13. Portion of SAT answer sheet from person who did not do well on test.
14. What audiences gave a guy onstage the last five times he asked for it.
20. Lower Merion Little League division for players who are 11 years old as of April 30th.
21. Heard as person in 41 Across continues to struggle.
25. Part of “Hey Jude.”
26. Excerpt from notebook of child learning how to write.
27. One way to write the phone number (222) 222-2222.
28. Every other letter in the 22nd state.
29. First characters of five adjacent parking spaces, located on the first level of a parking structure.
30. A lazyassword.
31. 22 Across, backwards.
33. __-line dress, __-line coat, __-line haircut.
35. High-score holder in numerous arcade games.
37. Found on piece of paper, in wastebasket, in Calligraphy class.
39. A bunch of window seats on an airplane.
42. Items found in a rubber stamp kit.
44. “La La La La,” in Solflege, C Major.
47. Found on five of Hester Prynne’s outfits?
49. Unlikely hand in Scrabble.
52. Strong rating for cultured pearls.
53. Elicited during a foot rub.
55. The not famous, but actual “_______ Hotelwelt Kuebler” hotel in Karlsruhe, Germany.
56. 13 Down minus 31 Across.
57. Albany Area Amateur Astronomers, abbr.
58. Sound you might hear if “A Hard Day’s Night” skips on the third word in the song.
59. All of the vowels in the name of the “Land of Opportunity” state.
60. Opening Morse code signal sent in order to get receiver’s attention.
62. What one might say when viewing this puzzle.
Sheila
George was drunk. He wobbled on the surface of the frozen lake. He had been drinking a lot lately. It started shortly after Lori left. After being together for only a few months, George had asked Lori to move in with him. She told him she wanted to see the world. George told her he loved her. She said she thought things were moving too fast. Then George went and got her name tattooed on his leg. When he showed Lori the tattoo, she cried and kissed him. The next day she left to see the world. That was four months ago.
Standing there on the lake with his buddies, drinking vodka out of a red plastic cup, George tried not to think about Lori. But it was no use. Today was the three-week anniversary of the last time he spoke to her. Lori had called collect from India that day, from a small village just outside of Varanasi. The phone connection was bad and the conversation was short.
“I just shaved my head,” Lori replied. “I think my spirit animal is a caribou.”
“Oh.” George was happy to hear her voice, even with the bad connection. It made her sound like she was floating in space or something. And she might as well have been. India was a world away.
“When do you think you’ll be back?” George asked, trying not to sound too desperate.
“Um…” Lori replied, “Ooh, I’ve got to run. We’re about to burn one of the elders’ bodies! I’ll catch you later.”
George just couldn’t accept that the relationship was over. He was holding on to something that was no longer there, and everyone but George could see it. He’d even had the tattoo of her name underlined, hoping the added emphasis would somehow help him rekindle things with Lori. Of course, it didn’t. It only made it look like George had the title of a book on his leg. People would look at his leg and say, “Who’s the author?”
George’s friends were worried about him. He was drunk more frequently these days. And he wasn’t a good drunk. Some people become talkers when they’re drunk. Others become huggers. When George got drunk, he became a tackler. After a few drinks he’d get that crazy look in his eyes and start to rock back and forth. That’s when anyone standing near him knew it was time to move out of the way or find something sturdy to stand behind.
So, that afternoon, as George charged across the ice, his buddy, Owen, calmly stepped behind a tree. George barreled past him and careened off the tree. Then, with all the grace of an injured water buffalo, George crashed through the ice.
When the paramedics fished George out of the ice, he was unconscious and blue. They rushed him to the hospital, where he died just after 8 pm.
Emerging from total blackness, George found himself suddenly standing on a boat in a warm, sun-drenched place, moving gently toward a coastline. There were other people with him on the boat, most of them were older. The boat was overflowing with passengers, all crowded together, all completely silent, all dead. George didn’t know if this was Heaven, but he knew it wasn’t Earth. It’s too “glowy,” he thought. He knew he was dead, because when you’re dead, you just know it. It’s like stepping in gum. As soon as it happens, there is no question about what it is.
As strange as it all felt, it was also familiar and wonderful at the same time. George felt warm and serene, and relieved, kind of like the way you feel right after you sneeze or take off some ski boots, but even more so. And he wasn’t drunk or even a little bit hungover. He checked his breath. It didn’t smell like beer or vodka but more like strawberries. George hadn’t eaten any strawberries. He knew this was a special place.
There was no tunnel or relatives, or pearly gates, just some strange people waving at George and the other recently departed folks arriving with him. Rolling hills stretched out into the distance behind the friendly-looking people who stood on the shoreline. As the boat floated toward the waiting crowd, George spotted a couple of angels, who, on closer inspection, looked more like some guys wearing taered angel costumes. Still, this was more beautiful than any place George had ever seen. Of course, he had spent most of his life in New Jersey, so that’s not saying much.
George scanned the faces of the waiting people. Every one of them emanated kindness. Although, a couple of them had an expression like “Do I know you? Oh, I don’t… well, I’m disappointed, but welcome anyway.”
One of these faces seemed to glow brighter than the others. It was the face of a woman. From the moment he saw her, George couldn’t stop looking at her. Unlike the other people who were waiting there, she seemed to be walking by. When she saw George, she stopped and smiled at him. They gazed at each other unself-consciously. Then one of the angel guys floated in front of her face, blocking her view of George. She batted the angel away. The angel looked annoyed about it. She kind of told him off as he floated away. Then she looked back at George and smiled. He smiled back.
George walked through the crowd and made his way to the woman. When he got to her, he didn’t know what to say. He was mesmerized by her beauty, and also a little jet-lagged from dying.
“Pretty annoying angel, huh?” said George.
“Yeah.” She laughed. “They’re not angels. They’re just guys dressed up like them. They’re here to help people make the transition after they’ve, uh…”
“Died?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t know if you knew.”
“I figured I was dead when I went to scratch my arm and my hand went through it.”
She laughed again. “I guess that’s a good clue.”
“I’m George.”
“Sheila.”
They shook hands. The moment they touched George felt a spark like nothing he’d ever felt before. This must be what they mean when they say “love at first sight,” thought George. He had never felt so connected so quickly to anyone before, ever. George knew that he had found his soul mate, and she was hot.
As Sheila spoke, her words floated like notes plucked from a harp, a really good harp. She was in the middle of telling George about her cat when her voice started to sound distorted, like from the Doppler effect or something. The light around George started to dim and he felt a pulling sensation. A moment later Sheila and everything else around her began receding, and then suddenly it all disappeared into darknes
s. George felt heavy and sluggish. It got very cold. Pain shot through his body. He tossed and turned and then opened his eyes.
“We got him!” shouted a doctor.
“We’ve got a pulse,” added one of the nurses.
The heart monitor began jumping. The doctors and nurses celebrated. Their persistence had paid off. George coughed. The bright light of the O.R. spilled into his eyes. He squinted and passed out.
The next day George woke up in a hospital bed. He found a doctor sitting next to him, a short man with very thick eyebrows.
“Hello, George,” said the doctor. “How are you feeling?” As he spoke, the doctor’s eyebrows moved gently up and down, like well-trained caterpillars.
“Where am I?” asked George.
The doctor told George that he had been dead for almost five minutes the day before. The icy water had made it possible for them to revive him.
“You’re a lucky man, George,” said the doctor. “You’re going to be fine.”
“Where’s Sheila?” asked George.
“Who?”
“Wait, you mean, I’m not dead?” George whined.
“No. You’re alive.” The doctor flashed a warm smile. “We saved you.”
“Oh,” said George. He was visibly disappointed.
The doctor’s smile vanished. “You’re welcome,” he muttered as he stood up and left the room. “… prick.”
Two days later George was released from the hospital. He still couldn’t believe he had died. He’d never even had the flu before, let alone death. He felt lucky, but he was confused. He wanted to see Sheila again.
George’s friends threw him a surprise party. It was a “Resurrection Party.” Everyone showed up, many dressed as disciples. The party made George feel kind of uncomfortable, especially when they brought out the cake and he had to eat his own “blood and body.” Still he was relieved to see his friends, and for the first time in months, he had totally forgotten about Lori.
About a week later, George sat in his therapist’s office and opened up about his recent, temporary death.
“It’s just my luck,” George complained. “I finally manage to find my soul mate, but it happens only after I die. And then I can’t even stay dead once I’ve found her.”
“You were dead for five minutes, George. That’s not a basis for a relationship,” countered his therapist.
“You weren’t there. You don’t know.”
“George, this is your typical pattern. You claim you want to be in a committed relationship, but you always fall for women you can’t have. Remember the Japanese tourist you met at the airport? Then there was the newlywed you saw leaving the church. And then Lori, who always told you she wanted to travel. And now this Sheila, who is either dead or worse, imaginary.”
“She is not imaginary!”
“Either way, it’s unhealthy. You need to forget about her and try to date someone who is available and alive. Stop worrying about finding a soul mate and just try to find a date.”
Sheila wa eating lunch with her best friend, Erin. They’d been friends since death.
“What were you doing at Arrivals?” Erin asked.
Arrivals was typically where dead spouses and random opportunists hung out, waiting to be reunited with the recently deceased or to sell them maps to homes of the dead stars.
“I was just walking by. I was running errands in the area.”
“So this guy just happened to be arriving as you walked by?”
“Yeah. It was really romantic. We made eye contact, and the next thing I knew we were deep in conversation. He was really sweet and just… different than a lot of the guys up here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, he just seemed so…”—Sheila searched for the words—“… so full of life.”
Erin laughed. “Well, that’s no surprise. The guy had just died. I know it’s charming, but let me tell you, that doesn’t last. I once dated a guy who’d just died. At first it was great. But then, after a couple of months, the novelty of it wore off, and then he was just another dead guy like every other guy around here.”
“But this was different.”
Erin could see how excited Sheila was, so she tried to seem interested. “So, then what happened?” she asked.
“Well, we were talking and laughing, really connecting, and then out of nowhere he started to float backwards. And then he was gone.”
“Oh,” Erin replied.
“What do you mean ‘Oh’?”
“I mean ‘Oh’ as in ‘Oh, he’s gone.’ They took him back.”
Sheila looked puzzled.
“Back to his life,” explained Erin.
“What?”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, sweetie, but this George guy is back on Earth. You won’t see him again until he dies again.”
Sheila didn’t want to believe it, but she knew Erin was right. Erin knew a lot about life. She had been obsessed with it ever since she died.
Sheila was disappointed. She really liked George. And, even though they had only spoken for a few minutes, she knew they had real chemistry. But she also knew there was no way to date a living person, so she tried to forget about George and get on with the rest of her afterlife.
About a week later, Sheila’s phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Is Sheila there?”
“This is Sheila.’s this?”
“My name is Stew. I work over in Visitation. I understand you’re interested in someone on Earth.”
“Well, um, yes, I was. I mean I guess I am but… wait, how did you get my number?”
“I’m a friend of Larry’s. He is seeing your friend Dianne. Erin told her about your recent encounter. I think I can help you.”
The next day Sheila met Stew for coffee. He explained that if she really wanted to see George, she could visit him on Earth by obtaining a visa.
“How do I get a visa?” asked Sheila.
“Well, there are two options. The first is reincarnation. I don’t recommend that though, because it’s risky. You could end up as a lizard or a dog or some sort of insect. Plus, even if you’re lucky enough to become a person, there will be a pretty big age difference to deal with once you get there.”
“What’s the other option?”
Stew took a sip of his coffee. “The other option is that you go as a ghost.”
Sheila thought for a moment. She wanted to see George again, but as a ghost? “Ghosts are scary,” she thought. “And on top of that, I’m not a night person.” On the other hand, dating had not been going well. And she couldn’t stop thinking about George.
Stew continued. “All you need is some unfinished business. I can help you submit a proper request, and then, if it’s approved, you’ll be able to visit Earth as a ghost with an unfinished business visa.”
“Hm,” said Sheila. “Well, what qualifies as unfinished business?”
“Unfinished business is usually solving a murder or helping to solve a murder, or… well, it’s pretty much just stuff involving murders.”
“I see,” said Sheila, disappointed. “I guess I don’t qualify then.”
“Well, not necessarily. That’s where I can help you. I have a friend in the department. He can put together the paperwork. It’ll take some favors, but if you’ve got the money, I think I can get you that visa.”
Two weeks later George was brushing his teeth when he heard a strange noise. He figured it was the wind and shrugged it off. Then it came again. He walked into his living room. There, next to his coffee table, he saw a strange light shooting around the room.
“Hellooooo, George,” said the light, trying its best not to sound spooky.
“Oh my God,” said George. “What do you want?”
“It’s meeee, Sheila,” replied the ghost.
George looked closer. It was Sheila. She looked different, more see-through and kind of pale, but it was her.
“Jesus. What happened to you? Are you okay?
”
“Yeeeeees, George, I’m fine. I’m a ghost. I came to visit youuuuu.”
“Wow. Sheila. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Meeee toooo,” she replied.
George invited Sheila to sit down, and she did her best to, floating just above the chair. They started to talk, picking up right where they’d left off, connecting in the same effortless way they had done two weeks earlier.
Despite her initial ghoulish appearance, Sheila looked great. She explained that those longer vowels that rang out when she spoke were not intentional. It was a side effect of being a ghost.
“It’s sort of built into the ghost speech mechanism,” she explained. “I guess to make haunting easier.”
With a little practice, Sheila was able to minimize the effect. Although, every now and then she would say “boo” without warning. George took it in stride. They talked and laughed and shared stories all night. And before they knew it, it was morning. As the sun rose, George walked Sheila to the door.
“I had so much fun tonight,” Sheila said, glowing demurely.
“Me toooooo,” responded George.
Sheila laughed.
“When can I see you again?” asked George.
“Well, tomorrow I have to visit some people involved with a murder, because of my visa, but I’m free the next night.”
“Great,” said George. “It’s a date.”
Two nights later, Sheila was back in George’s apartment. Again, they stayed up talking, hours passing like minutes, each of them finishing each other’s sentences. George made tea for Sheila. It went right through her. They laughed about it. Then Sheila inhabited one of George’s throw pillows and danced around with it. She challenged him to a pillow fight. As they jousted with pillows they had trouble catching their breath from laughing so hard, and also, in Sheila’s case, from being inside a pillow.
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