On Love, and Life (After Death) - PART I
Ryan had spent the last three days staring at the ceiling and listening to “Diamonds and Gold” by Tom Waits. He had fallen into such a pit of despair that he had to think really hard to remember his own name. He had fucked up, really really bad. He couldn’t get over the fact that Z had completely disregarded his attempts to sway her, and that she deemed it necessary to send him obscene texts. Keltie went cold when she read those messages and she took Hobo with her. He missed Hobo. He missed Keltie. He missed their life together. He couldn’t really see himself living without her, and so decided maybe he should kill himself.
He sat up, and scanned his room. He vaguely recalled a statistic that people cleaned their living spaces before they killed themselves. His own apartment was a mess and he didn’t know where to start, until he noticed how filthy his shirt was. He needed clothes. So he sorted the dirty from the clean. He placed all of the dirty garments around his clothes hamper with care, making sure they looked like they had been tossed there at the end of a long day. He hung and folded the clean clothes and tucked them into their proper spots.
Next, he put all the take-out boxes into a garbage bag. He ended up using two, stuffed to the brim with food from every corner of the globe delivered from every corner of the city.
He sorted his CDs and records, making sure each one was in its proper case and correct spot on the shelf. He quickly organized his bookshelf so that everything fit in a vertical position. He put loose pieces of paper in the recycling bin.
He made his bed.
He wiped down most surfaces with some sort of cleaner he got as a house warming present. He vacuumed with a state-of-the-art super-suction whirlwind cleaner he “borrowed” from his friend’s sister.
He dead-headed and watered his plants.
He did some last organising; tidied his desk, closed his drawers, straightened his blinds and made sure everything looked right.
He changed into a shirt Keltie had given him for Christmas the year before, and ran his hands through his hair as he took one last look at his home.
Then he killed himself. Just as the dizziness from the blood loss set in and he collapsed to the floor, he realised that he, Ryan Ross, the Creative Writing major, had forgotten to write a suicide note.
-
Ryan had never parachuted before, and was surprised by how easy it was, slowly sailing to the ground. He was tempted to attempt some tricks, like spin around or something, but he didn’t want to die. He kind of collapsed upon impact; his chicken legs weren’t really up to the challenge of holding him and the chute together. The chute pulled him forward a bit, and he fumbled with the release. He stood up and looked around. It looked like the outskirts of Vegas; sand and dirt, abandoned couches, cars and parachutes, telephone poles and the occasional dead bush. The sun was beating down but it wasn’t hot, just warm. Something glinted to the East, and he decided that it was his best option.
He walked for about an hour, and stumbled into a town. He walked down the main street. There were no people outside, and the stores looked forsaken. He found a building that claimed it was a bar, and figured it was as good a place as any to find out where he was. Inside, it was smoky and reeked of old tobacco mixed with spilled beer. He walked up the counter where the bartender greeted him with a grim face.
The bartender greeted him with, “You’re dead, kid.”
“Oh,” Ryan responded. “Oh.”
The bartender nodded, and said, “Kamikaze Pizza’s hiring. Down the road.”
“Oh,” Ryan replied again. “Okay, thanks.”
He turned back into the sunlight and squinted until he made out Kamikaze Pizza. He entered, glanced up at the bell on the door. The girl working at the counter looked up, and he swallowed.
He felt stupid as he asked, “Hi, um, can I speak with the manager?”
“Why?” She asked, and sounded genuinely curious.
“Um, I was told you were, uh, hiring. By the bartender,” he replied and waved his hand in the direction of the bar.
“Ah,” she acknowledged. Then she shouted out, “Nate!”
A short guy with a lip piercing emerged from the back.
“Hullo,” Nate held out his hand, and Ryan shook it. “What can I help you with?”
“Um, I’m new... here,” He wasn’t sure what to call this place. “And the bartender told me you were hiring, so...”
“When can you start?” Nate asked.
“Um, whenever. Now?”
“Great,” Nate clapped his hands. “Welcome aboard. I’m off right now, but Miss Asher is here until close. You’ll be safe with her,” he finished with a wink. The girl rolled her eyes. Nate gave her a kiss on the cheek and disappeared into the back room.
“I’m Victoria,” she said, lifting up a part of the counter and inviting him back. “Or Vicky-T, but call me Vicky, and I’ll hate you.”
“Okay,” Ryan nodded, absorbing this information.
She looked regretful and said, “I’d ask to call you Ry, but one of the cook’s name is Ryland and we mostly call him Ry.”
Ryan shrugged. “That’s fine.”
“Great! This is the kitchen,” Victoria motioned to the area behind the counter. “As front-counter people, usually the only thing we do is make boxes during downtime.”
“How often is that?” Ryan asked.
“Um, well...” Victoria hesitated. “Often?”
“Oh,” Ryan replied.
“Anyway,” She moved to the next room. It had a small, round table, a half-empty vending machine, and Worksafe posters adorned the walls. “This is the break room. Eat all the pizza you’d like, and don’t worry about your metabolism here. ”
“Where exactly is ‘here?’” Ryan interrupted.
Victoria shrugged. “Hell? Gehenna? Insert Afterlife Here. We just generally call it Death. Everyone here took their own lives, and here we are. Don’t wonder how it started, or when, or how things get here. Just don’t. Accept it.”
Ryan reluctantly agreed to these conditions.
There was a knock on the doorframe. “Hi, Ryan, I’m Ryland,” A tall, lanky guy gave a small wave. “Uh, considering you’re new and all... I’m wondering if you’d like to take the extra bed at my place? ”
“Um, yeah. Great. Thanks,” Ryan nodded.
“Great. Uh, it’s a big place, and there are a few other guys...” Ryland hesitated.
“That’s okay,” Ryan assured him.
“Great! I’m off in a few hours. Shall we head home together?”
“Sure,” Ryan nodded and Ryland turned back into the kitchen.
“Great,” Victoria brushed some hair behind her ear. “Now, on with the tour! That door is the washroom, and that’s the emergency exit. The schedule’s posted three weeks in advance. Any questions?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Great.” After a moment of awkward silence, Victoria suddenly wrapped him in a hug. Ryan stood paralyzed for a moment, unsure of what to do. She wordlessly let go, and went back to the front. Ryan slid into a chair and stared at a wall, his mind whirling.
It didn’t take long to get used to this new life. Or death. Ryan slowly understood that this was the perfect punishment, really. Everything here was exactly the same, just a little bit worse.
He discovered that Ryland had suffered from schizophrenia in Life, and it still affected him in Death. Ryan became accustomed to Guy Ripley coming home from Ryland’s shift at work, talking in a British accent and explaining how he was going to break into the broadcasting world. Ryland’s best friend and roommate, Alex, accepted the act with ease, chatting effortlessly with both personalities. They often had old tapes playing, which was a huge comfort to Ryan.
He split his time between work and the apartment. He read a lot. There was no library, but there was a book exchange. He thought about Keltie all the time. He missed her.
One day, Victoria convinced him to come to the bar after work. They headed down together and met up with her friend Gabe. They made small talk over a few beers. Ryan started to get tipsy while Gabe and Victoria ended up extremely drunk. After a few hours, Victoria wrapped her arm around Ryan and announced they were going to play a game.
“What kind of game?” Ryan asked cautiously.
“We guess how people offed themselves,” Gabe divulged.
Ryan considered that for a moment. “Isn’t that extremely rude?”
“I suppose,” Victoria took a swig of her beer.
“But who gives a shit?” Gabe hollered, downing shot. He made a face but refused when Ryan offered him a sip of cola.
Victoria started. “Okay. Guy in corner. I call gunshot.”
“What about me?” Ryan asked, slightly offended. “Aren’t you curious about me?”
“Wrists,” Victoria replied, without even glancing at him. “Saw the scars at work.”
“Ah,” Ryan took a swig of his beer. “What about you two?”
Gabe held out his arm and pointed to something Ryan couldn’t see. “I got myself bit by a cobra,” He sounded proud.
“Exit bag,” Victoria sounded much less enthused. She finished her beer in several gulps.
Gabe frowned worriedly at his friend before his eyes darted to a point past Ryan. “Chick in cut-offs. I vote gas.”
Victoria turned to study the girl. “I vote pills,” she said as she turned back to the table. Ryan watched, amused, as they debated the symptoms of each method.
“What about me?” a man’s voice behind Ryan asked. The man pulled a chair up to the table. “Sorry to interrupt, but, I couldn’t resist.”
They stared at the newcomer. “Car exhaust?” Victoria guessed.
“Duh, Vicky-T, look at his haircut. He’s a total fucking wristcutter,” Gabe glanced apologetically at Ryan, who raised his hands to show no offense taken.
“Wrong, and wrong,” The man looked at Ryan.
“Walked into oncoming traffic?” Ryan guessed. He’d seemed kind of short, which could be a side-effect from crushed limbs.
“Nosirree.”
“Well, then how, asshole?” Gabe asked.
“Pulled my sister’s car into the Best Buy parking lot and swallowed a bottle of Ativan.”
“So I was close with the emo thing,” Gabe raised his eyebrows and took a swig of his beer.
The man nodded. “I’m Pete. Can I join your game? That guy in the corner’s actually been bugging me for weeks.”
Victoria celebrated their new addition by buying everyone drinks. Ryan didn’t understand why, but he was eager to impress their guest. He downed a shot, fought the impulse to chase, and stood up. Ignoring the cries of protest from his table, he marched over to the man in the corner and asked him how he killed himself.
He returned to the table with a black eye.
From then on, Ryan split his time between work, his bed, and the bar. He was thankful for his job and spent a lot of time getting to know his co-workers and regulars. He particularly enjoyed William, a poet who tried to convince people that this was actually Life. At the bar, he ignored how much he drank. Gabe and Victoria often had other plans, so most nights it was him and Pete playing the game or swapping stories from Life. In his bed, he started listening to whatever records he could get his hands on and thought about how much he missed Keltie, and how much he hated existing without her.
Pete picked him up from work one afternoon and started driving to the bar. Ryan protested.
“’No, no, no’ what?” Pete asked, hitting the breaks.
“I just don’t want to go out tonight. Or any other night.”
“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard,” Pete stared at Ryan over his sunglasses.
“I’m turning into my father,” Ryan started. “And, I just. I miss Keltie. All these nights out is making me depressed.”
Pete clicked his tongue. “Ryan, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but there is shit all else to do here, and we’re all depressed.”
Ryan sighed. “I just kinda want to stay home now.”
“So you can do what? Kill yourself?”
Ryan bowed his head and considered Pete’s words. He huffed, and Pete started driving again. “You’re going to be miserable no matter what, Ry, so you might as well be at the bar.”
It was Ryan’s turn to get groceries. The town’s grocery store was five aisles wide, full of flavourless foods. One of the walls was dedicated entirely to alcohol. He was snooping through the cooler, trying to find some cottage cheese, when he heard his name behind him. He turned around and was stunned.
“Singer? What are you doing here, man?”
“Same as everybody else, Ry, duh,” Singer replied, lightly tapping Ryan on the side of the head.
“You didn’t come all the way down here for your hoodie, did you?” Ryan asked, concerned.
“No, no!” Singer gripped Ryan’s shoulder. “It’s just. You know how they say tragedies come in threes?”
Ryan actually hadn’t heard that, but nodded anyway.
“After you and Keltie offed yourselves, I figured... Best be me than anyone else, right? I mean, I didn’t want to go to another funeral myself, so why not invite people to my own?”
Ryan shook his head in disbelief. “That is seriously fucked up, man.”
They stood in silence for a moment, until Ryan processed what Singer had said. “Wait. Singer, who else did you say died?”
“Keltie! About a month after you went. I figured you’d know that already.”
Ryan dropped his groceries and ran.
He called Pete over, who arrived within minutes.
“Who’s on fire?” Pete asked when he burst in.
“Keltie! She’s here. Keltie is here,” Ryan’s mind was racing with excitement.
“Keltie?” Pete squinted. “Who’s Keltie?”
“My girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Whatever,” Ryan shook his head as he tossed some t-shirts into a suitcase.
“Oh, the chick you killed yourself over?”
“Yes,” he frowned, before his heart leapt as he remembered that she was here. “But she killed herself too! And she’s sure as hell not in this town. I want to find her and I want you to come with me.”
“That’s stupid,” Pete made himself comfortable on Ryan’s bed. “What if we don’t find her?”
“Well then we call it a road trip,” Ryan stared at Pete and silently pleaded.
“I don’t know, man.” Pete sighed. “I am quite settled into my place, and the bartender knows me by name... I’m having tonnes of fun being more fucking depressed now than I was when I was alive...” Pete fiddled with a tassel on Ryan’s blanket. Ryan stared at him in disbelief. Pete looked up at him, and Ryan understood. They high-fived.
Part II
He sat up, and scanned his room. He vaguely recalled a statistic that people cleaned their living spaces before they killed themselves. His own apartment was a mess and he didn’t know where to start, until he noticed how filthy his shirt was. He needed clothes. So he sorted the dirty from the clean. He placed all of the dirty garments around his clothes hamper with care, making sure they looked like they had been tossed there at the end of a long day. He hung and folded the clean clothes and tucked them into their proper spots.
Next, he put all the take-out boxes into a garbage bag. He ended up using two, stuffed to the brim with food from every corner of the globe delivered from every corner of the city.
He sorted his CDs and records, making sure each one was in its proper case and correct spot on the shelf. He quickly organized his bookshelf so that everything fit in a vertical position. He put loose pieces of paper in the recycling bin.
He made his bed.
He wiped down most surfaces with some sort of cleaner he got as a house warming present. He vacuumed with a state-of-the-art super-suction whirlwind cleaner he “borrowed” from his friend’s sister.
He dead-headed and watered his plants.
He did some last organising; tidied his desk, closed his drawers, straightened his blinds and made sure everything looked right.
He changed into a shirt Keltie had given him for Christmas the year before, and ran his hands through his hair as he took one last look at his home.
Then he killed himself. Just as the dizziness from the blood loss set in and he collapsed to the floor, he realised that he, Ryan Ross, the Creative Writing major, had forgotten to write a suicide note.
-
Ryan had never parachuted before, and was surprised by how easy it was, slowly sailing to the ground. He was tempted to attempt some tricks, like spin around or something, but he didn’t want to die. He kind of collapsed upon impact; his chicken legs weren’t really up to the challenge of holding him and the chute together. The chute pulled him forward a bit, and he fumbled with the release. He stood up and looked around. It looked like the outskirts of Vegas; sand and dirt, abandoned couches, cars and parachutes, telephone poles and the occasional dead bush. The sun was beating down but it wasn’t hot, just warm. Something glinted to the East, and he decided that it was his best option.
He walked for about an hour, and stumbled into a town. He walked down the main street. There were no people outside, and the stores looked forsaken. He found a building that claimed it was a bar, and figured it was as good a place as any to find out where he was. Inside, it was smoky and reeked of old tobacco mixed with spilled beer. He walked up the counter where the bartender greeted him with a grim face.
The bartender greeted him with, “You’re dead, kid.”
“Oh,” Ryan responded. “Oh.”
The bartender nodded, and said, “Kamikaze Pizza’s hiring. Down the road.”
“Oh,” Ryan replied again. “Okay, thanks.”
He turned back into the sunlight and squinted until he made out Kamikaze Pizza. He entered, glanced up at the bell on the door. The girl working at the counter looked up, and he swallowed.
He felt stupid as he asked, “Hi, um, can I speak with the manager?”
“Why?” She asked, and sounded genuinely curious.
“Um, I was told you were, uh, hiring. By the bartender,” he replied and waved his hand in the direction of the bar.
“Ah,” she acknowledged. Then she shouted out, “Nate!”
A short guy with a lip piercing emerged from the back.
“Hullo,” Nate held out his hand, and Ryan shook it. “What can I help you with?”
“Um, I’m new... here,” He wasn’t sure what to call this place. “And the bartender told me you were hiring, so...”
“When can you start?” Nate asked.
“Um, whenever. Now?”
“Great,” Nate clapped his hands. “Welcome aboard. I’m off right now, but Miss Asher is here until close. You’ll be safe with her,” he finished with a wink. The girl rolled her eyes. Nate gave her a kiss on the cheek and disappeared into the back room.
“I’m Victoria,” she said, lifting up a part of the counter and inviting him back. “Or Vicky-T, but call me Vicky, and I’ll hate you.”
“Okay,” Ryan nodded, absorbing this information.
She looked regretful and said, “I’d ask to call you Ry, but one of the cook’s name is Ryland and we mostly call him Ry.”
Ryan shrugged. “That’s fine.”
“Great! This is the kitchen,” Victoria motioned to the area behind the counter. “As front-counter people, usually the only thing we do is make boxes during downtime.”
“How often is that?” Ryan asked.
“Um, well...” Victoria hesitated. “Often?”
“Oh,” Ryan replied.
“Anyway,” She moved to the next room. It had a small, round table, a half-empty vending machine, and Worksafe posters adorned the walls. “This is the break room. Eat all the pizza you’d like, and don’t worry about your metabolism here. ”
“Where exactly is ‘here?’” Ryan interrupted.
Victoria shrugged. “Hell? Gehenna? Insert Afterlife Here. We just generally call it Death. Everyone here took their own lives, and here we are. Don’t wonder how it started, or when, or how things get here. Just don’t. Accept it.”
Ryan reluctantly agreed to these conditions.
There was a knock on the doorframe. “Hi, Ryan, I’m Ryland,” A tall, lanky guy gave a small wave. “Uh, considering you’re new and all... I’m wondering if you’d like to take the extra bed at my place? ”
“Um, yeah. Great. Thanks,” Ryan nodded.
“Great. Uh, it’s a big place, and there are a few other guys...” Ryland hesitated.
“That’s okay,” Ryan assured him.
“Great! I’m off in a few hours. Shall we head home together?”
“Sure,” Ryan nodded and Ryland turned back into the kitchen.
“Great,” Victoria brushed some hair behind her ear. “Now, on with the tour! That door is the washroom, and that’s the emergency exit. The schedule’s posted three weeks in advance. Any questions?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Great.” After a moment of awkward silence, Victoria suddenly wrapped him in a hug. Ryan stood paralyzed for a moment, unsure of what to do. She wordlessly let go, and went back to the front. Ryan slid into a chair and stared at a wall, his mind whirling.
It didn’t take long to get used to this new life. Or death. Ryan slowly understood that this was the perfect punishment, really. Everything here was exactly the same, just a little bit worse.
He discovered that Ryland had suffered from schizophrenia in Life, and it still affected him in Death. Ryan became accustomed to Guy Ripley coming home from Ryland’s shift at work, talking in a British accent and explaining how he was going to break into the broadcasting world. Ryland’s best friend and roommate, Alex, accepted the act with ease, chatting effortlessly with both personalities. They often had old tapes playing, which was a huge comfort to Ryan.
He split his time between work and the apartment. He read a lot. There was no library, but there was a book exchange. He thought about Keltie all the time. He missed her.
One day, Victoria convinced him to come to the bar after work. They headed down together and met up with her friend Gabe. They made small talk over a few beers. Ryan started to get tipsy while Gabe and Victoria ended up extremely drunk. After a few hours, Victoria wrapped her arm around Ryan and announced they were going to play a game.
“What kind of game?” Ryan asked cautiously.
“We guess how people offed themselves,” Gabe divulged.
Ryan considered that for a moment. “Isn’t that extremely rude?”
“I suppose,” Victoria took a swig of her beer.
“But who gives a shit?” Gabe hollered, downing shot. He made a face but refused when Ryan offered him a sip of cola.
Victoria started. “Okay. Guy in corner. I call gunshot.”
“What about me?” Ryan asked, slightly offended. “Aren’t you curious about me?”
“Wrists,” Victoria replied, without even glancing at him. “Saw the scars at work.”
“Ah,” Ryan took a swig of his beer. “What about you two?”
Gabe held out his arm and pointed to something Ryan couldn’t see. “I got myself bit by a cobra,” He sounded proud.
“Exit bag,” Victoria sounded much less enthused. She finished her beer in several gulps.
Gabe frowned worriedly at his friend before his eyes darted to a point past Ryan. “Chick in cut-offs. I vote gas.”
Victoria turned to study the girl. “I vote pills,” she said as she turned back to the table. Ryan watched, amused, as they debated the symptoms of each method.
“What about me?” a man’s voice behind Ryan asked. The man pulled a chair up to the table. “Sorry to interrupt, but, I couldn’t resist.”
They stared at the newcomer. “Car exhaust?” Victoria guessed.
“Duh, Vicky-T, look at his haircut. He’s a total fucking wristcutter,” Gabe glanced apologetically at Ryan, who raised his hands to show no offense taken.
“Wrong, and wrong,” The man looked at Ryan.
“Walked into oncoming traffic?” Ryan guessed. He’d seemed kind of short, which could be a side-effect from crushed limbs.
“Nosirree.”
“Well, then how, asshole?” Gabe asked.
“Pulled my sister’s car into the Best Buy parking lot and swallowed a bottle of Ativan.”
“So I was close with the emo thing,” Gabe raised his eyebrows and took a swig of his beer.
The man nodded. “I’m Pete. Can I join your game? That guy in the corner’s actually been bugging me for weeks.”
Victoria celebrated their new addition by buying everyone drinks. Ryan didn’t understand why, but he was eager to impress their guest. He downed a shot, fought the impulse to chase, and stood up. Ignoring the cries of protest from his table, he marched over to the man in the corner and asked him how he killed himself.
He returned to the table with a black eye.
From then on, Ryan split his time between work, his bed, and the bar. He was thankful for his job and spent a lot of time getting to know his co-workers and regulars. He particularly enjoyed William, a poet who tried to convince people that this was actually Life. At the bar, he ignored how much he drank. Gabe and Victoria often had other plans, so most nights it was him and Pete playing the game or swapping stories from Life. In his bed, he started listening to whatever records he could get his hands on and thought about how much he missed Keltie, and how much he hated existing without her.
Pete picked him up from work one afternoon and started driving to the bar. Ryan protested.
“’No, no, no’ what?” Pete asked, hitting the breaks.
“I just don’t want to go out tonight. Or any other night.”
“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard,” Pete stared at Ryan over his sunglasses.
“I’m turning into my father,” Ryan started. “And, I just. I miss Keltie. All these nights out is making me depressed.”
Pete clicked his tongue. “Ryan, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but there is shit all else to do here, and we’re all depressed.”
Ryan sighed. “I just kinda want to stay home now.”
“So you can do what? Kill yourself?”
Ryan bowed his head and considered Pete’s words. He huffed, and Pete started driving again. “You’re going to be miserable no matter what, Ry, so you might as well be at the bar.”
It was Ryan’s turn to get groceries. The town’s grocery store was five aisles wide, full of flavourless foods. One of the walls was dedicated entirely to alcohol. He was snooping through the cooler, trying to find some cottage cheese, when he heard his name behind him. He turned around and was stunned.
“Singer? What are you doing here, man?”
“Same as everybody else, Ry, duh,” Singer replied, lightly tapping Ryan on the side of the head.
“You didn’t come all the way down here for your hoodie, did you?” Ryan asked, concerned.
“No, no!” Singer gripped Ryan’s shoulder. “It’s just. You know how they say tragedies come in threes?”
Ryan actually hadn’t heard that, but nodded anyway.
“After you and Keltie offed yourselves, I figured... Best be me than anyone else, right? I mean, I didn’t want to go to another funeral myself, so why not invite people to my own?”
Ryan shook his head in disbelief. “That is seriously fucked up, man.”
They stood in silence for a moment, until Ryan processed what Singer had said. “Wait. Singer, who else did you say died?”
“Keltie! About a month after you went. I figured you’d know that already.”
Ryan dropped his groceries and ran.
He called Pete over, who arrived within minutes.
“Who’s on fire?” Pete asked when he burst in.
“Keltie! She’s here. Keltie is here,” Ryan’s mind was racing with excitement.
“Keltie?” Pete squinted. “Who’s Keltie?”
“My girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Whatever,” Ryan shook his head as he tossed some t-shirts into a suitcase.
“Oh, the chick you killed yourself over?”
“Yes,” he frowned, before his heart leapt as he remembered that she was here. “But she killed herself too! And she’s sure as hell not in this town. I want to find her and I want you to come with me.”
“That’s stupid,” Pete made himself comfortable on Ryan’s bed. “What if we don’t find her?”
“Well then we call it a road trip,” Ryan stared at Pete and silently pleaded.
“I don’t know, man.” Pete sighed. “I am quite settled into my place, and the bartender knows me by name... I’m having tonnes of fun being more fucking depressed now than I was when I was alive...” Pete fiddled with a tassel on Ryan’s blanket. Ryan stared at him in disbelief. Pete looked up at him, and Ryan understood. They high-fived.
Part II