gaggit@uswest.net

No teaser for this one.

The White Light is Just Window Dressing by gaggit

The steady bleep, bleep, bleep of the cardiac monitor suddenly changed to a steady, shrill whistle, and the green peaks flattened out to indicate that Josh Lyman’s heart had stopped beating. Galvanized into action, the green-garbed medical personnel swarmed over their patient with hypodermics full of epinephrine and the defibrillation paddles. “Clear!”

On a conscious plane the inert form registered absolutely nothing. But whether it was on an unconscious, metaphysical, ethereal, or spiritual plane, Josh was aware of something very unusual occurring around him, and it was terrifying. If he could have screamed around the tube in his throat, he would have. In a blinding flash of clarity, Josh realized this must be what it was like to die, and he also realized he was totally unprepared for it. He had been immersed in the tenants of Judaism for the first fourteen years of his life, but a streak of rebelliousness that had gotten him expelled from his exclusive private school had also initiated a questioning of the faith he had simply taken for granted up until then. During his stint in boarding school, Josh had learned some useful skills: the basics of the three R’s, how to blow a smoke ring, and how to pick a lock and a pocket. As punishment for being expelled, his father had decided to send Josh to public school, and it was there that he learned to think critically about himself and his world. But as a result of this introspection, he had drifted away from the spirituality of the temple, the rabbi, and the God that had allowed his innocent sister to die in a fire. He had never gotten around to coming to terms with God and mortality and the hereafter, and now it was probably too late.

Josh became aware of a pressure on his left hand. He focused his attention there. All he could see was a disembodied forearm, but he recognized it immediately by the faded blue numbers tattooed there. “Grandpa,” he croaked, surprised that he could make a sound. The hand picked up Josh’s arm and rotated it a half a turn, revealing a corresponding set of miniature numbers on the inside of his wrist. His grandfather’s voice drifted down to him and asked, “Why did you have those numbers tattooed on your wrist?”

“How did you know they were there?” Josh asked. “I had it done after you died.”

“It’s obvious that I know, Josh. Why did you do it?”

“So I wouldn’t forget.”

“Forget what?”

“You......History......”

“You needed a tattoo to remember?”

“No. It was a symbol, a statement.”

“Of what?”

“Your courage and perseverance.......our heritage....I don’t know.....Grandpa, am I dead?”

“No, Josh.”

“Then how can you be here talking to me?”

“Must you question everything, Joshua? Just have faith, boy.”

“In what?”

“In yourself and what you really believe in. Don’t forget the past, but don’t live in it either.”

“Can you help me do that?”

“More questions, Josh?” a new voice asked. “You really should have been a lawyer.”

“I’m just trying to understand,” replied Josh in a resigned tone, not really surprised when his father materialized at the foot of the bed. “You sound like you are still mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad, Josh?”

“Because I liked public school? Because I wrapped your Vette around a tree? Because I never practiced law? Because I left Joanie to die? Because I always disappointed you?”

“That’s your perception of things, Josh, not the reality of the situation. But these things are all immaterial now.”

“What is important here?”

“It’s important for you to know that I love you, Josh.”

“I never doubted that.”

“Have you ever been in love, Josh?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you alone?”

“My job demands all my time.”

“That’s a convenient crutch. What’s the real reason?”

“Everyone I ever really loved and counted on died on me.”

“There really are no guarantees in life, Josh.”

“Are you taking me with you, Dad?”

“Where?”

“To wherever you’re going.”

“That’s not up to me, son.”

“Who is it up to?”

“You’re still asking questions, Josh,” laughed a female voice on his right. The voice penetrated his ears across more than twenty years. Turning his head to the right, he gasped in shock. He was expecting Joanie to be fourteen, but instead there stood a woman of about forty.

“Joanie? How can you be.....?”

“No more questions, Josh. Just listen. The statute of limitations on guilt has run out. Now it’s up to you. You have to get busy living or get busy dying.”

A surge of electrical power surged through Josh’s chest, causing his body to heave off the gurney and thump back down. His family winked out like some cosmic hand had pushed the power button on the remote control. It was dark and cold, and he searched in vain for the comforting white light he had read about when he’d become fascinated by the fine line between science and religion. Wasn’t he supposed to leave his physical body and follow them? Weren’t they supposed to beckon him to follow? Weren’t they supposed to show him the future complete with a son who had engineered global peace? Weren’t they supposed to tell him what to do? “You didn’t answer my questions,” he tried to shout after them, but the tube in his throat prevented it. He thought he heard a trio of voices answer, “Yes, we did.” before the total blackness engulfed him.

The second jolt of electricity from the defibrillator’s paddles slammed through Josh Lyman’s body. A split second later, the shrill whistle of the cardiac monitor was replaced by the friendly bleep, bleep, bleep, and the flat green line climbed to a sharp peak.

The End.