Through the Windshield Glass (4 page)

"Can we
not talk about it? Being dead is depressing enough." Daman said. I was
again surprised at how touchy and defensive he had suddenly become, "Tell
me about your life instead."

"It wasn't
that great," I said. I was hoping Daman would drop the subject of my life
as he had my death, but he remained silent and pressed into me with the
glowing, magnificent orbs of his eyes.

"I had an
older brother, James,” I found myself saying, almost against my will, “but he's
dead too now, he's the one who brought me here. A younger sister, Lacey, she
was fifteen when I died. I never had a boyfriend, never went to a school dance.
I only had one friend, Maria, and I died the day she committed suicide.”

"Are you
mad that she did that?” Daman asked, “If she hadn’t, would you still be alive?”

I was taken
aback by Daman’s straightforwardness, how could he have inferred something like
that? It seemed as though he already knew my entire life story and was just
asking me questions to keep from sounding like a dead, and admittedly very
attractive, stalker.

“No,” I said,
“I mean, yeah, I‘d still be alive, I died on the way home from her house. But
no, I’m not mad because I‘m dead, I‘m mad that she killed herself, it was
selfish and stupid. She could’ve figured it out, she had two little brothers,
and her dad was already widowed. My parents have Lacey still, and each other.
They have the support they need, soon they’ll move on and everything will go
back to normal for them. But Maria’s dad will never be the same."

"You know
it will never be normal for them again. And what about your little
sister?" Daman responded.

"I
know," I said, and unexpectedly tears were in my eyes. I pushed my palms
into my eyes and rubbed until my head hurt and stars flirted with my eyelids. I
hadn't wanted to die! It wasn't fair that I had to! I was only seventeen! And I
was so sick of crying! I had repressed everything for so long that my control
had finally cracked under the pressure and I was providing water works to rival
my mother’s at sappy romance movies.

Daman sensing
my distress reached over to pat my back. The second we touched the strangest
feeling I've ever had washed over me. It wasn't like when we had shaken hands,
which had been formal and awkward; this touch was different, slightly more
intimate. Whoever or whatever was controlling the happenings of the door seemed
to understand that. The moment we touched a connection was formed that we
couldn't break.

A rush of
images flew past my eyes, but they weren't from my own life, they were from
Daman's. I saw a little kid with a mess of dark hair and bright blue eyes
playing on a cardboard box that was sitting in a patch of dead grass. I saw
Daman at seven years old, watching from a dark hall as a man beat a frail young
woman. Daman became increasingly depressed; I watched two suicide attempts, and
many self-punishments. Followed by fights at school, fights at home with the
violent man; always ending in Daman losing, running, tail between his legs, to
lick his wounds and hate himself in privacy.

Each day was
agony; I could feel the inhumane amounts of pressure that had been crushing
Daman since his father left him. With every blink he wished his eyes would
never open again; every sneeze left him hoping his heart would stop beating
permanently. My skin was irritated from the constant anxiety that accompanied
the show, I wanted to break away, chills raced up my back and terror prickled
the back of my skull.

Then, finally,
I watched as Daman was sitting in a science class. No one was paying attention,
heads were down, glassy eyes stared at the chalkboard, and informative words
fell on deaf, uncaring ears.

　
Daman was the first to see that
the kid entering the room had a gun. As if in slow motion, the gun was raised.

"Jack,
what are you doing?" Daman asked. He stood up, arms tensed, stance firm
and demanding; ready for a fight.

The boy with
the gun, Jack, flicked the nose of the weapon at the girl next to Daman,
"She doesn't belong here; she's worthless. Have you seen what she wears to
school, no one owns that much black without being evil. I'm saving everyone by
doing this," Jack pointed the gun at the girl once more. Daman reacted
quickly by stepping in front of her, shielding her from the danger intended for
her.

"Daman,
move," the girl whispered. She was much shorter than he, dressed head to
foot in a high collared, floor sweeping, lacy black dress. Her nails were
black; gauges drooped from both ears, along with many other facial piercings. I
didn't want to admit it, but I would have avoided her like the plague, the
white blonde hair alone would have frightened me off. To me, and I’m sure to
Jack, it appeared the she belonged better with a coven than at high school,
"Jack is right, I don't belong with the rest of you."

The girl made
to move out from behind Daman, but a strong arm stopped her from moving,
"No one is going to die, Angelica," Daman said, "Jack just needs
to cool down. He’s not thinking straight, he’s drunk."

As Daman said
it I knew it was true. The smell of alcohol had diffused through the room, it
would have been an excellent object lesson on how molecules travel if the
teacher hadn’t been so paralyzed with fear.

I looked at
Jack again; his upper lip was sweating with anticipation. A wicked glee lit up
his soulless eyes as he began to speak again, "I'll send a bullet through
both of you if you don't move," Jack threatened.

"You don't
want to do this, Jack," Daman warned, "Think about your family, think
about your life."

"I have no
family!" Jack screamed psychotically. The gleefulness had disappeared from
his face, it was replaced with savage, killer desire, "She killed them, I
know she did. She's a witch!"

"You're
family died from carbon monoxide posisoning,” a small girl in the front row
said bravely.

"Shut
up!" Jack screamed, his face turned red and the girl dove under her desk,
"She killed them! She killed them!"

"Jack,
calm--"

Daman never got
to finish his sentence. A loud bang sent students diving for the floor; Daman
pulled Angelica down with him and shielded her with his body. Jack had not been
expecting the kick of the pistol he was holding. It flew behind him and a
football player tackled the lanky, disturbed boy to the floor.

Angelica rolled
Daman off of her and gasped when she saw the blood oozing from a hole in his
shirt, just above his belly button. Another student rushed over, ripped open
Daman's shirt and applied pressure to the wound with a borrowed sanitary
napkin, but the damage was done. Daman didn't want to live. His blood was
flowing like ichor from his mortal wound. Dozens of scarlet rivers flowed along
the creases of his abdominal muscles and onto the floor; ultimately converging
into one sickeningly beautiful lake reflecting the fluorescent lights above. It
was disturbing and so like Maria’s death I couldn’t help but feel connected to
Daman more than ever.

Daman coughed
up blood, it sprayed Angelica's hair, and he apologized before gasping out his
last breath and finally giving up. The last thing I saw was Angelica turning
ghostly white as she took in the look of the blood spatter in her long hair and
on the alabaster flesh of her hand.

Then I was
watching something that had obviously never happened.

I saw Daman
again, waiting at the end of a church aisle. Wearing a tux, smiling. He looked
whole and happy, like he'd never been hurt. Although he looked happy and
expectant, there was something in his stance that revealed he was uncomfortable
with the setting. I could feel his hesitation at being inside a church, but
whoever he was waiting for was more important than his discomfort. I looked
around, searching for white silk and taffeta, or at least a girl holding
flowers. Then I realized everyone was looking at me expectantly. I looked down
at myself to make sure it wasn't one of those terrible dreams where you're in
your underwear in public. I wasn't in my underwear. I was wearing a wedding
dress. Dropped waist, three quarter sleeves, beaded bodice, ball gown taffeta
skirt, and I was holding flowers. My head whirled and had it not been for my
father standing behind me I would have dropped into a large white puff ball on
the ground.

My father took
my arm and began to lead me down the aisle. Panicked, I looked behind me to
search for an escape.

I came out of
the vision gasping. In the time it had taken me to see Daman's life the sun had
risen above the horizon.

I looked to my
right to see Daman staring at me, bewildered. I knew he had seen my life and
what would have been our future had we both lived to see it happen.

"Did
you--?" I started to ask, it wasn't necessary to finish the question.

"Yeah,"
Daman said, "Do you think it's true, that if we had lived that's how
things would've worked out?"

"I don't
know," I said, "I don't know anything now that I'm dead. I feel like
I know less now than I did when I was alive."

"Me
too." Daman said.

I really looked
hard at Daman for the first time then, and I could see even more what would
have attracted me to him if I had still been alive. As mentioned in the
previous mathematical equation, Daman was attractive. That’s why I couldn’t
believe that if we had lived, he would've actually noticed me. I mean I'm not
bad, but guys never looked at me and thought: 'Oh! I want to date her!' It was
more lik:, 'Who's that red-headed babe with the short chick?'

Instead of
sitting next to Daman in the growing awkward silence, I got up and walked over
to the actual playground area of the park and took a seat on one of the swings.
I half expected Daman to follow me, but he stayed sitting.

"What am I
doing here, James?" I asked quietly under my breath.

"Exactly
what you're supposed to, Alice," James replied from behind me. I jumped
and fell off the swing. Immediately, I looked over to see if Daman had observed
my fall. He hadn't, or at least he wasn't letting on that he had. I hoped the
slump in his shoulders was just a natural slouch and not an attempt to hide his
laughter.

"What do
you mean I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to?" I asked, turning over on
the ground to face James.

"You're
here because you haven't experienced love, you're making him fall in love with
you, just like he would have if you hadn't both died," James replied.

"How do
you know that’s why I’m here?" I whispered fiercely, "Wait, how do
you know he’s supposed to fall in love with me? He doesn’t even know me, he
probably just thinks I’m obnoxious!”

"That's
how it started with Rebecca and I," James said. Rebecca, his wife, they
got married when I was fifteen, James was twenty-one then.

"Jamie,"
I started, "how did you die?"

"Fire,"
James said, "Rebecca was stuck inside with our little girl, and I went in
to get her. We were almost out of the house when the roof caved in. Rebecca and
I didn't make it, but Alice did, somehow all the debris missed her and the
doctors were able to save her,"

"You named
her Alice?" I asked quietly.

"Yeah,
Alice Linda," James said, with a sad smile, "being here is almost as
bad as being alive with her dead, and I have no idea where Rebecca is, but at
least I have one Alice left."

I stood up and
hugged James tightly; I thought my death was bad. But James had died a hero,
just like Daman, and now he wasn't just missing his daughter, who had lived,
but his wife who hadn't. I felt rain on my head, and looked up into a storm
seemingly brought on by James’ pain.

"How did
you find me?" I asked.

"I walked
through a door." James said.

"Which
door?" I inquired.

"The one
that appeared as soon as I died. I was hoping to see Rebecca, but something
tells me I won't be seeing her for a very long time." James lamented.

I let go of
James, "You'll see her again, James, and you'll be able to help Alice from
wherever we go after this."

A genuine smile
twitched up the corners of James' face at that idea, "You should get back
over there, that boy needs you, and you may not know it, but you need
him."

"Stop
always being right and go to your hallway." I said to my brother. James
patted me on the shoulder as I turned to look at Daman again. He was standing
now, but still staring blankly out at the land in front of him. I turned back
to hug James one last time, but he was already gone.

I looked
longingly back at the slowly swaying swing I had fallen off of. It took every
ounce of willpower not to sit back down and wait out my afterlife on the
uncomfortable rubber seat. I didn’t like the idea that someone needed me as
badly as James had implied Daman did.

Chapter Seven

“Was that your
brother?” Daman asked when I returned. Weak knees, hot cheeks, swimming
thoughts, Daman had seen me dive off the swing.

I tried to keep
my voice level and nausea at a minimum as I answered, “Yeah, that was James,
　
he brought me here.”

“So I’m not the
first one you saw after you died?”

“No, you’re the
second.”

“Well, you’re
the first I’ve seen,” Daman said. He wouldn’t look at me as he said it. I
rolled my eyes and realized that for as attractive Daman was he wasn’t nearly
as charming.

“Stop feeling
sorry for yourself!” I muttered, Daman wasn't supposed to hear but he did, so I
had
　
to dig my foot out of
my esophagus, “You can’t change what happened to you in life. You can’t do
anything about how you came into the world and you can’t change how you left
it. Everything’s that happened is behind you, look at your future and stop
complaining about your past!”