Girlfriend in a Coma Read online

  "Hey, Wendy." I appear a stone's throw away, floating in the air, golden and light, weaving my way between the tall dwindling stands of firs and hemlocks on this steep canyon slope. I arrive and stand before her.

  "You came.""Fuckin' right, I did. How ya doing, Wendy? We never got our date, did we?" A silence passes between us. I let her be the one to break it.

  "I've missed you. You helped me that horrible night last year when everything was falling apart—and then you went… away. Why?"

  "I knew I'd be back."

  She slowly walks nearer to me. "What's it like to be dead, Jared? I don't mean to be blunt, but I'm frightened and I'm also a doctor. In school and later at the hospital I looked at every corpse and I wondered the same thing: Dead—what next? And then the world shut down and all I saw—all I continue to see—are dead bodies. It's all we see down here—dead bodies. We have a 'clean zone' around the houses, but everywhere else is one big pauper's grave."

  "Death isn't death, Wendy—blackness forever—if that's what you mean. But it's not my place to say anything more to you beyond that. It's a big deal. I have to be quiet."

  "What about heaven?"

  "Okay, sure. I give you that."

  Standing almost in front of me, she says, "Were you scared in the hospital? I visited you all those times. I brought you all those cookies I baked myself. You were sweet. And your eyes were far away. You never lost your beauty—even at the end when I think you maybe lost your hope."

  "I was too young to be really afraid of death. But my cancer was my Great Experience, and I don't begrudge it."

  "Bullshit."

  "Okay, you're right. I was scared shitless. What else was I supposed to do? Everyone kept descending on me and kept making all these brave little faces and handing me muffins and teddy bears. No matter how scared you get you have to make that same brave little face back in return. It's like, the law."

  "Jared—did you ever … you know, think about me?" Her arms are crossed protectively.

  "Yeah. You know I did. We missed our date—I never showed you my candy.""Were you in love with Cheryl Anderson?"

  "Wha—Cheryl Anderson?"

  "Don't look so surprised. She had a big mouth."

  "Hmmm. We liked each other a lot. But it wasn't love, no. I was a jock so everybody thought I had to be a sex machine—and so I became one. It was great. It's different now totally different."

  "How?"

  "I'm no longer incarnate. But I can still—you know, get it on. In my own way."

  She begins to whimper: "Jared, can you please just take me away? Please? Put me in your arms and drive me to the sun. I'm so lonely. And I can't kill myself, even though I think about it all the time. There's no point to the world now. It just erodes and becomes chaotic and poisoned. Look at the trees around us. Brown. Probably radiation from a North Korean reactor gone wrong. Or Chinese. Or Ukrainian. Or … Just take me away, damnit! You're a ghost, Jared. Prove it."

  "I can't take you away, Wen. But I can make the loneliness leave you."

  "No—I don't want that. I want to leave."

  "Just imagine, Wendy," I say. "a world without loneliness. Every trial would become bearable, wouldn't it?"

  She thinks this over. She's smart and she sees the truth. "Yes." She sniffles. "You're right. You win the Brownie badge. But why do we have to get lonely? It's so awful. It's so—wait—" Wendy's composure returns somewhat. She wipes her eye and her voice becomes still. "You're not going to take me away—are you?"

  "Nope. I would if I could, but I can't. You know that, Wendy."

  She sits on a fallen stump to collect her breath, her mind racing so quickly it almost seizes up. She takes several deep gulps, calms down, and then looks across the ferns and moss at me, a sixteen-year-old dead boy. As she does this, her raincoat opens slightly, exposing her lingerie beneath. She sniggers and takes the jacket off completely, revealing her pale thick body. "Ta da! Hey Jared, welcome to the new me. Doesn't this getup make me lovable? Huh?""You're a part of the world, Wendy, as much as daisies, glaciers, earthquake faults and mallard ducks. You were meant to exist. You've gotta believe me. You're lovable .. . and you're hot! You look so good."

  "Could you love me, Jared?"

  "Which way?"

  "Any way that stops me from being lonely."

  Her skin is goosebumped, her nipples are rigid. "Oh man, could I—"

  "I'm here."

  And so I remove the bulk of my spectral football outfit—cleats and pads and shirt—but I leave my shoulder pads on.

  "Your shoulders," she says.

  I walk toward her: "Just shush, Wen. Feel me walking through you."

  "Shhhh—quiet, Jared."

  "Oh, fucking A, man, this is great. Man, this is even better than Karen's floor." Wendy giggles and her voice drains. "Oh, Wendy—I don't get to do this all too often these days. Oh!"

  I stand there inside her body while a flock of crows caws in the treetops, and then I pass through her and it's as if I'm receiving answers to questions I'd asked long ago—the same sense of being suspended in a moment of truth. As I look back, she is frozen with pleasure, eyeballs skyward and white. Her senses are still locked inside another realm.

  I put my football togs back on and float in front of her, watching over her for a few minutes as her mind and body thaw. She looks at me and asks, "That's as good as it gets, isn't it?"

  "Yep."

  "I've been thinking of this since 1978."

  "It was a powerful dream. You were great."

  "You're going to leave now, aren't you?"

  "I'm not leaving you, but I do have to cut out. And also—"

  "Shhh. Let me guess—-I'm pregnant now, aren't I?"

  "Yep. How'd you know that?"

  "It's this skill I have. I can always tell when a woman's pregnant." She pauses, her mind dreamy. "Thanks, Jared."I float upward, up into the canopy of trees and into the sky. "Good-bye, Wendy."

  Jane is papoosed onto Megan's back as she motorcycles slowly through the ghostly suburb, ever vigilant for fallen trees, angry dogs, or freak weather bursts.

  I look into Megan's mind and I am fascinated by the things I see. Megan, being a teenager, had the least formed personality of the group as the world shut itself down, and she is also the least affected by everything. She drives over a crunchy skeleton on Stevens Drive as though it were merely a fallen branch; lighting a cigarette, she throws the lit match into the nearest house, not even sticking around to watch it burn.

  It's a sunny day and the air is clear—a rare day when the world doesn't smell like a tire fire, the endless reeking fumes that cross over the Pacific from China.

  In the middle of driving down Stevens to Rabbit Lane, Megan endures a pang of loneliness so real and so strong that I can only compare it to a tornado or lightning. It dawns on her that she has never visited Jenny Tyrell's house in all the past year. She doesn't know what she will find there, but she knows she has to go.

  Megan's hair is now long and falls to the side of her head like a bird lowering its wings as she pulls into the driveway of Jenny Tyrell's house. Its lawn, like all lawns, has turned into a scraggly meadow; the Christmas decorations have faded after a year of neglect; the shingles have begun to snaggletooth; the cars in the driveway are coated in dust, and the tires have gone flat—a fairly good indicator that there'll be Leakers inside the house, and indeed there are—Mr. and Mrs. Tyrell, mummified and serene on the living room floor surrounded by books of family photos, Mrs. Tyrell's wedding dress, a wine bottle, and two glasses. No odors.

  "Yo! Mr. and Mrs. Tyrell—" Megan gives the parents a fond gaze.

  "Came to check out Jenny's stuff. She's over at the mall in Lynn

  Valley. Mind if I go upstairs? Thanks. Oh look, Janie—Jenny's room is a pigsty like always."Megan unstraps a googling Jane and puts her on Jenny's bed. The room hasn't changed much; the door was closed, so there's little dust. Makeup and clothes are scattered about. There's a photo of Megan, Jenny, and th
e old gang on the grass hockey team; ski boots; several Alanis Morrisette posters on the wall; and on the desk a diary— Megan had no idea Jenny kept a diary. "Move over, Jane—we're going to be here a little while." Her eyes moisten; her heart explodes.

  September 28, 1997

  Who does Megan think she is? Just because she's dating an older guy she thinks she's Mrs. Hot Shit. His name is Skitter and it's not like he's a big catch or something. He's got nice legs and he's buff, but he's so crude and he dresses like a metal-head and a druggie. Please give me a ten-foot pole.

  Won our grass hockey game today. 5 to 3 against Hillside and I got a goal. We rock!

  "Jenny, you cow. You were jealous from the word 'go,' and you know it. You tried to worm your way into everything me and Skitter did. Skitter's nickname for you was 'The Remora Fish.' I pitied you."

  October 13, 1997

  Megan got dumped by Skitter, but she tries to make it sound like she left him. As IF. She's really far away in her head these days, so it's no wonder she got the boot. I think it's because of that loser school she goes to—the school for losers down in North Van. I'm going to try and think of a way to call Skitter without looking like a slut. Maybe I'll call and ask him where I can score some hash. I've still got his number.

  "Now this is really too much. Way too much. I left him, thank you. Because he was a cheating tightwad bastard and I ended up buying everything he asked for and I realized he just uses women-even having high school girls pay for his own cigarettes." Megan finds herself missing Jenny dreadfully.November 2, 1997

  Wow! Megan's mother came out of her coma. Wow!!! She's been in it as long as I've known Megan, which is my whole life, which is a pretty long time. It was in the papers and on TV and everywhere, but Megan's family won't let anybody take pictures so they keep showing that creepy high school photo Megan's dad keeps in the den. I guess this means Megan is going to be ignored even more by her family. Ha HA. Now she'll know how it feels to be left out in the cold like me. I tried to call, but the phone was busy all day.

  Later on I went with Skitter to one of his friends, but they weren't there so he pried open the door and we made out for 3 hours and it was really sexy being in somebody else's house.

  "Jenny, you are so crude. You take my mom's waking up and twist it into something about you. You had nothing to do with it, and as for Skitter and other people's houses, he was a real perv and went out of his way to do it in cool places like the changing room at Le Chateau, which, I have to admit, was a real turn-on."

  December 26, 1997

  Megan and I are friends again, and to show it she invited me to a party down at Lois's and I got to see KAREN for the first time close-up. She was so scary looking—like she was anorexic to the point of death and it's so sick to think of Richard and her making it. Ick-o-rama. Maybe Richard'll wait a few months until she puts some meat on. She looked at me like she knew my secrets or something. She's just really really creepy.

  Returned most of my Christmas presents today. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but I could really use the cash to buy the tool kit Skitter keeps talking about. His birthday's next week.

  "I'm not even going to dignify your comments about my sacred mother by replying to your adolescent filth. And as for Skitter, hey, itlooks like you're falling into his 'buy-me-something-or-I-leave-you' act. Sucker."

  December 27, 1997

  Bought Skitter's tool kit, but it was so expensive I nearly freaked out and I had to go sit and hyperventilate for fifteen minutes afterward in the Subway sandwich place and then I ate too much.

  "The Remora" and her Mom and Lois were on TV and they looked way better than they do in real life, and Megan looked like such a goody-two-shoes and you never would have known to look at her that she did Warren and Brent on the SAME NIGHT last year at the Burnside Park party.

  "That does it, Jenny—you are no longer my friend. One of the best days of my life, and then you go and hang out with me the next day as if you hadn't put all this crap into your diary!" She pauses and breathes. "I miss you."

  A wall glows golden, and then I appear from within a mirror.

  "Oh," Megan says, "it's you."

  "Such a warm reception, Megan. Do you get many visitors from the dead every day?"

  "Go away. You're probably not even a real ghost. You're probably something cheesy way down the food chain, like a sprite or a wisp."

  "Me? A sprite? I think not."

  "Go away. Go say 'boo' to people, Casper."

  "What did I ever do to bug you so much?"

  "If you're such a big ghost, why don't you take me away from this slag heap of a world and on to someplace better?"

  "Because I personally can't do that."

  "Just as I thought. You're a sprite. Go twinkle somewhere else. Don't bug me, transparent loser."

  "Whoa, man! What's with this angry little stance? Don't you want to see a miracle or something?"

  "I've had enough miracles for one lifetime, thank you."

  I change subjects: "Your baby's pretty. How old?"

  "Six months."

  "Why did you name her Jane?"

  "Jane seemed like the name of somebody who never has a damaged life. Janes are always calm, cool, and up to date."

  "Nice eyes."

  "They're Skitter's eyes—crazy eyes. They're blind. Hamilton said that looking at Janie's eyes was like looking at a full moon and then realizing that it's just one day short of being truly full. That was before we figured out she was blind."

  "Hamilton's been saying stuff like that since kindergarten. I knew him and your father my whole life."

  "You at least had some friends. I don't even have one anymore. I miss Jenny real bad." She hands me a wad of Jenny's CD's and says, "Want a CD collection? Lots of dance mixes."

  "No thanks."

  "Go away."

  "What's wrong, Megan?"

  "I said go away."

  "Are you lonely?"

  "No!"

  "You can tell me if you are. Do you miss Jenny?"

  "That treacherous scag bag?"

  "Yes, that treacherous scag bag."

  Megan stays silent for a minute and I give her all the time she needs. "I miss her. I'm lonely. I want to change the subject."

  "To what?"

  "I dunno. You choose."

  "Fair enough. Let me ask you a small question: Tell me, what is it like to be living in the world the way it is now?"

  "That's a small question?"

  "Well, it's a good question. Give it a shot."

  "You sprites just never quit. Okay. Let me think." She doses Jenny's diary and leans back against the wall, Jane on the bed by her side. "The world right now—gee, Jared, it's one party after another.Funzies. Ooh. I'm having so much fun it hurts." She feigns stitches. "What do you think, bozo? Every day is like Sunday. Nothing ever happens. We watch videos. Read a few books. Cook food that comes out of boxes or cans. No fresh food. The phone never rings. Nothing ever happens. No mail. The sky stinks—when everybody died, they left the reactors and factories running. It's amazing we're still even here."

  "Were you surprised when the world ended?"

  Megan pulls her body up into a more comfortable position on the bed. "Yes. No. No—I wasn't. It was kind of like the whole world went into a coma. I'm used to that. I'm not saying that to make you pity me. It's just the truth." She lights one of Jenny's year-old cigarettes. "Still tastes menthol fresh. Did you ever smoke?"

  "Me? No. I was a jock."

  "You're kind of cute. Did you ever make it with anybody?"

  "Here and there. Why are you curious?"

  "There's kind of a cute guy shortage down here."

  I come closer and see Megan more clearly: pink windburnt skin, eye whites clear as ringing chimes. "Do you ever—" I say, not finishing the sentence.

  "Wait," Megan says, "Are you hitting on me?"

  "Me? What?" I've been caught.

  "You are! I don't believe this—I'm being hit on by the dead." Jane squawk
s; Megan gives her a bottle of formula and a yanks small cotton bunny from the pack. "Look, Mr. Ghost…"

  "Jared."

  "Whatever. This isn't the time or place. I'm flattered, but no. I prefer real meat."

  "lean take a hint."

  Megan folds up Jenny's diary with a snap, then looks at me. "So how come we were abandoned here? Why us?"

  "There's a reason."

  "Which «?"

  "Oh, God. I can't tell you right now." "You're pulling a Karen. Stupid sprite.""Oh, grow up."

  " You, a sixteen-year-old telling me to grow up. Ha. So then tell me this—is there anybody else left down here besides us? Karen said there wasn't, but I'm not so sure."

  "Karen's only allowed a few facts, but those she has are always true."

  "I was right! Linus kept on trying to ham-radio weird places like oil rigs in the middle of the Indian Ocean and scientists at the South Pole. Now he owes me a bucket of Krugerrands."

  "A bucket of gold?"

  "It's a joke really. There's so much gold it's silly. We huck it off of bridges. We have money fights. Money's over."

  "I guess so."

  "Hey, Jared, what's heaven like?"

  "Heaven? Heaven's like the world at its finest. It's all natural—no buildings. It's built of stars and roots and mud and flesh and snakes and birds. It's built of clouds and stones and rivers and lava. But it's not a building. It's greater than the material world."

  "Well. Isn't that something. Do people get lonely there?"

  "No."

  "Then it really is heaven." We're quiet for a second as I stand close to her. "Sorry I can't take up your offer, Stud Boy. It's not like I get many others."

  "I know." I slap my forehead: "Hey—I need to go now. I liked speaking with you."

  "No. Don't go—you're somebody new."

  "Here," I say. "Hold Jane out to me."

  "Why?"

  "You'll see." Her arms are like a set rat trap ready to spring back in case I do something weird, which I don't. I breathe gently into each of Jane's eyes and then I touch my tongue to the space between her eyes. I am the first thing she sees on Earth. "Your kid is whole. She's more than whole—she's a genius; she'll be wise. And you are now her servant."