“Did you enjoy your time in heaven?” The voice didn’t really belong to anything.
“Wait – so Earth was heaven?” I had a slight headache, something I didn’t figure would exist after Earth was so far gone.
“Yes. Did you enjoy it?”
“I thought heaven was eternal, I only had 25 years.”
“You had a whole 25 years, which is more than so many get. Did you enjoy it?”
Why was this question so pressing? I thought. I thought of the dead end jobs. I thought of the time I scraped my knee. Zach’s death. I thought of the time I kissed my best-friend in the pouring rain in hopes that our lips locking would help her re-evaluate our friendship (it didn’t). I thought of the pitchers of beer. The nights spent crying over broken hearts and broken bones. I thought of the time we smoked pot in front of the police station. I thought of the pee-wee soccer games. The late night tennis matches. The coffee. The time we stood on the roof of the fraternity house and yelled into the warm summer night because nobody was listening. I thought of the cookies, the burgers, the hiking trails. I thought of the plane rides to far away escapes. I thought of the train rides to meet relative’s new graves. The waiting in lines. The slow dances. Road trips and carpools. I thought of the staples that got stuck in the stapler. I thought of the time I quit my job. The two weeks I was homeless. I thought of the drunken hook ups. I thought of my first kiss. My first crush. I thought of the time I cried on the bathroom floor when my grandma passed away. I thought of the homesickness at space camp. The Great Barrier Reef. My first taste of champagne. My first taste of real pain. I thought of the words that were left unspoken, and the ones that should have been. The last lie I ever spoke, and the first. I thought of the condoms filed away next to my tax returns and love letters. I thought about the love letters. The pick-up lines. The Robert Frost quotes. I thought of the time my roommate and I watched all the Tremors movies. I thought of the first time I woke up to the words “I love you.” I thought of the first time I woke up to the words “I love you” spoken in such a different voice. I thought of the afternoon naps and the snooze button. The text messages and the bruises. The misplaced sweatshirts – they probably had new owners already, but now all my sweatshirts were misplaced. Or, perhaps, they were in the right place all along. I thought of misplaced moments.
I looked up and said, “Yeah. It was fucking great, what’s next?”