One More Thing Page 2

  I put the phone back in my pocket.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  “No problem, no problem,” said the scientist. “So, okay. Do you know what a quasar is? We know that quasars are a paradox because they emit great amounts of energy despite being close enough to a black hole to be swallowed up by it. Right? Okay. So …”

  All of a sudden another thought jumped into my mind, and I couldn’t tell if I was just being paranoid or what—but it suddenly occurred to me that maybe it was possible that all my friends went to the same party the night before without telling me, and that’s why they all woke up so late and then all texted me at the same time.

  “Uh-huh, wow, whoa, that’s crazy,” I said, while I thought about whether I should give them the benefit of the doubt and still make plans to meet up with them later, or whether I should hold off on making plans until I could find a way to prove definitively whether or not they had all fucked me over, in which case I would still meet up with them but only to tell them to go fuck themselves. I really hoped it wouldn’t come to that, though, because I had gotten pretty excited to see the looks on their faces when I told them about dark matter and about how nobody in the world knew what it was except the scientist and us.

  Also, to be honest, it would be bad timing for me to lose all my friends today of all days because it was Sunday, and Sunday nights always made me a little lonely for some reason. It always seemed to be windier on Sunday nights, too—maybe the scientist knew something about why that was. In any case, the point was that on Sundays especially, I really would prefer not to be alone, even though I knew deep down that it was probably better to be alone than to be with fake friends.

  “Uh-huh, wow, whoa, that’s crazy,” I kept saying to the scientist on a loop as I tried to figure out if there was anything at all in the middle—for example, which friends might have convinced the other friends to leave me out and which friends might have just gone along with the peer pressure, and so which ones I might possibly be able to forgive, even if I had to tell the others to go fuck themselves for all time.

  Just when I was finally close to a pretty good theory, I noticed that the scientist wasn’t saying anything anymore. He was just standing there, staring at me with that same smile from before, only not so smug anymore, like now it was really tender and scared, even though the weird part is that if I had to draw the smile, I would have drawn the exact same smile as the smug one—but I could somehow tell it was different even though it looked the same. And also, I noticed both his eyes had clogged up. “You’re the only other person in the world who knows,” he said. Then one tear fell down from one eye and then the other. “I can’t believe I’m not alone with this anymore.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that nope, he was still alone, so I nodded and walked up to him and shook his hand—a really big handshake, like in a “congratulations” type of way, and when that didn’t feel like enough, I gave him a hug right around his fat, nice neck. Then that felt like maybe borderline too much—the handshake and the hug combined—so I gave him one of those solid “and that’s that” nods and left.

  I did end up seeing my so-called friends that night. Get this: they told me they had gone to a party without me, but they said they knew it was going to be bad and that I wouldn’t have enjoyed it, which is why they didn’t invite me. It was a little bit shady, but I was tired of thinking about this so I just decided to let it go. I told them about the planetarium tour and about how no one knows what dark matter is, not even the scientist, which they thought was interesting, and then I did an impression of the scientist giving the tour, which they thought was hysterical. I felt a little bad because in my impression I gave the scientist a lisp, which he didn’t have in real life, but that was the part that made my friends laugh the hardest, so, who knows. One of my friends said, “You know, he actually sounds kind of sweet,” which made me feel better because that was how I felt about him in my head while I was doing the impression! Even though I was making him sound like a dork, I still thought of him as kind of sweet. And also, he had lied about no one knowing what dark matter is, when he really did know, so he wasn’t exactly an angel himself. And I knew he would never find out about my impression, so it wouldn’t hurt him. And if he ever does find out about it, through some invention he makes or something, I hope he’ll just forgive me, the same way I forgave my friends.

  We ordered two pizzas, one of which the place messed up, so we gave the delivery guy hell, and the whole thing ended up being free. My friends are insane, but I love them—you wouldn’t believe the stuff they did to this guy to convince him the pizzas should be free, but it was all in good fun, for us at least. Then we watched a movie on TV that was somehow listed in the “classics” category, but it was so bad that it was actually hilarious to make fun of it. It was about a sled.

  I was sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night not knowing what dark matter was, but it turned out I could. I slept better than usual, in fact. I think it’s better to not know certain things. It gives the world an extra bit of mystery, which is important to us as human beings.

  No One Goes to Heaven to See Dan Fogelberg

  Tim, nine years old, leaned next to his grandmother as she lay in her hospital bed. He gently kissed her face around the tubes in her nose.

  “I love you, Nana,” said Tim. “I promise I’ll visit you in heaven.”

  The next day, Tim’s grandmother died.

  Sixty-six years after that, Tim died.

  The first thing Tim did when he got to heaven was look for his wife.

  He was so anxious and excited to find her that he couldn’t focus on anything else—not the fact that he had died, not the fact that he was in heaven, and certainly not his grandmother.

  “Is Lynn here?” he asked everyone he met. “Yes,” they said, but he kept asking. “Is Lynn here?” “Yes,” they laughed, “you’ll see her in like two seconds!”

  And there she was, standing beside a park bench in a spring dress, looking at the same time the way she looked when he had known her last, at the hour of her death just under a year ago, and the way she looked at her very most beautiful, the day he married her, when she was twenty-two and he was twenty-five.

  It was a far deeper and sharper moment of first love than the first first moment of first love, because now, not only was he falling in love, but he was falling in love with someone he loved; and while the first time, he also believed he’d be with her forever, he was too young to consider what forever meant.

  Now here he was, truly, on the first day of forever.

  He kissed her for an eternity, which was fine, because heaven had eternities to burn. Then he kissed her for another.

  “It wouldn’t have been heaven without you.”

  He took her hand in his, and they strolled out of the park together.

  “Oh, and you gotta remind me,” said Tim as they walked. “One of these days I have to visit my grandma. Remind me, okay?”

  “Of course!” said Lynn. “I would love to meet her.”

  But first, they looked up their friends, the ones they had shared for the main length of their life together. They brought to each house a bottle of wine that never emptied, and they visited everyone for hours, laughing late into the night, reminiscing and gossiping about who had died and who hadn’t. Then they’d wake up early the next morning, make coffee and French toast, and talk about the friends they had visited and whether or not heaven had changed them.

  Next they went to see Tim’s parents, who were doing very well and were very happy to see both of them.

  “Have you visited Nana yet?” asked his parents.

  Not yet, said Tim, but soon.

  Next, they visited Lynn’s mother.

  “You know your father’s here,” Lynn’s mother told Lynn. Lynn was surprised to hear this. “It would be the right thing to visit him.”

  Tim had never met Lynn’s father, but he had heard all about their relationship. Her father abandoned he
r family when she was thirteen and only saw her once more, when he showed up unannounced at her high school graduation and tried to reconcile, ruining the day for her. She had retaliated by rebuffing him publicly and rudely. She did not want to see him at all, but she could tell it was the right thing to do, and heaven was the kind of place that made you want to do the right thing.

  “We’ll go together,” said Tim. “It’ll be fine.”

  Lynn’s father opened the door to his oversized condominium with a huge grin. Of course he would have a condominium in heaven.

  “Remember at your high school graduation?” he said. “When you told me to go to hell?”

  He smiled like he had been looking forward to saying that line for a long time.

  “What a jerk,” she said after they left. “Why did they let him in?”

  “He must have changed,” said Tim.

  “And then changed back?”

  “Maybe,” said Tim. “Who knows how things work here?”

  “Well, maybe this is better, because I get to feel mercy, or something. Or close that chapter. Or whatever. I did it. You know?”

  “That’s a good attitude,” said Tim. “And it was the right thing to do. Now you can enjoy heaven with a clear conscience.”

  The next day, Tim called Nana.

  “Hello?”

  “Nana?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Nana! It’s Tim!”

  “Tim who?”

  “Tim Donahue!”

  “Eliza’s husband? Oh.” She sounded unhappy. “Hi.”

  “No, Tim Junior. Eliza’s son. Timmy! Your grandson!”

  “Timmy! Oh, goodness—Timmy, you died? You’re just a little boy!”

  “No, Nana, I’m all grown up! I’m in my seventies now. Was.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I still pictured you as a little boy! How did everything wind up?”

  “Well … there’s a lot to cover, Nana! We want to come visit you. I have a wife now—I want you to meet her!”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful! Wonderful. It will be so wonderful to see you both!”

  “When’s good?” said Tim.

  “When? Oh. Hm.” Nana paused. “I have a bunch of stuff next week. I’m seeing some friends, and there’s a couple concerts I want to see … How about next weekend? The weekend after this coming weekend, I mean.”

  “We would love that. How about Sunday, for dinner? Like old times?”

  “Huh?”

  “Like the Sunday dinners you used to make us, when we were kids.”

  “Oh. Sure, we could do that. Or we could order in. Lot of options. Let’s decide closer to then, okay?”

  “Okay, Nana. I love you. I’m so happy I’m going to get to see you!”

  “Me, too. I love you, too. See you next Sunday. But not this one—the next one. Bye now.”

  “Nana sounded odd,” Tim said after he hung up. “Or something.”

  “Maybe she’s upset that you didn’t get in touch with her before?”

  “I don’t know,” said Tim. “It’s hard to tell that stuff over the phone. And also, there’s a lot to do here, you know? I hadn’t seen you, I hadn’t explored heaven—it’s not like anyone’s going anywhere …”

  “It’ll all be better on Sunday,” said Lynn. “When we see her.”

  “You’re right,” Tim agreed.

  On Sunday, Tim called to confirm.

  “Nana! It’s Tim. Just confirming we’ll see you tonight? I’m bringing my wife, Lynn.”

  “Who?”

  “Lynn, my wife. You’re going to love her.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Tim, your grandson. Timmy.”

  “Timmy! Oh, Tim, gosh, tonight? I’m so sorry, tonight won’t work. Can we do next weekend?”

  “Sure,” said Tim. “I guess.”

  “Let me look here … . There’s something I have to be at on Saturday. And then I’m actually checking out some shows next week—actually, is two weeks okay? A week from next Friday? Can you pencil that in?”

  “Sure,” said Tim.

  “Perfect. I’ll see you next Friday! A week from, I mean.”

  “Okay, Nana. I love you.”

  “I love you, too!”

  A week from Friday, Tim and Lynn showed up at the door of Nana’s house. On the door there was a note:

  Tim: Tried to call you last minute but no one picked up. So sorry but there’s a concert I just had to see with some friends. Won’t be back till very late. So sorry. Must reschedule. Talk soon. I love you! Nana

  Tim turned to Lynn.

  “Am I crazy to take this a little personally, at this point?”

  “This is weird,” Lynn agreed.

  “A concert? Again?”

  “Weren’t you two close?”

  “I thought so. Maybe you’re right—maybe she’s mad that I didn’t contact her before.”

  “But then why wouldn’t she just say it?”

  “I don’t know. I guess she would have.”

  “Well, what should we do tonight?” asked Lynn, trying on a smile and finding it fit perfectly. “We’re all dressed up, it’s a Friday night in heaven …”

  “Yeah. We can go out ourselves, can’t we?”

  “Want to check out one of those concerts?”

  “Sure!” said Tim. “Why should Nana have all the fun?”

  Tim and Lynn walked through the streets of heaven at sunset. A breeze blew through the pink-and-purple air. Dogs barked, birds sang. Children with old souls finally laughed lightly. Horses, bicycles, and vintage convertible cars shared the wide streets.

  As Tim and Lynn got closer to the center of town, they started walking past posters:

  TONIGHT! BO DIDDLEY! FREE!

  TONIGHT! BING CROSBY! FREE!

  TONIGHT! NIKOLAI RIMSKY-KORSAKOV! FREE!

  “Look at this!” said Lynn. “No wonder your nana’s out at concerts every night.”

  “Ritchie Valens!”

  “The Big Bopper!”

  “Curtis Mayfield!”

  “Sid Vicious?!”

  “Debussy!”

  “Is this all really free?” asked Lynn.

  “Roy Orbison!” Tim pointed to a sign. “Want to check this one out?”

  It was transcendent: a private concert and an arena show at the same time. None of the things that had kept them away from live-music events before had made it into heaven. No sweat or aggression in their row. No songs from the new album that the musician was overly sincere about now but would be embarrassed by in a few years. No confusion or pressure as to whether they should sit or stand or dance or put their hands in the air. The sound was impeccable. So was the stage design. They could eat, drink, smoke, make out. They had front-row seats. There were no crowds. They were literally the only people there.

  After a few hits, but still at the height of the show, Tim turned to Lynn with an indulgent idea.

  “Wanna just check out the next one?”

  “Why not?”

  They went to the stadium next door. It was also a private concert in a giant arena. Just as they walked in, John Denver launched into a blasting rendition of “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” When he finished, Tim and Lynn gave a standing ovation.

  “Hello, Heaven!”

  “This is amazing,” remarked Tim.

  “I know! It’s almost even too perfect,” said Lynn. “Like, in a way, I would like it if there were a few people here, a little energy, you know?”

  “That could be the motto for heaven,” said Tim. “ ‘Almost too perfect.’ ”

  They snuck out to see the next show.

  As they kept walking toward the center of the music and arts district, the streets became more and more crowded. Tim and Lynn started seeing more of all types of people, occasionally even celebrities. For example, Ricardo Montalban. He was an actor they both recognized from the television show Fantasy Island, but he wasn’t being mobbed at all. He almost looked like he wished he would be, or that at least someone wou
ld approach him to ask him a question or to pose for a picture. Tim wondered why no one was going up to talk to him and then, to try to figure it out, asked himself the same question—why wasn’t he approaching Ricardo Montalban?

  Probably because there were more interesting things in heaven than Ricardo Montalban.

  It must be hard being Ricardo Montalban in heaven, thought Tim.

  As they got within a half mile of the center of the district, Tim and Lynn finally realized why the concerts had been so empty before.

  “Look,” whispered Lynn. “Look.”

  ELVIS PRESLEY! LIVE! FREE!

  WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART! LIVE! FREE!

  L. V. BEETHOVEN! LIVE! FREE!

  Tim and Lynn stared in awe as people poured by the millions into stadiums bigger than they could have imagined to see the greatest artists not only of their generation but of their entire generation’s consciousness.

  Hundreds of thousands of people lined up to see Miles Davis; millions to see Tupac Shakur; billions to see Michael Jackson.

  “We can see anyone,” remarked Tim to Lynn. “We can see anyone, of all time.”

  It was almost too much to comprehend. It was a good thing they were already used to love, or they might have fainted from the size of the feeling.

  They decided on Frank Sinatra, a favorite of both of theirs, and headed into his concert.

  It couldn’t have been any more of a thrill. Sinatra was at the top of his game. He opened with “The Best Is Yet to Come,” and a crowd of seven hundred million chanted along. Then a song they had never heard before—“a new one,” Sinatra warned, making everyone nervous—but it was as good as one of the classics, and they had heard it first. Then “My Way.” Then “Fly Me to the Moon.” Then “New York, New York.” Then “One for My Baby.”

  “Now, here are a few songs whose artists haven’t made their way to heaven yet,” intoned Sinatra in the same soothing, ever-knowing voice he’d had in life, made even more poignant here, as he stroked the quaintly unnecessary cord of his microphone. “I hope they won’t mind me giving you a little preview, keeping the songs warm for them.” And then Tim and Lynn took in the soul-expanding sight of Frank Sinatra covering the hits of Bruce Springsteen, Radiohead, Coldplay, and Beyoncé. Heaven cared not for the limits of era.