11. Election Eve 2008
I know I’m going to lose some people here, because dead guys tell no tales. But who really knows what goes on in the astral plane, especially when you’re yanked aboard so unexpectedly? This is me, haunting the diner. It’s the place I loved the best, so no surprise there. I was shot nine months ago and I come back here once in a while, though less and less as time goes on.
After my brother Bobby died when I was a kid, I swear I could feel him around me sometimes. Now I know it was true. But it wasn’t “Bobby” Bobby. Just like I’m not “Herman” Herman. I’m just energy. Pure energy. Good energy. And I’m gradually getting integrated into the energy that fuels life. I’m going back to where I came from before I was born. But today, I’m part of a positive manifestation that’s kicking ass. It’s quite remarkable and I’m just along for the ride.
My hometown, Woodhill, is being battered by negativity right now. The diner itself is a pit since the Pitzers bought it from my folks. Dante used to keep it incredibly clean, but since he’s undocumented, the Pitzers wouldn’t hire him. It’s just the little things, like smudges on the windows and gum stuck under the tables that no one else would even notice. But I don’t feel sad—I just don’t care. (I know everything and I feel nothing. Is this heaven?)
The whole town seems depressed. Just look at the regulars who are crowded into the diner, including my old high school buddies. Poor Larry, sitting in booth seven, just got laid off from the Ford dealership; his lifelong friend Marshall is consoling him. But what did he expect? Gas prices went insane and then the economy tanked. You spend years selling fuel-guzzling SUVs and it’s bound to come back to bite you. Marshall’s such a sweet positive guy—his ex-wife Pauline’s real estate business has plummeted. It’s like she went running full-bore into a cement wall and she doesn’t have Marshmellow to soften her crash. Sad. She’s set her sights on Tom Ricci, who couldn’t be less interested. His dead wife still hangs around him and those gorgeous children. Can you blame her? Tom is worried about his winery, but he’ll survive because he’s sensible. He postponed his plan to build a new structure until the panic is over, and he’s helping out at other grape crushes, building good will.
It’s like Mike Burke over at the counter says: People will always need booze. His girls are driving him crazy, as usual. Lacey is back on the crystal, in really bad shape losing teeth and all. Olivia, the forest ranger who found my body, has tried to help that girl. When Lacey’s headscab got infected, Olivia took her to the ER in Salem—now Lacey’s permanently scarred and working on a new sore. Aimee is on the verge of lighting out and leaving her baby for Mike and Kathy to raise. And Michaela is in love with Ren Ricci, which bothers her father to no end. But she’s sensible and Ren’s a good kid—that romance couldn’t be sweeter.
Sitting a few stools down is Bill Pratt, my nemesis in life. Stupid homophobe—he’s completely alone: one boy in Afghanistan, another in juvenile detention. His kid Jared killed me but it was truly an accident. Pratt’s poor wife finally left him—she’s living in a studio apartment and working at the old folks home. Her entire adult life, she did whatever her husband told her, including who to vote for. But today, she woke up and prayed for Obama to win. And tomorrow, she’s going to start praying to Obama. What she’ll actually pray to is that same positive force of which I’m a part. She’s going to be just fine. Bill, on the other hand, is losing the City Council race to the lovely Candy Applegate Ruiz. After I died, Candy decided to run and never looked back. It’s really no contest. Her campaign manager Ellen Greenstein is very competent—and completely in love with Candy, I must add. I saw it from the beginning. Candy did too. Now Ellen is pregnant with Basil’s baby. They’ll end up married, I’m sure. And reasonably happy, though Ellen will always have Candy in her secret heart. Candy, of course, will be an excellent councilor; probably do a better job than I ever could. Pratt? Who knows? Who cares? Though good often comes out of bad.
Look at Table 10: Jessica and Dante are sitting with their mothers, planning their wedding. They hooked up at the celebration of my life and fell in love. Jessica is amused by her mom’s forced cheeriness, when she knows the woman is completely devastated by her 20-year-old daughter marrying a Mexican janitor (the kids haven’t told her he’s illegal). Dante’s mother isn’t too pleased herself, but she’s never pleased. She gets that Dante will be able to become a citizen if he marries an American. She gets that the two of them are in love. And she doesn’t even care that their union will water-down their Latino bloodline. But Dante is her first-born and she wants to hang onto him as long as she can. On the plus side, Jessie isn’t very close to her mother; maybe they’ll spend holidays with the Gutierrez side. And Dante’s mom likes Jessie—everyone does.
If I could feel, my heart would break looking at Table 17, the two-top by the door. It’s my mom and Matthew; they finally get along. My bitter old mother, full of piss and vinegar, was all by herself after Dad died (he blew right past me a few weeks after I died, by the way, couldn’t wait to leave that world). She rattled around that old farmhouse for months; it was so sad, she didn’t have a single friend. Matthew, on the other hand, had tons of support, a gazillion people to take care of him. He was pretty methodical in his mourning, doing all the right things like journaling and getting counseling and staying busy. Still, he was lonely without me—can you blame him? Then one day they ran into each other at Norm’s Thriftway, had a chat, and before you knew it, she was joining him on Candy’s campaign! Can you believe it? My mother voting for a liberal? And she despises Sarah Palin so I’m thinking she might even vote for Obama—wouldn’t that beat all? Look at the two of them sitting there, laughing. True friends. That’s something I thought I’d never see, and I might not have, had I stayed alive.
If I hadn’t died, Jessica and Dante may have never gotten together. My mother wouldn’t have learned how to open her heart. Ranger Olivia wouldn’t have learned how to feel. That crazy treesitting chick would still be up in that tree. The Pratts would still be hideously miserable. And Candy wouldn’t have run for City Council.
Good forces, bad forces; it sounds so black and white. But it is. That’s the nature of the universe. Tomorrow, the citizens of Woodhill will awaken with a new hope[ in their hearts, and for a while, goodness will prevail.
The End
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