And now we turn in our hymnals once again to a song by brother Paul Simon
American Tune: "And I dreamed I was dying
And I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me
Smiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flying
And high up above my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty
Sailing away to sea
And I dreamed I was flying
"
Last night I went to sleep with a pain in my back, a kidney stone. Not enough to medicate myself into oblivion, though I probably should have. A strong drink may have helped as well. But I was determined to be stoic and quickly went to sleep.
But the pain was such that it trapped me in a dream, one that seemed to extend the whole night. It may have only been seconds, but the dream ran on and on.
In it I was dying. Confined too bed, weak, and the pain clear, in that same spot. Family, friends, strangers came to my bedside, on and on. The living and the dead visited me.
And such was the trap of that dream that I find it hard to escape now awake.
August 19, 1992
After Life
Aaron squinted as the spotlight swept over the crowd and he felt the approaching sensation of a wild sneeze. He continued to clap, then as the sensation grew, he pressed his forefinger to the spot under his nose and the urgency subsided. He sniffed, then stood, trying to clap in rhythm with the lead singer. He felt the twinge again and pressed the spot. Too late. He sneezed with surprising ferocity, and then jerked from the simultaneous burst of pain in his chest. It was stunning. So sharp and piercing, then gone. He slumped back against his wife, then on to the isle between the seats. He could still see the elderly black man on his left. The man was still clapping. He looked down at Aaron and shook his head as Aaron’s vision blurred and dimmed.
“You sleepy, sugar?”
Aaron looked over at the old woman that sat close to him on the couch. He shuddered uncontrollably. The darkness and sudden silence of the room made his heart pump wildly in fear and surprise. He looked at the woman again and closed his eyes. When he opened them again nothing had changed.
“Grandma? What happened? I…”
Aaron started to stand, but his grandmother put her arm around him. She looked frail, but she pulled him easily against her shoulder.
“You’re just tired sugar. You’ve had a big time and you’ll be all ready to rest soon. Let me read you this little story while you calm down.”
She reached down to the side of the couch and pulled out a thin, old book. The colors on its tattered cover were fading and the corners were worn through, exposing the cardboard beneath.
Aaron threw his arms around his grandma and hugged her close, squeezing his eyes closed.
“Grandma! I didn’t think…” his breathing was fast and pained. Tears formed and ran down his cheeks, his throat tightened.
He sobbed. “Grandma, I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”
“Shush.” She made soft noises and held him close. “I know. It was a big time, wasn’t it?”
Aaron raised his head and wiped the tears out of his eyes, still finding it hard to breath deeply. He looked around. Her living room was dark, but as he remembered it. The blinds were closed and curtains drawn. It was a room comfortably full of furniture. Books and magazines were in neat piles next to each chair or resting place. The black, Bakelite phone sat on the corner table, nearly buried beneath the … He looked up. Behind the couch where he sat was the huge mirror. Above it hung his grandfather’s flintlock rifle. The same rifle that now hung over Aaron’s mantle, in his own home. His throat tightened again.
He turned back and looked at her. His grandma smiled at him and pulled him close again. Aaron felt the pain slowly slide away and he breathed deeply and easily.
“Let me just read you a little and then you can rest.”
Aaron smiled up at her.
“I’m glad you’re here. It all happened so fast.”
“Shush, Aaron. Let’s not worry about that. I just want to ease your mind. You’ve been a good boy. Here.” She helped him climb up into her lab. She settled the book in front of him. Her arms enfolded him as she gently settled her chin on the top of his head.
Aaron looked down at the book. He ran his hand over the cover, smoothing a torn flap. His tears began again and he covered his eyes with his hands. Grandma pulled his head back on her shoulder and opened the little book.
“This is the story of Whatnot,” she told him. The picture was a pastel blur. He wiped his eyes again, but couldn’t clear them of the tears. She read slowly, but without effort.
“Whatnot woke one day and announced to his mother, ‘Mama, today I’m gonna go see what lives down in the tall grass.’”
Aaron heard the dry, brittle page turn. He blinked his eyes and could see a little better. A green and brown vista was painted across the open pages of the book. In the lower left corner was Whatnot, he guessed.
“Whatnot walked all morning through the forest till he came to the big field. It was wide and he couldn’t even see to the other side. He wasn’t sure if there was another side. Whatnot heard the tall grasses rustle softly in the breeze. He stood and looked out into the field a long time.”
Aaron lifted his head to see the book better.
“Eventually, Whatnot summoned up his courage and walked out into the grass. At first it came up to his knees. It was cool and damp and tickled the backs of his legs.” She turned the page.
“Soon, the grass was up to his waist. He ran his hands across the tops of the wide blades has he walked. Before long, the grass was up to his shoulders. Whatnot stopped and looked back at the forest. The trees stood high above the field. The trees seemed to go on forever. The forest was a good home, he thought.”
Aaron breathed deeply. He was tired. He hadn’t felt this way when he’d driven with Emily to the amphitheater. It was still early, but he felt like he could close his eyes and be gone in an instant. He struggled to pay attention, to keep his eyes open.
“…and wiggled its nose. Whatnot backed away and left the little rabbit alone. ‘So a rabbit lives in the tall grass.’”
Grandma looked down at him.
“You drifting away, sugar? I can stop here. It’s all right.”
Aaron smiled.
“No, please, I want to hear it all.”
Grandma smiled.
“Just a bit more then.” She flipped through the remaining pages.
“All right, there isn’t much more to go.”
Aaron closed his eyes and listened to her read, pronouncing every word carefully, almost singing the dialogue softly. Aaron jerked, almost gone.
“… and I didn’t mean to bother you.’ He said. So he backed carefully away, then turned and ran as hard as he could. ‘Lion’s live in the tall grass too!,’ he said.”
Grandma paused.
“You’re not scared, are you sugar?”
“No, Grandma,” Aaron mumbled, “I’m not scared.”
She squeezed him again.
“Good. Then that’s enough. You were a good boy and you had a big time. I knew you would. I’m very proud of you.”
Aaron could no longer raise his eyelids, but he felt the warm spot of emotion in his chest. He tried to speak, but his grandma held him tight as he muttered in protest.
“Time to rest,” she said and he heard her switch off the light. In the dark he felt her close and reassuring.
“The end,” she said, and closed the book.
