deep within you? Yeah, that feeling. I’ve shouted, many a time, well, at least when I was alive. Instead, all I can do now is to feel like shouting, but I really can’t. So I just have to sit there, and ride along with these strangers, and we all are just travelling. That’s it. You can stare out the window, you can see the passers by, you can wave a bit, but they don’t really look up or notice you. You’re just a bus full of death. There is nothing for them to really interact with.

I get annoyed at times with the other dead people. I was freaked out by the ones that died really grusomely – those really startled me at first. They had this way of sidling up to me in everyday encounters and really making me jump. And it’s not like they say anything. Like I mentioned, they can’t. They just have this ability to get at your nerves. Well, if I had nerves anymore, I think that’s what they would be getting at. The blood has long gone dry – in fact, it’s not even there. That sometimes is the creepiest part. There’s nothing really there – just the outcome of whatever you know was a really painful, really disgusting death – saws, weights, bullets – what have you. You get the sense that their families really didn’t enjoy those moments.

Okay, who am I kidding. No one really enjoys it. I know that. I wouldn’t have said such a thing if I was still alive. But you know, I just really thought I would figure things out a bit more now that I have all this free time. It’s not like I can have what could be considered hobbies. I raom. Is that a hobby? I mean, for some people, maybe, but they’re going home later, or getting a bite to eat, or at least interacting with others along the way. Instead, for me, I just roam, wander, and try not to be around those who I left behind. I found that to be the toughest part off the bat. When I showed up at my family’s home a couple days after the funeral, and I heard them sobbing, it was too much. And then I showed up at my class, and I saw their reddened cheeks and saddened eyes, it was gut wrenching. Well, I bet it would be wrenching, if I truly felt anymore. But I don’t. So instead of filling this void with the *potential* to feel, I just don’t fill it. Besides. I know they’ll join me, sooner or later. And it’s not like I’ve been granted any more patience these days. If anything there’s even less of it. So it’s best not to think too hard about when they’re joining me on this side. I just push it aside, the thought, and keep roaming.

There are only so many times you can hang out in one place, anyway. Not doing anything. And by anything, I mean anything. There is no enjoyment of sitting by the sea, for instance. When you’re alive, you really feel it. You know that the air and the water and the sounds of the seagulls and the lovers holding hands and the children and all of that – well, you know it adds up to a moment. When you’re dead, there are no moments. It’s all still there, it’s just. It has no impact. It doesn’t matter. It all will join you, minus the water, and the air, and the scents and the beach and such, on this side anyway.

Yeah, I forgot to mention. That was the really freaky part. What joins you in death. So you know how we think when we’re alive – oh yeah, there’s life after death. Well, it turns out – even the plants and the fish and the animals are all here. Those seaweed bits that lie around decaying in life? Well, they’re here. Sitting out, being seaweed. But just like in life, you can’t really interact with them or anything. They just are there. And they seem to be just the same as when I was alive – they have no real purpose. I don’t get it. And the fish are there, and if you look down at the beach, you’ll see ‘em. Just that, here in death, their being here doesn’t really make anything special. Many a time I can notice them and then just not care. It’s pretty dull, have to say.

I guess the one good thing I’ve noticed is the ability to do and be anywhere. And I mean anywhere. Curiosity thankfully doesn’t leave you when you’re dead. It stays exactly where it was. In fact, I’d say it’s heightened. I don’t get any enjoyment, like an emotional reaction or anything, out of being a voyeur. But let me tell you: in death, you can see whatever the fuck you want. When you want. I have been in the changing stalls at many a swimming pool. I’ve checked out all the biggest department stores, and I’ve wandered into many a private bedroom when the residents are doing the nasty. It peaks my interest, okay? it’s something to do. Hey, chill. I mean, I’d judge me too. But if you were in my shoes, and you were dead, and all you had to do was wander around all and roam all day, well, you would probably be a voyeur too. Just because. When you can do anything, why not do what you can’t do when you’re alive?

I miss a few things, that’s for sure. I mean, not all of life is all that we say it is cracked up to be. Shit, I do not miss work. That drone! I’d say it’s way worse to be at work than to be dead. At least when you’re dead and you’re bored you can say “I’m bored to death” and really mean it. Ha. A death joke. When you’re at work, and you’re bored, you just *want* to be dead. No, that’s a world I don’t miss whatsoever.

I also miss friends. I miss the interactions. The ability to actually share something, you know? I especially miss what I used to be able to say and get across over a nice drink or two. Maybe a meal. Maybe the moments right before a good movie, when you’re sitting in the dark, judging the lame commercials they put up before the film, and you laugh and notice that you and your friends share the same dislike and distrust for the corporate world. Those kinds of moments. When you’re dead, there’s none of that. It’s pretty sad.

And popcorn. If I had to name one thing that I really miss, it’s eating, and it’s definitely eating popcorn. So I say to you: don’t forget to get popcorn every time you can. It’s something you’re •really* going to miss when you’re dead. Trust me. There’s something about it that no other food really did for me. I don’t even think I ever really ate it all that much. But I certainly know that now, I sure wish I had me some popcorn. Right here. Not that I’d be able to eat it, but I know it’d bring me comfort. Well, maybe not. But the thought is what counts.

Don’t forget, I’m new to this whole thing. Maybe I’ll have better things to say in a while. After a couple months, though, I’m not really sure I was ready. Well, I already knew that. The whole process is so life changing. Ha! Another death joke. Okay. Maybe you should stop listening. Get ready, though. I have a feeling you’re next. Hey, when you get here, want to roam downtown with me? There is a clothing store where a lot of hot people go. I bet we would have a pretty good time. If we could enjoy it, I mean. Cuz we’ll be dead.