The Sportin' Life (32 page)

It was all too hard. She suffered, and whether she succeeded or failed, there was too little happiness, too much pain. What of peace, of comfort, of solace? Where was the friendship that made it all tolerable, the love that made it all worthwhile? She had loved so many times, and so many times had seen it gone to ruin, so many times had been shattered by the destructive forces of life, so few times had been coddled, nurtured, or healed. Never had she been or had a number one.

Addie yearned for symmetry, for peace, for something of grace and beauty, for the possibility of perfection, the likelihood that good could come, that good could follow good, that there would be redemption. Where on earth, where in this pointless life she led, where was that possibility? Nowhere.

She was raw with pain, and what was there to look toward? Nothing. She could not look back because there lay more pain than pleasure. Her life was a scrapbook of torture, intolerance, waste, and misery. She wanted out. Where was the escape clause, the button she could push to signal finis?

The room had grown dark as night set in, but she sat immobile on the couch, able to see at all only because the large digital clock on her desk glowed, its blue numerals quite bright. It was eleven fifty-nine. Another day had come, well had almost come. But she vowed that another day would not come for her. She reached for the bottle carefully stashed in her desk drawer, and she swallowed the contents, waiting only briefly, feeling herself whirl down into a fog in which there was neither regret nor joy, just numbness.

Was she dead? Had she gone through the infamous tunnel of light? Addie wished she hadn
’
t despised all forms of religion so rigorously throughout her life because then perhaps she might have a clue about where she now was.

All around her was chaos, and there were legions of filmy beings, people without their substance or texture, but people none the less, and they were engaged in behavior not dissimilar to something one might find in everyday life.

“
Excuse me,
”
said a fat woman urgently, bursting through,
“
Is the candy store this way?
”

Addie shrugged and she was gone. Not far in front of her a man fished, and each time he dropped his line into the miniscule pond before him, he said
“
Got another one,
”
yanked the line out, and removed a writhing fish from the hook, laying it beside him, only to have it disappear as he returned the line to the water.

A woman wandered about saying,
“
Bert, are you there? Bert, are you there?
”

A child leapt onto a jungle gym and climbed perilously to the top, only to let go suddenly and come plunging down, smacking his head on what appeared to be ground. The blood oozed out of his fractured cranium, but then it ceased, the wound closed, and once more he was up for the climb.

There was so much repetitive behavior, Addie thought, what was all this? It seemed like some sort of garden of lost souls and she shivered in apprehension until the voice spoke.

“
They
’
re still in between, trapped in their lives, lost in obsessions, unwilling to begin the review.
”
The voice was scruffy and childlike yet mature and wise, and Addie realized it came from a little girl who stood at her left.
“
Let
’
s regain some calm,
”
the child said quietly and stretched out her arm in a flourish, causing all the shadows to disappear from sight.

Suddenly it was all transformed into a space of vast emptiness, like a stage upon which nothing had yet been set, although there was no floor, no sky, no horizon, no plane. There must be something beneath Addie
’
s feet, for she stood quite upright, that much was clear. Yet the child beside her, who clearly was much smaller, remained at eye level, apparently floating, although she seemed as grounded and upright as did Addie herself.

On her right was a very tall Indian, wearing a leather costume, a feather headdress, beads, pouches, the full regalia. He looked simultaneously fierce and benign, and although not a word had yet been said, Addie was comfortable in his presence. His head was above Addie
’
s and she had to look up to make eye contact with him, so apparently they stood
—
or floated
—
on the same level.

She looked once more at the child, a girl more similar to Pippi Longstocking than to Lissa when she was small. She had long, unkempt braids, which seemed to float up and out at will, a crooked grin, knobby knees, and she wore a lopsided skirt paired with a rumpled blouse. Addie did not, could not know this little girl, because there were few actual children other than her own in her life, but there was an intense familiarity, as though they had certainly met, in a dream, a fantasy, she didn
’
t know what.

And then it hit her. When she was all alone and so desperately lonely as a child, before her mother had left, before her father descended into hell and tried to make her his hostage, before she had gone to school, there had been an imaginary friend, Cerise, named for the most exotic color Addie had ever heard of. But what did this mean? She had gone to some bizarre netherworld of Native Americans and childhood apparitions? She must somehow have calculated incorrectly, and the dosage she took was enough to cause a whopper of a dream, a potent hallucination, but not death.

She was about to shake her head in an effort to regain her sanity when off in the distance, what appeared to be a ball of fantastically colored lights appeared and was instantly before her, unfolding like a flower opening its petals. Addie watched the stunning light show, not knowing should she stand back, be afraid, or simply give in to the sensation of peace and joy. Sparks of colored and clear light blinked and flowed in and around the empty space, and just as Addie became accustomed to the incandescence, the light was transformed into a beautiful Chinese woman and many attendants who flanked her, emitting a continuing light shower and a sound that was a more intoxicating vibration than actual music.

Although Addie did not hear a voice, she felt that Cerise had spoken, not in a childlike squeak, but in an intonation of utter purity, and what she
’
d said was,
“
Qwan Yin,
”
apparently an introduction of the woman who stood before her, who now wordlessly swept her into arms that were not flesh, and who stood there in a moment that was utterly timeless, surrounding Addie with love, peace, and acceptance. It was the purest of sensation, the feeling an infant has when being first placed in the arms of the mother who had so joyously awaited his arrival.

This was what she had sought, this timeless feeling of being, the perfection of the moment, knowing she was safe.
“
Mother,
”
she whispered.

Qwan Yin radiated toward her, and it seemed there was little need for speech, but she said,
“
I am here for you, and you are my child.
”
Her arms outstretched, yet still tightly holding Addie, they moved together toward a channel of light, a stream of pure energy, something radiant and comforting, Cerise, the Indian, the handmaidens, all in the cluster together, walking yet not walking, floating almost, yet not really moving. There was a sense of progress, of motion, but not the feel of moving, just of arriving. And there was an impression of being there, in the channel of light. Addie was enthralled, yet also frightened, dazed, but nothing in her held back, and so she allowed herself to be swept forward, more in time than in space, yet she knew also there was no time. It was all so strange and unfamiliar.

“
Just think of me and I will be here, need me and I will come,
”
Qwan Yin said, and then released the female image she had held and melded back into a swarm of beautiful lights, along with her handmaidens, and disappeared.

“
I
’
m like
Alice
down the rabbit hole,
”
Addie said.

“
Oh everyone feels that way,
”
said Cerise, this time in a little girl
’
s voice.

“
I remember your voice,
”
said Addie, hesitating, yet triumphant.

“
All those stories I whispered in your ear at night, why wouldn
’
t you,
”
and Cerise chuckled. She was merry and playful, the very personification of childish wonder and magic, yet she was the least childlike creature Addie had ever encountered. She couldn
’
t quite make sense of it.
“
And this,
”
continued the child,
“
Is Long Feather.
”

The Indian bowed toward her, a generous smile on his face. He looked absolutely authentic, from the weathered brow to the creases in his cheek, yet he appeared to reside in this world that had neither wind, nor sun, so how did he achieve that demeanor?

“
I don
’
t understand any of this,
”
said Addie.

“
Long Feather has been with you all your life,
”
said Cerise.
“
He has helped you work through problems, find a home, so many things. And he is a healer and a medicine man.
”

“
I show myself to you as an Indian,
”
he spoke, his voice deep and impenetrable,
“
But that is only my persona, the role I have taken, the job I do. It is so you can understand who I am
—
to you.
”

Addie thought, here I am, dead, and talking to kids, Indians, and Chinese goddesses. How utterly peculiar. Would this be heaven, and could it be so blank? Could hell be so filled with love? It all made no sense.

“
But then what are you really? I don
’
t understand. It
’
s a job to impersonate a Native American?
”

The Indian moved slightly and seemed to disappear, and where he had been was an orb of glowing light, twinkles of sparkle within the orb, no shape, no form, just pure, raw, shimmering energy.

“
Do you see now?
”
asked Cerise,
“
We take the form you can most easily relate to, like when you call that medium Lucie and she gives you our message. She sees us and hears us like this,
”
and then she twirled, grinned, did a little tap dance,
“
But most of the time we are this,
”
and she instantly transformed into an orb of light and then back to her child self again.
“
Magic!
”
she giggled.

“
And you are my imaginary playmate? I mean I know you are.
”

“
I am your Higher Self. You are part of me. Come see.
”
With that she once again became a radiant ball of intense, swirling light, although larger and more complex than before, and she surrounded Addie, a fog rolling in, immersing Addie, enveloping her, and Addie felt a series of sensations, tingles, familiarity, and at once she knew she could just let go and she would melt into that conglomeration of energy, like liquid being added into a partially filled bowl. And then she was afraid and she stepped back, and instantly Cerise was her child self again and there was nothing tugging at Addie or forcing her to release, so she felt foolish for having been afraid.

“
Amazing,
”
said Addie.
“
So you seem innocent and small but you
’
re like the great and powerful Oz?
”

“
There
’
s so much more,
”
said Cerise.

Addie looked to the distance and saw herself, her young self, holding her newborn daughter, the baby in her arms, sleeping. There was Uno, two years after their marriage, sitting beside her in the hospital bed, a man in his fifties, cooing at his first and only child. She had but a nanosecond to stand back and watch that scene and she was then in the middle of it, she had entered the self that was her own and was reliving it, feeling all those old feelings. There was the warm scent of the baby, the comforting presence of this man she knew was meant always to take care of her, the joy of their small family, the sensation that she had gone so far beyond where she had begun, that at last she was safe.
“
Lissa,
”
she cooed,
“
Do you know your name?
”
And look at Uno, so much younger than he was in her visions today, so vital, so alive, nothing like the old man he had so rapidly become, nothing like the man who had abandoned her. Here he was, in love with his young wife and new child, and surrounding them was an aura of joy.