Just Like Heaven

by Steven Slavick

  “I don’t believe that,” he said with certainty. “Not for a second.”

  And she wanted to believe it. But how could she continue believing in herself after all of the rejection: your voice is too high; you certainly aren’t much to look at; you play the piano like an amateur; your lyrics are too sentimental. Through tear-filled eyes, she refused to look up at Nick, revealing someone without the fortitude to look past all of the naysayers.

  But despite all of their comments, she continued trying, didn’t she? The harsh words inspired her to work that much harder, spending all of her free time writing music, perfecting her voice, tightening her sound on both the piano and violin.

  “I don’t know why, but I believe in you.”

  Any other man who uttered those words would have come off looking like a scheming player. But the intensity in his gaze made Nina dismiss her cynicism and just…trust him.

  “You shine so brightly.

  No one had ever referred to her in such a unique and lovely way. His words made her light up inside. She treasured the compliment. It made her lift her head and meet his gaze with pride.

  “I didn’t just say…what I think I did, right? Because that…” He shook his head, looking relieved. “No, of course, I didn’t.” He swept a hand through his hair. “I’d only thought it.” He met her eyes. “And don’t think you can read my mind.”

  That made her head pound to the beat of her heart.

  Shocked, he draped a hand over his eyebrows, hiding his face. “Oh, Jesus.”

  Nina giggled at his embarrassment. She felt giddy.

  “Nina!”

  She turned around, annoyed at the interruption. She spotted Brittany coming up behind her, wiping her hands on her apron. “Could you take my shift tomorrow night?” She glanced at Nick. “Sorry to intrude.” Then she turned back to her colleague.

  Nina noted that Nick hadn’t even looked at Brittany, which surprised her because every man who entered the restaurant always let his gaze linger on Brittany for more than a few seconds. It also made Nina feel appealing, something she hadn’t felt in quite a while.

  Until she’d come to work here, she’d always thought of herself as somewhat attractive: thick, dark curls reached the middle of her back; a slender figure with decent breasts; and a smile that looked cuter without showing her teeth. Her gentle overbite made her feel like a chipmunk, a nickname that followed her from grade school to middle school.

  But working alongside Brittany and, especially her boss, Kelsey, made her feel as special as the trinkets that accompanied the caramel corn in a box of Cracker Jacks. But seeing Nick look into her eyes with such enthusiasm, how could she not feel good?

  Feeling color entering her cheeks because Nick still regarded her from profile. Nina appreciated that her shift just ended. It gave her an opportunity to leave (and watch him from around a corner to find out if he looked disappointed because she’d ended their conversation).

  Nina excused herself and walked Brittany to the back room, where she removed her jacket and purse from a wooden wall mount. As she slipped the coat on, she decided against asking Brittany if she had plans tomorrow night. Of course, she did: a date with another sexy young man. Nina admitted to a stab of envy, but she couldn’t blame her friend for living it up.

  “Sure, I’ll take your shift.” Nina slipped a shiny green purse over her right shoulder. After she reached her apartment, she would sneak in a nap before her shift at the bar tonight. “I’ll see you next week?”

  “You bet. Oh, hey, what’s that?” She pointed at the page in Nina’s hand.

  She looked down at it, only now realizing that she hadn’t given it back to Nick. She glanced in his direction, but he had…vanished. A thread of anxiety made her heart pound. The crumpled pages no longer littered the booth’s table. Only the untouched toast and the mug gave any indication that he’d inhabited that area only moments ago.

  And she felt a pang of regret – that she hadn’t stayed longer to chat, that she’d only learned his name and nothing more. Well, he was obviously an artist of some sort. She headed toward the exit, scanning the restaurant for Nick. Their unexpected chemistry had spooked him. Nina couldn’t blame him. It had shocked her as well. Nevertheless, their meeting had a mystical quality that would make it difficult for her to ever forget.

  Although she desperately wanted to look at the sketch to discover what Nick had such difficulty drawing, she fought against the urge: if he’d intended for her see it, he would have given it to her. But he’d crushed it and tossed it to the floor. He regarded it as trash and threw it aside, essentially saying the artwork was not worthy of his efforts. Despite that argument, she couldn’t put it in the garbage. Doing so wouldn’t feel right, although if asked, she couldn’t explain why. So she stuffed it into her purse. If Nick visited the restaurant again, she could use it as an excuse to stop by and say hello.

  In the meantime, she decided to do some more productive snooping. As she exited her workplace, she pulled out her cell phone and Googled: “Nick Malloy artist.” It turned out that he had his own website, so she clicked on his biography, hoping to find a picture and any other pertinent details.

  For some reason, this little mission made her feel like a stalker. But it shouldn’t. Nick had supplied his name and told her which schools he’d attended. If he didn’t want her to look him up, he wouldn’t have revealed so much about his past. She overlooked the notion that she offered her background first, knowing that if he didn’t do likewise, she might have been insulted or presumed that he had something to hide. Still, she preferred to assume that he wanted to tell her about himself.

  Walking down the sidewalk, using her peripheral vision to sidestep a few passersby, she found a picture of Nick in an artists’ studio. It soothed her anxiety. Although clean shaven in the picture, he still maintained a hint of a smile that hovered around his lips. And the most magnetic eyes she’d ever seen now stared back at her. He didn’t look as rugged, but he looked more relaxed, more carefree.

  A short while ago, at the restaurant, he’d looked focused and kind of tortured by the inability to perfect his work. But looking at his photograph, Nina now uncovered another expression that she’d unconsciously picked up on before but hadn’t enough time to deliberate on: Nick sustained that painful expression every day of his life, revealing that he had lived a lifetime of sorrow and torment. Or at least that’s the impression she got (from having known him for all of ten minutes).

  And while many would tell her that she needed to spend more time with him before drawing any conclusions, she’d seen that same haunted expression throughout her life simply by looking into the mirror. And in this case, if someone had pointed out that she’d transposed her experience with Nick’s, Nina may have agreed. But a sixth sense whispered that she’d correctly identified that Nick had endured far too much disappointment and gloom in his life.

  Below his picture, she noticed a few pages of narrative. But she couldn’t look away from those stunning eyes. They felt so familiar that she wanted to keep staring at them until something tripped in her mind, allowing her to stumble upon a connection. A few moments later, she finally managed to focus on the short biography below his picture.

  But she couldn’t read the words, because her mind kept trying to process this man’s identity. She did, however, discern a few details that may have explained his brooding appearance: his parents had died after getting hit by a drunk driver a dozen years ago. Less than one year later, his younger brother had suffered the same fate.

  Tears entered her eyes. She lowered the phone and swallowed past the bump in her throat. She didn’t understand why she identified so strongly with someone who could only be described as an acquaintance (and someone who obviously darted out of the restaurant once she stepped away from him). After all, they hadn’t swapped memories or secrets.

  But they made a connection.

  She couldn’t deny that. In fact, the weight of that realization pressed down on her with
excessive force. And not only did this unexpected burden feel ordinary, it also seemed familiar. But why? She refused to buy into the theory that she transferred her own experience onto Nick just to feel like she’d found a kindred spirit.

  Taking a breath of the cool October air, she pulled up a page of his artwork on her cell phone. But something inside her (intuition?) advised her that his aborted sketch would provide a better example of his artistic skill than anything on his website. She dropped her phone into her purse and pulled out his sketch. Then she turned it over to analyze the rendering.

  “Nina!” a man screamed from right behind her.

  She stopped, jolted by the shriek of horror, and turned around to discover why someone would shout at her. In doing so, she noticed that she no longer walked along the sidewalk but had unknowingly entered the street.

  Nick ran towards her, one arm outstretched, those beautiful, soulful eyes still intense but now more worried than anguished. Then she heard the wail of a car horn. A moment later, Nick slammed into her, knocking them both off her feet.

  As her shoulders and legs slammed into the ground, she felt searing pain shoot through her body as the brakes of a vehicle squealed on top of her. She opened her eyes and saw the tire of a truck to her right. But even closer than that, she caught a glimpse of Nick’s sketch clutched in her hand.

  She tried to focus on it, to determine why she felt it was so important to see the image, but before she could make sense of the artwork, her eyelids began to fall. And no matter how hard she tried to pry them back open, they kept slipping farther down until darkness claimed her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nick glanced around, but his surroundings didn’t resemble the street on which he’d tried saving Nina from getting smashed by a red Ford F-150. Blue skies with the occasional cloud floated overhead, scattering vibrant light that looked brighter than the sun but without a central source.

  And he felt neither warm nor cold. In fact, he felt lighter and more graceful than at any point in his life. Nick checked his arms and legs. He didn’t see any cuts, bruises, or mangled bones. It appeared that he’d escaped the accident unscathed. He still wore the same clothes, but his skin appeared effervescent, as though someone had placed a lit candle inside his chest, which spread a soft light throughout his body.

  “Well, hello,” said a man with a British accent.

  Nick whirled around to face a slim man in his early seventies with a white mustache and a tuft of hair under his lower lip. He wore a white suit, black tie, and white dress shoes, reminding Nick of Colonel Sanders, the founder of Kentucky Fried Chicken. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Hell?” The man chuckled, a booming reverberation that shook his shoulders and chest. “Far from it.”

  Looking at him askance, Nick took a step back, surprised to find that, like himself, this man’s bodily structure and clothes appeared almost translucent. “What’s going on here, Colonel? Where am I?”

  Failing to get the fast food reference, the man’s jovial expression turned sour. “I’m afraid you got caught up in an accident. It’s completely understandable that you’d be disoriented. And please call me Roland.”

  “I remember the accident perfectly fine. But I’m not on that street anymore, so where am I? In a coma? No,” he said to himself. “That might mean a loss of brain activity, so I wouldn’t know what’s going on. So…this has to be a dream. That’s it. I’m in the hospital recuperating, and I’m dreaming.” He sighed. “Phew. I was worried there for a second.”

  Nick glanced at a giant Greco-Roman building supported by enormous pillars, while similar structures flanked it on either side. Dozens of men and women, wearing various clothing fashions and styles from not only different decades but different centuries walked along wide brick-layered pathways, smiling and laughing, seemingly without a care in the world. He pointed at a dark-haired man wearing a toga and clogs while the redheaded woman with her arm linked with his wore an outfit that a flapper would have worn in the 1920’s. Disbelieving his eyes, he closed them and shook his head, trying to clear away whatever drugs the hospital staff had probably given him.

  “There’s plenty of time for explanations,” Roland said. “But it comes as no surprise that you don’t remember me. It’s been quite a while since we last saw each other – at least for you anyway. For me, it felt like only moments ago.”

  “Remember you? I don’t even know you.”

  “Where’s Nina,” Nick asked, scanning the area. He ignored a freak wearing Egyptian clothing like she’d just stepped out of a history book, a man in a plaid business suit from the 1960’s, and a kid wearing cargo pants and a t-shirt who used his skateboard to weave his way past those strolling by. Behind him, a few teenagers were decked out in full Goth regalia: ratty black t-shirts, black fingernails, spiky hair, and chains hanging from their black leather pants. To their right, a pack of cyclists rode by, their heads held high, in contrast to those who rode for long distances. Even more astonishing, these bikers smiled at Nick as they passed, excusing themselves while waving and saying hello to Roland.

  In fact, everywhere Nick looked, people smiled or laughed. Just as unusual, every person, except for Roland, appeared young, healthy, beautiful (even the Goth kids), and vibrant. He’d had enough of this perverse land where everyone looked happy and at ease. Even though their expressions looked genuine, everything else looked unnatural – from the fluorescent light in the sky and the perfect weather to the faint light emanating inside every person that walked by. It put him in a rotten mood, setting off a fuse of anger through him.

  Nick rushed Roland, grabbed him by the lapels, and jerked him forward. “What’s going on here? Where am I? In some prison somewhere? Give me some answers.”

  All around him, those who walked by came to an abrupt halt, shocked. They covered their mouths in horror, eyes bulging wide.

  Their unexpected behavior whipped Nick into near panic-mode. He loosened his grip on Roland. These automatons and their freakish environment frightened him more than if he’d inadvertently stepped into a crack house. Not that he had any experience with drugs or the victims who abused them, but the analogy seemed appropriate for this bizarre world.

  “Thrashing old men now, are we?” asked Roland in a grim voice.

  His words broke through Nick’s confused state, and without even thinking, he released the older gentleman.

  Roland adjusted his suit and turned around to face the crowd, all of whom that had stopped. “No need for concern. It seems Nicholas needs to reacquaint himself again. He came to an abrupt end. I’m sure some of you can sympathize.”

  With those remarks, every person acted in a cohesive unit: their smiles and good humor returned and they resumed traveling along the path. A few women looked empathetic, while some of the men nodded at him as comprehension crossed their faces. They continued on their way, no longer appearing apprehensive.

  Nick put his hands on either side of his temples to avoid looking at these strange people. He turned back to Roland. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s really quite simple, Nicholas. You’re dead!”

  *

  Through dusky smoke that swirled around her feet on up to her abdomen, punctured by a bright light straight ahead and above her, Nina felt a wave of euphoria sweep over her. It felt like pure, unadulterated love blended with complete understanding and undiminished joy. As the smoke parted, dark figures, some taller than others, approached her at a slow but steady pace.

  Her heart pounded with the most exhilarating excitement she had ever experienced. Only now did she realize that a smile parted her lips, and as the curtain of smoke lifted and a brilliant radiance shined down on her, she heard a dog bark. Then another. And finally a third.

  Through the haze, she spotted a golden retriever, a yellow lab, and a German shepherd race toward her, followed by a group of cats that matched their canine companions with great speed. They stopped by her legs, surrounding her, their tails wagging. The do
gs looked up at her with glorious smiles, panting. Their feline friends filled in the spaces between them, brushing against Nina’s ankles, their tails swaying in the air. Although some dogs and cats didn’t get along, this assemblage not only enjoyed one another’s company, they basked in it.

  Nina knelt down and put her arms around the dogs, accepting frenzied kisses across her cheeks and neck. Giggling at the outpouring of affection, she fell down and the dogs and cats enveloped her, whining and purring, hoping to feel a stroke of her hands or a hug. Still laughing, Nina recognized each of these animals, even though she couldn’t quite remember their names, and their devotion made her want to cry with happiness. But where she might have cried in the past, this time, tears didn’t enter her eyes.

  She kissed the dogs’ heads and petted their coats, while also giving due consideration to the cats by picking up one after another. She cradled them to her chest, while letting her hands slope across the backs of the others before encircling their tails and releasing them.

  Spotting the crowd continuing towards her, Nina got to her feet, glad to see their smiling faces as they greeted her with warmth and unbridled enthusiasm. Like the pets around her, she didn’t remember any of the individuals by name. But they all seemed familiar, like she’d spent a significant time with each of them and considered them all close friends. And while this feeling seemed outlandish, when she let the sensation settle inside her, it felt not only normal but expected, so she decided to trust it.

  A Chinese woman with long, braided hair that lay across her left shoulder opened her arms and Nina, without even doubting that they shared a profound connection, embraced her and watched all of the loved ones around her reaching out to touch her hands, hair, face, or shoulders

  “My friend,” said an Asian woman. “I’ve missed you so.”

  “Me too,” said Nina, even though she still couldn’t place her. But Nina spoke from her heart. Of that she had no doubt. She sensed that they shared the most tightly-knit friendship imaginable. Their relationship centered on the most profound level of trust, support, and love that Nina had ever experienced. The depth and power of this connection almost overwhelmed her, perhaps because each of these qualities was in short-supply during her most recent incarnation on earth.