If you think that something may be helping you along life’s journey and that they may even have a name you would be right.

The Paperback Edition…

Four years have passed since that tragic day and I am now tucked into my very own apartment that walks out to a courtyard with tall evergreen trees now beautifully covered with snow…watching the next to the last episode of “The Housewives of New York City”.

“The Parents” are sitting on a book shelf right next to my TV.  They are surrounded by all my favorite books and favorite pictures of them as well as photos of Karlie, George, Annie and Cantor…and, of course, my best friend Emma.

I have a “Family on the Shelf” as opposed to an “Elf on the Shelf”.

I keep “The Parents” for a couple of months and then they journey over to Karlie and George’s house where they sit in an equally revered place.  It seemed like a better idea than…you know…separating them…like eggs.

But now it was very late…scenes from next week’s episode were running.  I clicked the remote off

I stood up, stretched and turned off the lamp beside my chair.  I dropped the blinds but not before appreciating again how peaceful the falling snow looked.

I put the chain lock on my door even though I know in my heart of hearts that a chain is  not going to stop a crazed man from entering my cozy little abode and stealing my super swell TV…or worse.

But nevertheless…I would hear him and be able to stealthily pull my always fully loaded Glock out from my bedside table and blow him to smithereens…HAH!!  I have no gun.

But at least I would hear him…

I flipped the hall light on and walked down the hall.  The full length mirror at the end  was there for a purpose.  I gave myself a B+…which considering the events of the day was pretty damn good…in my world anyway.

I fluffed my hair like I always do when finding myself in front of any mirror and then walked into my bedroom and paused…

I clapped my hands twice and my bedside light went on.  Yes.  I have “The Clapper”.

Don’t laugh at  me…

 

 

 

 

 

The Paperback Edition…

My bedroom walls are covered with black & white blow-up posters of all the places I would like to visit but will probably not…Paris, London, Gloucestershire, anywhere in Scotland and  Stockholm.

Did I mention that I am just a teeny bit claustrophobic?   Oh.  Well, now you know.  Otherwise normal…very normal.

I also have huge posters of every animal I have ever owned…except for the 4 goldfish I once bought at Sam’s Club.  They actually died before I could come up with exotic names for them…

“Hello, Emma,” I whispered to my sleeping cat…most beloved cat…

She looked up at me from her favorite resting spot…the top of my bed pillow…and smiled.

“Are you going to have your customary glass of red wine tonight, Tobey?” she asked.

Do you think it’s odd to talk for your  pet?  I mean…to give a voice for your pet?Or…perhaps even to have a conversation with your pet? 

Well here’s the deal. If you ever move into an apartment building that has a lot of senior citizens who have pets, you will find that it is not odd at all.  It’s normal…very, very normal.

And besides…if someone asks you a question, it would be rude not to answer…right?

I turned on my bathroom night-light and politely answered Emma’s question.

“Not tonight dearest, I am exhausted.”

I was only able to read for about ten minutes which really ticked me off since the book I was reading was so exciting.

But my eyes were starting to close so I put the book on my night stand, turned off the floor lamp by my bed and cursed because I had forgotten to turn off the hall light.

I dragged myself out of bed and padded down the hall, hit the switch off and cursed again since I was now in almost total darkness…having also forgotten to turn on my living room night-light.  Using the light from the courtyard I went over and turned it on.

I literally staggered back down the hall to my bedroom.

As I sat on the edge of my bed, I apologized to God for being so tired as I said my nightly prayers.

“Dear God.  I’m sorry.  Thank you.  Please help everyone.  Amen.”

I put my head down on the pillow and rolled over on my right side…then I rolled over to my left side…almost unconscious at this point… but then…I rolled back over to my right side…AND THEN…

..here we go…

 

 

 

 

 

The Paperback Edition…

I slowly pushed myself up to a sitting position, keeping my eyes glued to the black form in the corner of my bedroom.

Emma was sound asleep at the foot of my bed…nestled in ‘her’ Bradley Cooper tee shirt… (it’s too long a story to share right now)…so I nudged her just a little so she would wake up.  Nothing.  She didn’t move.

“Emma!” I whispered and tapped her lightly on her head.  “Wake Up!”

But she didn’t wake up.  She didn’t even move.  She was, as they say, ‘dead to the world’.

And then it quietly occurred to me that I wasn’t scared…not at all…not even a little bit…what the hell was going on?

I was, in fact, feeling a deep sense of calm.  Remember that ‘Zen’ feeling I mentioned earlier?  Like that.  Then.  It hit me.

“Holy Shit! I cried out loud.  “I’m fucking dead!”

I hadn’t even felt sick!  No one had even hinted that I was dying…

Of course sometimes…not often…not very often…I don’t always pay attention to every, single solitary word  that people are saying to me…but still…

“I cant believe this!!” I screamed.

“Dead at 24!  I had so many things left to do…. I’m pretty sure of that!”

“Bucket List!  My bucket list!  Crap.  I haven’t even made a bucket  list…”

I tapped Emma a wee bit harder on her head.

“Emma!  We’re dead!  We’re both dead!  Can you believe that?”

“I’m not dead.” said Emma…using…NOT MY  VOICE...

Things were starting to ratchet up a bit now…as my heart started to pound furiously…

Do dead hearts pound?  I don’t know…I DON’T KNOW!!!!!

The Paperback Edition…

I slowly drew my hand away from the little head of my ‘apparently not dead’ cat.

“So,” I whimpered, “It’s just me…I’m dead alone.”  My eyes started to burn.

But then, out of the corner of my now watery eye,  I noticed the black ‘whatever it was’…starting to sway a little and change its shape.

It looked like it was extending a hand out to me.

“OH NO!!  OMG!!  IT’S THE HAND OF DEATH.” I shrieked.

As the hand appeared to move closer, I shrank back against my pillow.  I felt like I should do something…like run somewhere to avoid this…death thing.  Could I…?  Should I…?

But, hey…I was not going to be the ‘classic dumb girl’ in those stupid horror movies.

You know the one I mean…the terrified girl who stupidly runs down the basement to hide…and then…to no one’s surprise…gets chopped into little pieces..

Does this building even have a basement?

“Noooo,” I whined loudly as the ‘hand’  moved even closer.

And then suddenly, Emma stood up, turned toward me and walked up my legs.

She put her two front paws on my shoulders.  We were totally eyeball to eyeball.

“Relax, Tobey.  It’s not death.  It’s one of your guardian angels.  It’s actually your main guardian angel.”

“And…by the way, the correct phrase is ‘the Hand of God’ not…’the hand of death.'”…said Jennifer Lawrence.

…since that is exactly who my cat Emma now sounded like…and…I noted…she had a slight Southern accent.

Emma then licked my nose, dropped her paws, turned around and walked back down my legs and again curled up at the foot of my bed…in ‘her’ Bradley Cooper tee-shirt.

“Not dead then…?” I asked in a trembly, squeaky voice.

“No,” said Emma…very firmly.

I exhaled loudly.  “Okay good!  Really good and great.”

“His name is Fred.  Like in Rogers.” said Emma.

“Oh, Jesus.” I mumbled under my breath.

“No…Fred.”