Week 12: Happy Detritus
Oct. 12th, 2025 03:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
inkstainedfingertipsThe lights are so bright, they nearly blind me. I wince and turn away, my ears filled with the sound of something screeching and squealing as if it’s being tortured.
And then my body jolts, rocked so hard, if feels like my bones are coming apart. A cry escapes me, and I’m racked with a pain so intense, it steals my breath.
And then I’m plunged into silence. I hear nothing.
See nothing.
Feel nothing…
* * * * *
My eyes flutter then open. I turn in a circle, the world around me dark and muzzy, as if I’m seeing through a pane of soaped glass. The edges of everything are fuzzy and indistinct. I see shapes but little more.
“Welcome.”
My heart leaps into my throat as I spin around to find a woman standing before me. Her red hair cascades over her shoulders and her green eyes somehow sparkle, even in the dim light. Her heart-shaped lips curl upward, and she clasps her hands at her waist.
“You have questions,” she says.
“Where the hell am I?”
“Where do you want to be?”
I shake my head, disoriented. The world around me seems indistinct and out of focus, adding to the dizziness that grips me.
“What do you mean? Where am I?” I cry.
“Where would you like to be?”
“I don’t understand.”
Her smile is small. Patient. “If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?”
I say nothing but shake my head, not understanding the question. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes and try to control my racing thoughts. Where would I be? What kind of question was that? Where in the hell am I is the question. Blowing out a long breath, I open my eyes, a gasp bursting from my mouth.
The world around me has changed. Every line is clear. Crisp. Distinct. I’m in an open field, a gentle breeze brushes my skin and carries with it, the scent of wildflowers and earth. I turn my face up to the cloudless azure sky, letting the sun warm my skin. Going from feeling nothing to suddenly feeling everything is overwhelming.
“Where am I?”
My voice is thick with unexpected emotion. The woman offers me a small and enigmatic Mona Lisa smile.
“You are where you want to be,” she says.
“What kind of an answer is that?”
She says nothing but gives me that smile again. Sighing, I close my eyes and rack my brain, trying to understand what’s happening to me. And when I open them, the scene has shifted again. Rather than an open field, I find myself in a room—my childhood room. I’m surrounded by my GI Joe figures, Transformers, Legos—all my favorite toys. Sitting beside me is Duke, my beloved Great Dane who is staring at me, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
My heart racing, I reach out slowly and haltingly. Part of me fears touching Duke will make this whole illusion vanish. The other part of me fears it won’t. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I lay my hand on Duke’s head. The big dog licks my hand and whines as he nuzzles me. I feel the coarseness of his fur, the velvety softness of his ears, his rough tongue on my skin, and the warmth of his big body against mine.
“What the hell,” I gasp as fresh tears roll down my cheeks. “He’s real. He’s here.”
“He is.”
“How… Duke died years and years ago. When I was still young.”
“Nothing and nobody are ever truly gone,” she says. “Not when they live within us.”
I wrap my arms around Duke’s thick neck and nuzzle my face into his fur. He’s so warm and so solid. So… real. How is this happening?”
My mind is racing, and I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to staunch the flow of tears and get myself under control. But when I open them, the scene has shifted again. Gone is my bedroom and the trappings of my childhood. Instead, I am standing in the cool air and dim lighting of a library I recognize immediately. I fall to my knees, the breath driven from my lungs.
“What are you doing to me?” I ask.
The red-haired woman gives me a smile. “I’m doing nothing. This is where you want to be.”
Tears stream down my face and I inhale the scent of the old books that surround me. The sound of footsteps echo in my ears and I raise my eyes, my heart stopping dead in my chest.
Tall and thin, golden hair tied back in its familiar braid, gazing at me with silver-blue eyes. A warm smile crosses her full lips as she holds out a hand. I take it, marveling at the warmth of her smooth, porcelain-colored skin, and let her bring me to my feet.
Reaching out, I lay a hand against her cheek, and she leans into it. We stand in silence, staring into one another’s eyes, and I feel like I’m being swept away by a river of emotion.
“How?” I whisper, my voice trembling. “You’ve been gone—”
She puts a finger to my lips, her smile making my heart flutter. “I’ve never been gone,” she says and lays a hand on my chest. “I’ve always been here.”
She lays a warm, soft hand against my face, and it’s my turn to lean into her touch. I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of my wife, the love of my life. She’s as solid as Duke had been. Every bit as real.
But I don’t understand how it can be. I open my eyes, and she’s gone, and I cry out, the pain of losing her again as unbearable as it was the first time. My heart feels like it’s being torn in two.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I cry.
Her expression is one of understanding. An old television, something that looked like it belongs in the 1950s, sits on a cart beside her.
“What is this?”
The television flickers to life, and I wince. The image on the screen is one of tortured metal and shattered glass. Blue and red lights flash and pulse as I watch as men in uniforms pull me from the wreckage and load me into an ambulance.
The scene shifts and I am lying in a hospital bed, hooked to a battery of machines. My children, grown, with kids of their own, are gathered around the bed, tears in their eyes, mournful expressions on their faces.
“Am I dead?” I ask. “Is this…”
My voice trails off as I raise my head. The television is gone and the red-haired woman stands between two doors, still wearing that Mona Lisa smile.
“You have a choice,” she says.
“What choice?”
“You have lived a long life. A good life.”
“I’m not ready to die.”
“You can return to what is,” she says and motions to the door on her right.
“Will I recover?” I ask. “Or am I going to be hooked to machines for the rest of whatever life I have left?”
“Or you can go through the other door and live a different life. A life of what could be,” she says. “One surrounded by everything that made you happy in life. Anything you think of will be.”
My mind races faster than my heart. A life of what could be. A life where I am surrounded by the things that made me happy. The people who made me feel whole. But if I go through the first door, I will be leaving my children, the people who love me now. I will be leaving them all behind. My kids. My grandkids. I will be leaving all the happiness they bring me.
But if I’m being honest, I’m tired. Tired of the wear and tear of life. Tired of the enduring pain of loss. I miss the things and the people I’ve lost along the road of life. Being surrounded by those things that brought me so much joy is tempting.
Is it selfish to want a chance to recapture those bits of my life that fill me with so much happiness? Is it selfish to leave my children behind for a chance to be with their mother again?
“What should I do?” I ask.
"You should make your choice."
“And if I go back? Will I get this choice again?
She says nothing, but that Mona Lisa smile makes me think that this might be a one-time offer. That I only get one bite at this apple.
“You have lived a long life. A good life. And so, you have a choice,” she says. “Will it be the life is? Or the life that could be? You must choose.”
My thoughts and emotions swirl, a violent tempest inside of me. My children and grandchildren? Or the happy detritus of my life?
A or B.
One or the other.
Blowing out a long breath, my heart slows and my mind calms. A decision made. The red-haired woman’s smile is beatific as I step forward and grasp the doorknob.
I open the door and step through…
And then my body jolts, rocked so hard, if feels like my bones are coming apart. A cry escapes me, and I’m racked with a pain so intense, it steals my breath.
And then I’m plunged into silence. I hear nothing.
See nothing.
Feel nothing…
My eyes flutter then open. I turn in a circle, the world around me dark and muzzy, as if I’m seeing through a pane of soaped glass. The edges of everything are fuzzy and indistinct. I see shapes but little more.
“Welcome.”
My heart leaps into my throat as I spin around to find a woman standing before me. Her red hair cascades over her shoulders and her green eyes somehow sparkle, even in the dim light. Her heart-shaped lips curl upward, and she clasps her hands at her waist.
“You have questions,” she says.
“Where the hell am I?”
“Where do you want to be?”
I shake my head, disoriented. The world around me seems indistinct and out of focus, adding to the dizziness that grips me.
“What do you mean? Where am I?” I cry.
“Where would you like to be?”
“I don’t understand.”
Her smile is small. Patient. “If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?”
I say nothing but shake my head, not understanding the question. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes and try to control my racing thoughts. Where would I be? What kind of question was that? Where in the hell am I is the question. Blowing out a long breath, I open my eyes, a gasp bursting from my mouth.
The world around me has changed. Every line is clear. Crisp. Distinct. I’m in an open field, a gentle breeze brushes my skin and carries with it, the scent of wildflowers and earth. I turn my face up to the cloudless azure sky, letting the sun warm my skin. Going from feeling nothing to suddenly feeling everything is overwhelming.
“Where am I?”
My voice is thick with unexpected emotion. The woman offers me a small and enigmatic Mona Lisa smile.
“You are where you want to be,” she says.
“What kind of an answer is that?”
She says nothing but gives me that smile again. Sighing, I close my eyes and rack my brain, trying to understand what’s happening to me. And when I open them, the scene has shifted again. Rather than an open field, I find myself in a room—my childhood room. I’m surrounded by my GI Joe figures, Transformers, Legos—all my favorite toys. Sitting beside me is Duke, my beloved Great Dane who is staring at me, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
My heart racing, I reach out slowly and haltingly. Part of me fears touching Duke will make this whole illusion vanish. The other part of me fears it won’t. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I lay my hand on Duke’s head. The big dog licks my hand and whines as he nuzzles me. I feel the coarseness of his fur, the velvety softness of his ears, his rough tongue on my skin, and the warmth of his big body against mine.
“What the hell,” I gasp as fresh tears roll down my cheeks. “He’s real. He’s here.”
“He is.”
“How… Duke died years and years ago. When I was still young.”
“Nothing and nobody are ever truly gone,” she says. “Not when they live within us.”
I wrap my arms around Duke’s thick neck and nuzzle my face into his fur. He’s so warm and so solid. So… real. How is this happening?”
My mind is racing, and I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to staunch the flow of tears and get myself under control. But when I open them, the scene has shifted again. Gone is my bedroom and the trappings of my childhood. Instead, I am standing in the cool air and dim lighting of a library I recognize immediately. I fall to my knees, the breath driven from my lungs.
“What are you doing to me?” I ask.
The red-haired woman gives me a smile. “I’m doing nothing. This is where you want to be.”
Tears stream down my face and I inhale the scent of the old books that surround me. The sound of footsteps echo in my ears and I raise my eyes, my heart stopping dead in my chest.
Tall and thin, golden hair tied back in its familiar braid, gazing at me with silver-blue eyes. A warm smile crosses her full lips as she holds out a hand. I take it, marveling at the warmth of her smooth, porcelain-colored skin, and let her bring me to my feet.
Reaching out, I lay a hand against her cheek, and she leans into it. We stand in silence, staring into one another’s eyes, and I feel like I’m being swept away by a river of emotion.
“How?” I whisper, my voice trembling. “You’ve been gone—”
She puts a finger to my lips, her smile making my heart flutter. “I’ve never been gone,” she says and lays a hand on my chest. “I’ve always been here.”
She lays a warm, soft hand against my face, and it’s my turn to lean into her touch. I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of my wife, the love of my life. She’s as solid as Duke had been. Every bit as real.
But I don’t understand how it can be. I open my eyes, and she’s gone, and I cry out, the pain of losing her again as unbearable as it was the first time. My heart feels like it’s being torn in two.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I cry.
Her expression is one of understanding. An old television, something that looked like it belongs in the 1950s, sits on a cart beside her.
“What is this?”
The television flickers to life, and I wince. The image on the screen is one of tortured metal and shattered glass. Blue and red lights flash and pulse as I watch as men in uniforms pull me from the wreckage and load me into an ambulance.
The scene shifts and I am lying in a hospital bed, hooked to a battery of machines. My children, grown, with kids of their own, are gathered around the bed, tears in their eyes, mournful expressions on their faces.
“Am I dead?” I ask. “Is this…”
My voice trails off as I raise my head. The television is gone and the red-haired woman stands between two doors, still wearing that Mona Lisa smile.
“You have a choice,” she says.
“What choice?”
“You have lived a long life. A good life.”
“I’m not ready to die.”
“You can return to what is,” she says and motions to the door on her right.
“Will I recover?” I ask. “Or am I going to be hooked to machines for the rest of whatever life I have left?”
“Or you can go through the other door and live a different life. A life of what could be,” she says. “One surrounded by everything that made you happy in life. Anything you think of will be.”
My mind races faster than my heart. A life of what could be. A life where I am surrounded by the things that made me happy. The people who made me feel whole. But if I go through the first door, I will be leaving my children, the people who love me now. I will be leaving them all behind. My kids. My grandkids. I will be leaving all the happiness they bring me.
But if I’m being honest, I’m tired. Tired of the wear and tear of life. Tired of the enduring pain of loss. I miss the things and the people I’ve lost along the road of life. Being surrounded by those things that brought me so much joy is tempting.
Is it selfish to want a chance to recapture those bits of my life that fill me with so much happiness? Is it selfish to leave my children behind for a chance to be with their mother again?
“What should I do?” I ask.
"You should make your choice."
“And if I go back? Will I get this choice again?
She says nothing, but that Mona Lisa smile makes me think that this might be a one-time offer. That I only get one bite at this apple.
“You have lived a long life. A good life. And so, you have a choice,” she says. “Will it be the life is? Or the life that could be? You must choose.”
My thoughts and emotions swirl, a violent tempest inside of me. My children and grandchildren? Or the happy detritus of my life?
A or B.
One or the other.
Blowing out a long breath, my heart slows and my mind calms. A decision made. The red-haired woman’s smile is beatific as I step forward and grasp the doorknob.
I open the door and step through…
