Dying to Go Viral

by Sylvia McNicoll

  “But I can’t die now. I have to start school tomorrow.”

  “They’ll understand. People stay away for less.” She beckoned. “Can we continue?”

  “But it’s too soon. I have things I have to do!”

  “I’m sorry, honey.” She shook her head. “When my time came, I thought it was too early too. I wanted to stay alive to help you and Devon grow up. But instead I had to watch you from here.”

  “So do you think I should take correspondence courses?” I asked, as much to stall her as anything else.

  “For school?”

  I nodded. “Dying makes me a high-school dropout. I don’t want to be this dumb the rest of my life…I mean, forever. Whatever…”

  “Words, words.” Mom chuckled. I had waited so long to hear that sound again. “This is your eternal life.”

  She stroked my cheek and I leaned into her fingers. A mother’s touch. I had done without it since I was eight. “School is so limiting,” she said. “Once you cross over, we can go wherever we like, experience anything we want. You will learn so much more.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. “And we can do it together.”

  Together…I felt that warmth and happiness again. Wasn’t this what I had craved for the entire six years since she died? We walked again slowly but my feet dragged, heavier and heavier, like anchors weighting me onto something else. I felt drawn back. Finally I had to stop. “You said you watched me, how did you do that? I want to see how Devon and Dad are.”

  My mother sighed, and guided me down to a large flat rock at the pond’s edge. “Sit,” she told me. She kneeled down and stared down into the water. I looked too and the water transformed into a screen. In front of me I saw a bright room full of people sitting. I recognized a lot of kids from my school, looking almost goth with their pale faces and dark clothes, the girls in dresses and skirts and stockings, the guys in dress pants and shirts and crooked ties. There in the front was my only girlfriend, Hailey, dressed up too but makeup-less and teary, next to her sat Scratch. As I continued to stare, I felt myself becoming part of the room as though I were taking part in a dream. Only it wasn’t a dream, it was my funeral.

  At the front sat a maple wood casket, closed, thank goodness for that. I wouldn’t have wanted to see my own dead body, especially considering the state my head must have been in after bumping around on the road. My last school photo stood framed on the casket, where my head might be. It wasn’t flattering. That picture day, Hailey had shown me how to plaster concealer over a fresh zit on my nose which had made my skin look blotchy. Red roses covered the rest of the casket.

  I want to get roses from a boy, not for my funeral.

  I felt a tear trace its way down my cheek. I know lots of kids who have told me when they’re mad at their parents, they imagine their funeral and how sorry their mother and father will be. That was something I never did. We lost Mom so early and our family never recovered. I really didn’t want to call up that pain just for some kind of imaginary revenge.

  My view drifted to the front of the room where Dad and Devon sat, rigid and pale. Devon with purple shadows underneath his eyes. Dad with stubble on his chin, grey stubble. Overnight he’d grown old. His eyes looked bleary and red.

  They didn’t touch or lean towards each other. Like two opposing magnets, they pushed apart when their hands or body parts even came close.

  My best friend and his skateboard killed my sister.

  If only I hadn’t worked that day…Jade would still be alive.

  “No, no, it’s my own fault!” I called to them but it was clear no one could hear me. I had been so stupid. I could have avoided the accident. It had nothing to do with my brother giving me that skateboard. Nothing to do with Dad working. How can you be dead and yet feel like throwing up?

  “This isn’t fair,” I whispered fiercely.

  The room around me swirled and dissolved. Suddenly, I was back staring into the pond in front of me. I looked up at Mom. “They’re going to fall apart. I have to go back.”

  “Everyone falls apart when someone close dies. But when they put themselves back together again,” Mom made her long fingers interlock, “they should become stronger.”

  “Dad hasn’t even healed from the last time.”

  Mom’s mouth buckled. “I know.”

  “I have to go back. Please, Mom. There has to be something you can do.”

  “People who die young often feel drawn back to missed experiences,” Mom said. “But there will be so much over there,” she pointed past the bridge, “I promise you.”

  “You know that’s not it. I mean sure, I’d like to go back and see another sunset. Maybe get kissed by a boy.” I grabbed Mom’s hand desperately. “But those things aren’t holding on to me. It’s Dad and Devon.”

  She shook her head sadly. “You made your choices.”

  “But this is the second death they’ve had to deal with. I can’t just walk away with you and leave them.”

  “Then we will be stuck here.” Mom sighed as she stirred the pond with her hand. “You can’t just relive your life as if nothing happened.”

  “And I don’t want to do that.” I watched the ripples form on the smooth clear water, saw large orange and white fish dart away. “You’re my mom. There has to be something you can do.”

  She frowned. “There was someone once who couldn’t move forward because of his wife, there was something he needed to do for her, and he was able to return for a short while.” She looked as though she were mulling the idea over so I pressed her.

  “There has to be someone you can ask. Please, Mom. A week would do it.”

  “You feel you can make a significant difference in seven days even though you had fourteen years? Honestly?”

  “If that’s all I’ve got—given what I know now—sure.” I nodded.

  She stirred the water again. “Look at the pond. Every ripple I make disturbs the fish, causes some change in the formation of plant life.”

  “Cosmic changes, I’m sure.”

  “Possibly not. But they could be, you’ll never know till we see the result.”

  “Mom, please.”

  She turned to look at me. “Stay here and I’ll ask.” Mom stood up and walked back up the bank, over the bridge, to the pagoda and then over the second bridge. She disappeared.

  I sat staring at the koi fish who had drifted back. Their mouths opened and closed. Go, go, go, they seemed to be saying. Or was it No, no no?

  I didn’t have to wait long to find out the answer. Mom returned from somewhere beyond the pagoda.

  “This is very dangerous, Jade. You cannot change the larger destiny based on your knowledge now. Do you understand? No telling anyone what’s going to happen. No winning lotto ticket numbers. No avoiding your death. If you do, you could make everything much, much worse.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “All right, I’ll start you back on Sunday.” She touched my cheek and smiled. “I’ve missed you.”

  “And you’ll have me back Labour Day Monday.” I returned her smile.

  “I don’t know.” She pursed her lips. “Your longing for life on earth is so strong, I’m worried for you. But then if it wasn’t so strong, you wouldn’t be so compelled to go back.”

  “I’ll make this better for Devon and Dad, then I’ll be happy to cross over with you.”

  “Oh, Jade, if you can help Devon and Dad with this, the risk will all be worth it.” She hugged me tight. “Now close your eyes.”

  I squeezed my lids together tightly. When I opened them again, I was at the schoolyard with Scratch, the day before my birthday. The blacktop felt smooth beneath my rollerblades, the breeze gentle on my skin, the sun warm on my shoulders. The grassy grounds rolled out into green hills, the sky opened wide in an aching blue. I could hardly breathe. It felt wonderful to be back.

  “I saw this cool trick on YouTube,” Scratch called to me. He looked short with his feet planted far apart and his knees bent. “All the s
kateboarders do it. Grinding.” In the meantime he kicked the board into the air leaping with it and then landing perfectly. The curls all over his head jiggled happily as he moved.

  “Maybe you should practise at the park first. Start jumping on the ramp. See if you can land on your feet.” Instead of putting all your weight on one hand.

  “I’ve watched it a hundred times. You jump up from the top of some stairs onto the rail and then you slide down with the middle of the board grinding on the metal.”

  “Why don’t you try it somewhere else? Joseph Brant, maybe?”

  “Hah, hah. I’m not going to need a hospital.”

  “You don’t think so,” I muttered under my breath. I knew I couldn’t just tell him that he was going to fall from handrails onto a concrete landing, snapping his left wrist in two places. That’s what happened when we lived through this the first time. We’d ridden a bus to the Emergency Room of Joseph Brant and called his mother from there as Scratch waited to be x-rayed.

  “Can I at least make a suggestion? Can you grind over on that railing near the grass? Softer landing for your first try?”

  “Okay.” He skated over to the second flight of stairs. Suddenly he pitched up the skateboard and leaped. Down the rail he went. I couldn’t look. I knew it wouldn’t end well. I’d seen it before.

  Chapter 3

  SOMEONE’S GOT A DEATH WISH

  Just like the last time, his skateboard slid down the railing with him balanced on the top, his arms out like wings. It looked good, perfect in fact. Then somehow the board hit a bump and Scratch tumbled.

  “Scratch!” I called as I rollerbladed towards him. I felt helpless watching. He landed on his shoulder and rolled a few times. It seemed like a different kind of fall than last time when he broke his wrist. It didn’t look nearly as bad. “Are you okay?” I couldn’t breathe till I saw him sit up.

  He rubbed his arm and shoulder. “I’m fine.”

  I took a deep breath and smiled. Not breaking his wrist—how could that be a bad thing? Destiny hadn’t turned horrible as a result. Maybe someone at Emergency bumped ahead in the line because Scratch wasn’t there. Perhaps they would be saved as a result. My mother had told me I had to die again. She didn’t say everyone else had to. Maybe this wasn’t part of the larger destiny.

  “Hold on…” I felt a needle of fear as he climbed the stairs again. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying again. That was awesome.”

  “No! Don’t!” There was no saving some people.

  The skateboard rattled across the concrete. He jumped, landing again on the railing. Down, down, down he slid. Off the end, into the air…

  I winced.

  … and then a perfect touch down.

  “That was great. Really. Could we go home now? I’m hungry.”

  “One more time,” he said.

  “Nooo!” I held my hands together and begged. “Please, please don’t, Scratch. You can’t go to the top. If you fall…” I knew I shouldn’t tell him more but I couldn’t help myself “…you’ll hurt yourself.” It sounded lame anyway, and it wasn’t enough to stop him.

  He grinned at me and ran up the stairs. At the top, he pushed off on his board, jumped to the rail and grinded down. Perfect. When he hit the end, he didn’t jump down. He leapt over the concrete landing that filled the gap.

  I closed my eyes. Please, Mom, help him.

  And I heard her answer somewhere from inside me. He makes his own choices just like you. And faces the consequences.

  I heard the clatter of the skateboard and my eyes flew open. Scratch dove to the ground head first. There was a sickening thunk. I screamed.

  This time Scratch didn’t answer when I asked him if he was okay.

  This time he lay still.

  For my birthday, I was going to get a phone from Dad. But that was tomorrow. Today, I had to find help, fast. I left Scratch alone on the grass while I roller bladed down the path to the street. A city bus stopped at the corner, the same bus that had taken us to Joseph Brant Hospital for his broken wrist the last time we lived through this day.

  I waved at the driver. He opened the door and I told him what happened. He radioed his dispatch to get an ambulance over here right away. He hadn’t done this last time. Everything had shifted slightly. I dashed back to sit with Scratch. His face looked the same colour as the sidewalk. My mouth went dry. What if he died?

  My mind flashed back to that garden and that path beyond. It wouldn’t be so bad to travel it if my best friend was there with me. But I couldn’t be that selfish.

  The ambulance came and two guys brought over a stretcher. “What happened here?” One of them asked me. When I described how Scratch had hit his head, and the sound it had made, they went back to the ambulance for a wooden board. They lifted Scratch onto that board and strapped him in. It looked as though they were worried about his neck. What if he didn’t die but could never walk again?

  Meanwhile, I’d taken off my rollerblades. No way was I getting left behind. Once they loaded Scratch into the back of the ambulance, I climbed in after him. The door slammed and the siren warbled.

  “Do you know his telephone number?” the attendant in the back asked.

  I nodded.

  The ambulance sped through the intersection. I watched as cars pulled to the side to get out of our way.

  “Here.” He handed me his cell phone. “Can you call his folks?”

  I keyed in the number. Just as his mom picked up, Scratch began stirring. I thought I would pass out with relief. “Hello, Mrs. Chalms? It’s Jade. There’s been an accident and I’m in an ambulance taking Scratch to Emergency.”

  “I’m okay,” Scratch murmured.

  But I saw he was cradling his left wrist in his right hand. I jabbed one finger in my ear so I could hear over the siren. “We don’t know how bad it is yet.”

  The ambulance tore through two more intersections.

  “Let me talk to her!” Scratch insisted.

  I held the phone to his ear. We turned onto Lakeshore Road, another block and we would be at the hospital.

  “I only fell, Mom. It’s no biggie…My wrist hurts a little…They just have to give me x-rays. It’s standard procedure.”

  Maybe this would all turn out all right. Maybe Scratch wouldn’t die or end up in a wheelchair. The ambulance careened into the hospital parking lot and the driver and attendant lifted the board with Scratch on it, out and through the hospital door. Still in sock feet, I followed behind till an emergency nurse stopped me.

  “You’ll have to wait outside. Fill in whatever information you can on this form, okay?” She handed me a clipboard with a form and a pen. Awkwardly I grabbed them with the hand not holding the rollerblades. Then I sat down and put the skates underneath the chair. I knew Scratch’s address and real names. He had a lot of them. Steven Craig Alan Thomas Chalms. He once told me his mom couldn’t have any more kids so she used up all her favourite boy names at once. Scratch was so much easier.

  I knew his date of birth, too. He turned fourteen a month before I did. He didn’t have any allergies or previous medical conditions. He’d never been to a hospital before. Even his birth had been at home.

  By the time his mother arrived, she just had to look over the form and sign. “What happened? It was that stupid skateboard, wasn’t it?” There were tears in her eyes.

  How much could I tell her that wouldn’t make trouble for Scratch? “He fell really hard on his head.”

  “Was he wearing the helmet I gave him for his birthday?” She looked a lot like Scratch—same height, same happy curls all over her head—but she always seemed so serious. More so today.

  I shook my head. No point in lying. She would find out anyway if she looked in his bedroom and saw it on the floor of his closet. I followed behind her in my grubby stocking feet as she returned the clipboard to the nursing station and spoke to the nurse. The nurse pointed to some double doors and said, “Sixth door to your left.”

  I sta
yed close behind her so no one would stop me. She moved fast, as fast as she could while still walking. No running in the halls, I thought as I took in the smell of soap and medicine. We turned into room six. That’s where Scratch lay, pale as the white hospital gown he was wearing.

  Behind him on the bandage-coloured wall, a row of scary-looking medical tools and probes hung. A greyhaired man in a lab coat removed a stethoscope from his ears and explained Scratch’s condition. “We’re now waiting for x-ray results. He can move his fingers and toes and feet for that matter. We don’t think there’s been any spinal cord injury. We know he’s broken his wrist but we’re not sure how badly. There might be a concussion. We’d like to keep him overnight.”

  “A concussion, is that like a broken skull?” Scratch asked.

  The doctor chuckled. “No, it’s more like a bruised brain. The important thing is to protect your head for the next little while. You may be more susceptible to falls and your brain cannot sustain another blow.”

  “I’ll make sure he rests,” his mother said.

  It was going to be all right. Scratch was going to be fine. I smiled.

  Then everything swirled in front of me and I found myself standing near that pond with my face and my mother’s reflecting back at me.

  “You weren’t supposed to make any changes to the larger destiny,” she said, sternly.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, Mom. I just couldn’t watch him break his wrist again without trying to stop him.

  “But you persuaded him to skateboard in a different location based on knowledge you gained your last time through the event. Did it help him?”

  “No. Scratch paid for it with a concussion on top of that broken wrist. I’m sorry. But maybe he’s learned his lesson, to wear a helmet and all. I wish someone would have taught me that.”

  “That wasn’t part of the deal, Jade. You aren’t supposed to make changes based on events that you know will happen from your first experience of this week.” She put her hands on my shoulders and I felt instantly calmer. “We can’t know whether some change you make will drive destiny down a worse or a better path. That’s what makes reliving this week so dangerous.” She released my shoulders and I instantly missed her touch. “Just use your best judgement to help your father and brother. Think about what you can do, what you can offer them, rather than what you can change.” Her voice faded on the last line even as the air shimmered.