The Many Afterlives of John Robert Thompson

by Valerie Lioudis

  The people were all an inch or two shorter than John, which was abnormal since his height had never been more than 5’8”, and while not short, he was never deemed tall either. Each one of them was identical to the next. Identical in dress, in mannerisms, and in look. The roads leading into the square were also identical. They were far too thin for vehicles, and lined by rows of tiny specialty shops. The signs were all carved in the same ornate calligraphy. The letters were all there, but John had lost the ability to read them.

  John made the choice to act outside of his character and headed over to the first door that caught his eye. Swinging the door open decisively, John stepped in defiantly and immediately smacked his head on the door frame. “Shit!”

  “Excuse me?” A voice came from across the room.

  “Oh, Um. I... I’m sorry. I just... well, I banged my head,” John sputtered.

  “Don’t worry about it, young fella. Your kind are always clumsy around here. What can I get you?” A man, who looked more worn than the pieces of wood that hung all around the town, pleasantly asked John.

  “Could I bother you for a...” John was about to ask for a drink, when he caught on to that glimpse of wisdom that he needed. “My kind?”

  “Oh boy. You don’t know what you are yet? How far have you been?”

  “How far? I don’t know what you mean. I was living my life, then a bear came along and ate me, and I somehow ended up on a bus to nowhere. Well, not exactly nowhere, because I got dropped in the desert and had to wander for what felt like a million years, only to end up on the bus again to get dropped here.”

  “Pfffff. You haven’t clocked any time yet, son. Ricky says you are blessed and cursed by time,” the old man muttered, stirring his comically large mug of coffee.

  “Who’s Ricky?”

  “Ricky is like you. Looks like you, talks like you, but he knows what he’s doing. Not like you. You look lost and confused.”

  “Of course, I look confused! I am confused!”

  “Calm down, I am not the one that put you here. You are. Ricky says you get to jump around from place to place, through time and space. You just need to figure out how it works. I wish I could help you, but I don’t know how it does. Maybe you could ask Ricky.”

  Finally, John thought, someone would be able to help him. “Great! How do I find him?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He just shows up from time to time. He really likes my coffee. Want a cup?”

  “You mean, you don’t know how to get ahold of him?”

  “What, do I have to say it twice boy? No, I don’t know how to find him. Why don’t you just sit there and wait? Maybe he will come around again.”

  “Maybe!” John snapped at the man, growing ever more frustrated.

  “Yeah, maybe!” The old man barked back. “Though, it has been a while since he has been here.”

  “How long is a while?” John asked, trying to sound calm.

  “Well, let me see. It was summer, and I still had that old dog. So, that would be 22 years ago.”

  “22 years! You want me to sit around and wait for a guy you haven’t seen in over 20 years and have no set plans to see again?”

  “Meh. You sure get worked up easy. He’s due. You want that coffee or not?”

  John wanted nothing more than to tell the man to shove the coffee up his ass, but it wasn’t the old man’s fault that he was in this predicament. He wasn’t really sure whose fault it was, or what this predicament was, but he was sure the old man was just a bystander. So, he gratefully agreed to a cup of coffee and was happy that Ricky was at least right about one thing. The old man made a damn good cup of coffee.

  He thanked the man and apologized for the outbursts. The old man put the coffee in a travel mug. It was a not-so-subtle hint. His apology was accepted, but the old man had no intention in spending any more time with John right now, which was fine by John. He decided to head out and explore a bit. Unlike Ricky, John did not have control over what he was doing, so there was no guarantee that he would be here for more than another few minutes. This place seemed nice enough, comparatively speaking. It would be nice to at least get to look around.

  The smells tried to overtake him again, but he noticed that each step away from the post in the town square lessened their potency. That revelation sent him walking down one of the cobblestone streets. The storefronts faded away to houses, and the houses faded away to farms. The animals were close to the ones from his reality, just slightly changed. Colors were a bit off, and so were the sizes. If he had paid better attention in science, he would have guessed this was a sign of them evolving, but he didn’t, and so he just shrugged instead.

  His walk had gained a bit of a following. He hadn’t noticed it at first when he was still in the town limits, but now that he was out and about in an area that should be empty, the large crowd of curious teens and children following him was hard to miss. Every time he looked back, they all pretended to be busy doing anything but following him. It had led to a few comical moments, as there wasn’t much to work with on the open road. They were basically doing bad improv.

  “Alright, alright. What’s this all about then?” He yelled without looking back.

  One especially brave, or easily commanded, child answered, “We wanna know where you are going?”

  “Me, too kid.”

  “You want to know where we are going?” The kid asked completely confused.

  “No. Never mind. I don’t know where I am going. I don’t even know where I am.”

  “That’s an easy one, sir. You are here.”

  John chuckled. The kid was right. He was ‘here’, and ‘here’ wasn’t a bad place. Maybe he could set up a farm or a little shop. He didn’t want to travel. He hadn’t had the inclination in life, and he certainly didn’t have it now in whatever ‘here’ was. The panic attack hit him hard and swift, like a bat. His fear of spending an eternity randomly jumping from place to place with no rhyme or reason brought him to his knees. He closed his eyes and tried to regulate his breath. When he opened them, he was shocked to be on the bus again.

  “No!” He screamed, but no sound came out. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the bus was silent. He had thought it was because those on the bus had no interest in talking. It had never occurred to him that they were unable make any noise.

  This time, as each person came and went, John was looking for some indication as to how many times they have been on this bus. He wondered if they all knew how to control it. He noticed he was the only one that had shown any signs of frustration when put back on the bus. The more he watched them, the more he realized that the one common thing they shared was a look of relief. Each one of them looked like they were using the bus as a resting place. He took the hint, and curled up on a row of seats. All manners go out the window when you are unsure what kind of Hell awaits you next.

  Sleep came, but it didn’t last long. Wet sand and cold waves awakened him. The waves would crash, and as they pulled away, John would sink a bit further into the cold sand. He knew he should get up, but he lacked the will to try. He was almost positive he couldn’t die again, and if he could, maybe he would end up in a better place than this. So, he decided to take the chance.

  “Hey! Get up!” He heard a woman yelling over the waves. When he didn’t react, she yelled to him again. “You better not be dead. I am not cleaning that up!”

  That statement caused him respond. One arm shot up straight up, and he flipped her the bird.

  “Look jerkoff, I’m serious. You need to move.”

  “Why?” He gurgled as another wave crashed over him.

  “Because, dumbass, I get one day off, and I don’t want to spend it watching some moron drown himself.”

  “That’s not a good reason. I get one time to drown myself. You get a day off every week. You can always come back next week.”

  “Not i
f they restrict access to the area because some guy offs himself here.”

  “I doubt they will close up for just one.” By then, John had crawled up to the blanket where a surprisingly friendly-looking woman was sitting reading a book.

  “How did you even get in there? I didn’t hear a car pull up, or see you walk past me.”

  “I am stealthy, like a ninja.”

  “I highly doubt that,” she giggled.

  The realization that he was flirting with this woman was more than John could handle. Terror snuck in, and any cool persona he had managed to muster was gone in a flash. But so was John, back on the bus again. It was becoming clear that his fear would lead him back there. Anytime things became too much for him to handle the bus was a giant reset button. It was messy and unpredictable, but there was order in the chaos.

  John knew to use the time to relax. He barely noticed the other travelers, and he stopped trying to make plans to stay in one place. He hoped to get back to that girl, who had eyes as blue as the ocean he had woken up in, but knew it was probably impossible. Eventually, he became an expert on living a life in a moment or two. Soaking up everything that was available to wrap your senses around. He never found Ricky, but he never found any other travelers while he was off the bus, so it was not a surprise.

  He was able to get a second cup of coffee from the angry old man, and, some time later, a third from his grandson. As time went by, his adventures became easier for him to enjoy, even when they were torturous. John tried to understand why this was how his eternity would be spent. The best he could sort out was the higher power wanted him to live, and when he had free will, he chose not to. So, the higher power took that will away. He had to live, every moment of everyday. He would spend eternity learning to experience the endless possibilities out there. This afterlife into which he had been thrust was a hard lesson for a hardheaded man.

  God

  Summer sunrises were awe inspiring for many people around the world. There are entire photo essays comprised of just one subject over and over, because sunrises and sunsets, like snowflakes, are one of a kind. The colors differ from day to day, and just when you believe you have seen the best there is to offer, God takes out his mighty paintbrush and paints an even more fantastic masterpiece. This beauty was always lost on John. He just couldn’t muster the excitement that others seemed to get from waking up at the crack of dawn after a night of camping out, just so they could watch a big ball of light pop up as it does every single morning.

  John’s mother had asked him go camping with her. Camping was the absolute worst thing in the world as far as John was concerned. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dirt. You had to work from dawn to dusk, always heading off to one kind of chore or another just to get in a moment or two for relaxation. None of this appealed to him, but his mother pushed and was able to persuade him to head down to the campsite near the lake for a single day. She had long ago stopped asking John for much, and reserved her requests for the rare few things each year that she found truly important.

  This made him more likely to agree, even if the agreement was a compromise. What John was not aware of was that his mother was more cunning than he ever gave her credit for, and she always asked for more than she knew he was willing to give. If she wanted a sunrise, she asked for a weekend. She knew that he hated camping, and was grateful that he was willing to come to spend time with her. His mother was at an age where she knew that her days in this world were fleeting, and more time was not guaranteed. Yet, that wisdom only extended to her own mortality. She was blissfully naïve to the fact that her son could die before her.

  John arrived early enough that he was pulling up to the campsite just as his mother was unzipping her tent door. He may be lazy and unmotivated, but he loved his mother and was very considerate of her. She smiled graciously as he handed her the warm cup of earl grey tea that he had prepared before he walked out of his house. He knew the routine because this was the same summer camping trip that his mother had taken religiously throughout her entire life. Her father was her companion until he passed away, but by then John had tagged along on enough excursions to know what was expected of him. When he reached his thirties, he decided that his obligation was no more than eight hours.

  Stumbling behind her, John tripped over nearly every rock and root in the path. His mother had stopped asking him if he was alright years before. She knew he was fine, but that he would end up using that question as an opening to complain his way out of the rest of the hike. She had a destination to get to, and he would just have to keep up or fall behind. She sipped her tea as she easily maneuvered around the lumpy terrain.

  Their timing was dead on, for as they rounded the last curve along the edge of the path, the horizon was just beginning to light up. John hurried to the edge of the cliff and set up both of their chairs so they could sit back and watch the show. This was one of her favorite moments each year. Everything always lined up just right and, in all her years, there was always a clear sky on the first morning of her annual camping trip. Her father had said that for as far back as he could remember, the sky had always been perfect for viewing the sunrise, too.

  As she leaned back, breathing in deeply, she could swear that her father’s heavy hand was resting on her right shoulder. John sat to her left, and for that moment, she felt complete. The yellows had just begun to flow across the horizon and, above them, the pitch black sky was turning a lighter shade of blue. Oranges and reds followed from below, pushing the bright part of the sky higher into the day.

  “John, I love you. You know that, right?” His mother broke the silence.

  “Of course, Mom. I love you, too.”

  “Thank you for coming again, I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do, but it means a lot to me. It was your grandfather’s tradition,” she said, bringing her hand up to her right shoulder.

  “It isn’t too bad once we are up here. It’s the walk that kills me, and sleeping on the ground. I don’t want to do that.” He stopped himself from continuing on about all the things he hated about camping. His mother was fully aware of his feelings on the subject.

  “You know, John, I don’t know how many years I’ll still be able to do this by myself, or at all.”

  He nodded in agreement, but wasn’t about to make any promises about taking her when she couldn’t do it alone anymore. He knew she would hold him to any promises he made on this sacred morning. The birds had begun their morning wake up routine and were busily calling to one another from the trees above John and his mother. They were surrounded by the sounds of animals celebrating the gift of another day of life, fully awake and ready to seize every moment.

  “I wish you had someone in your life, John.”

  His sigh was louder than he meant it to be, but it was real. Mothers have a way of cutting through the bullshit and getting straight to the point. They don’t have to dance around your feelings. It’s their reward for bringing their children into the world, or something like that. He had already been expecting his mother to push this issue again. It was meant out of love, but it felt more like a guilt trip. John had felt the smallest amount of guilt towards his mother for having never brought grandchildren into the world for her, but he had no prospects with a woman he would be willing to go that extra mile for and grandkids don’t just fall out of the sky.

  “I just want you to be happy,” she whispered when he didn’t react to her first statement.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t want you to be alone when I’m gone.”

  “I don’t mind being alone.”

  “I know.” This time it was her turn to sigh.

  One thing John had never understood was why other people felt so insistent on the need for companionship. Happiness comes from within, and he was perfectly content to live without the constant pressure to bend to someone else’s will. For him, being alone was freedom. The idea of a relati
onship filled him with anxiety. There were too many unknowns. This downward spiral into his own thoughts almost caused him to miss the most important part of the sunrise, that amazing moment when the sun shimmers its way into the new day.

  John’s mother reached over and grasped his hand in hers just long enough for the sun to fully emerge, then she let go. John spent those few awkward moments reminding himself that this was important to her. Nodding at him as she stood, she indicated that he had fulfilled his duty for the year. Just a few more hours to go, he reminded himself as he faked a smile back at his mother. Hastily, he began the seemingly easy job of packing up the two camping chairs.

  The chain reaction began with the simplest of tasks. He was rushed in pushing one of the chairs back into its canvas carrying bag. The bag was tighter than it should have been because, due to John’s frantic packing efforts, the chair had not closed as neatly as was possible. This led to him struggling to push the feet of the chair into the last few inches of the bag, which resulted in him being off balance. Being off balance when he attempted one last big shove, just to force the damn chair into the damn bag, meant that even the tiniest rock could cause him to lose his footing and send him for a tumble. A tumble may have been comical when he was at home, or anywhere else where the land was flat, but they weren’t in a place where the land was flat. They were on a cliffside. If you haven’t figured out what’s coming next, then you are one step behind John, because the minute his weight was thrown off balance, he knew what was coming.

  His mother turned to look just in time for her to reach out and miss John’s hand by a mere inch or two. She screamed, but he did not. He saw the edge, then he saw her staring at him as he fell backwards towards the ground below. A string of thoughts went through his mind before he crashed head first into the rocky ground at the cliff’s base. She had only one thought. “This is my fault.”