Our Song (9 page)

“You’re such a tourist,” Annie said, rolling her eyes. “You’re thinking of the fake Hollywood, fabricated on studio lots in the valley, on the other side of those hills.” She gestured toward the hilltop beyond the community center.

“So, you’re saying this is the
real
Hollywood?”

“Yup, where dreams are shattered.”

“How uplifting. Well then, I guess it’s a fitting location for a group of people who’ve risen from the dead.” The fake Hollywood that came nicely packaged through my television was suddenly sounding very good to me. “How about we say I went and go get something to eat instead? You can give me a tour of your old haunts. My mom’ll never know the difference.”

“But you’ll know the difference,” she said. “I’ll admit, it’s a bit odd, but who knows? This group might just be the perfect thing for you. I mean it’s not everyone you meet who’s died and lived to tell the tale.”

“Well then maybe you should go, so you can hear all their exciting stories,” I said, fiddling with the gold heart around my neck. It had been such a part of who I was for so long, of who I wanted to be, that I forgot I was still wearing it.

“Come on, Ol,” Annie said. “We’ve already come this far. Aren’t you at least curious? I’ll come in with you if that makes it easier.” She turned off the engine.

“No, if I do this, I have to do it alone.”

In all the weeks since the accident, I hadn’t thought much about what it was like to die. But there was still a small part of me that wondered if maybe everything happened for a reason, if dying was all wrapped up in my destiny, which would soon be revealed. And it was that part of myself that led me here, to this group, hoping to find some answers.

“Just don’t go too far. I’m not promising I’ll stay for the whole hour,” I said, unfastening my seat belt.

“I’ll be at Amoeba Records down the street. Just text me when you’re ready. And Ol? Is it corny for me to say I’m proud of you?”

“Totally corny,” I said as the car rumbled back to life.

The foyer was dark, as if the entire place was abandoned. I glanced back through the cracked glass of the double doors, but Annie was already gone.

“Can I help you?” A gruff, old security guard stepped out from the shadows.

What kind of community center needed security? “Um…I’m looking for a meeting?”

“The Near-Death Society?” He shifted his eyes, assessing me up and down, as if I was some kind of ghost.

I nodded, kicking an imaginary pebble on the floor. Hearing it out loud, the name sounded so lame. It felt humiliating being associated with it, even in front of a uniformed stranger.

“Down the hall, room 109 on your right.”

I walked down the dimly lit corridor, to the green painted door marked 109. The door creaked as I walked in. About
twenty people, all seated in a circle, turned their heads at once, just like at school.

“Hello!” A bald, bearded, middle-aged man stood and retrieved a chair from a nearby stack. He had more hair on his face than on his head. He unfolded the chair and squeezed it in next to his own, widening the circle. “Welcome. Please, join us.”

I tentatively made my way around the circle and perched on the edge of the seat.

“I’m Stuart,” the bald man said. “And you are?”

“Olive.” My voice came out dry and raspy.

“Is this your first time? I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.” I nodded. He was sitting so close I could smell his stale coffee breath. “This is a safe place, where we share and support one another. Our motto is there’s no such thing as the impossible. I think most of us in this room are living proof of that.”

I looked around the circle at the group. They were all so much older than me, with lined faces and graying hair.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you find out about us?”

“From my guidance counselor.” Technically, Dr. Green was the reason I ended up here, even if she had no idea that this group existed.

“I’m so glad to hear we’re being mentioned in schools! As you must know, a near-death experience can happen at any age. Surveys estimate that more than twenty-five million people worldwide have had an NDE in the past fifty years. Even so, it can feel like you’re traveling down a lonely road after going through something so life altering. It’s a subject a lot of folks aren’t comfortable talking about. That’s why we started this
group, oh, what is it—about fifteen years ago now, Mary?” He looked toward a plump older woman, who nodded in agreement. Her silver hair was streaked with the most artificial shade of cherry red I’d ever seen. She reminded me of those weird psychics who hocked their services on late-night infomercials. “How this works is pretty simple. We make our way around the room so that everyone has a chance to speak and share their experience. Do you have any questions?”

I shook my head no.

“Well, feel free to pipe up at any point along the way. It’s amazing the conversations that get started in here. So, where were we?” He drummed his fingers on his knee. He turned to an Indian man two seats over on his other side. “Ravi? Would you like to continue?”

Ravi cleared his throat and described the experience of leaving his body and traveling across the country, ending up in Philadelphia. “I found myself in my Auntie’s closet. I knew it was hers from the scent of her clothes.” He inhaled deeply as if he were still there, smelling her things. “When I woke up in the morning, I called Auntie and described everything I saw, down to the number of shoe boxes stacked in the corner. Sure enough, it was all accurate. I had really been there while my body slept in bed next to my wife.”

“Thank you for sharing, Ravi,” Stuart said when he was done. “This was, what, your third experience?”

“My fourth, actually,” he said. “I seem to always end up in some relative’s closet. I’d hate to read into that too deeply.” He chuckled.

The rest of the group laughed along with him like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

“How is it a near-death experience if you didn’t actually die?” I didn’t mean to blurt it out but I felt gypped, like this group was not as advertised.

“The term
near-death experience
is used to describe all sorts of transcendental occurrences, from literal deaths to out-of-body and teleporting experiences,” Stuart explained. “Once you’ve had one of these encounters, it can happen again. In fact some of us can actually
make
it happen through our intentions. Like Ravi, we can train our subconscious to leave our bodies and release our souls. Some say that once you’ve traveled to the other side, part of you stays there, beckoning you to come back. Does that make sense?”

I politely nodded, realizing what a mistake I had made in coming here. These people were all certifiable.

“But I gather from your question that you did, in fact, die,” Stuart said.

I felt heat rise to my cheeks as I looked around at everyone’s expectant faces. Was I the only one? I realized they weren’t going to leave me alone until I gave them an answer. “Yes.”

“What was it like?” The question came from across the circle, from a petite, mousey woman sitting next to red-stripe Mary. Her eyes were bugging out of her pale face, like I just told her we were going to Disneyland or something.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I can’t really remember.” It was the truth. It was almost as if time had stopped for those two and a half minutes and restarted again when I woke up in the
hospital. But even if I did remember, I wasn’t about to share it with a roomful of strangers who seemed to get off on that kind of thing.

“That’s very common,” Stuart said. “Of course it raises the question of whether your mind can still operate when your brain and heart have stopped. But new studies are proving that the answer is yes, which many of us in this room can attest to. Sometimes the collective power of our souls can help bring this memory back. We have a ritual that can help trigger the process. May I?”

Everyone in the circle locked hands as Stuart reached for mine.

Freaked, I glanced up at the door. All it would take was a mad dash across the room and I’d be out of here. I didn’t want to remember. I never wanted to think about that night again. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the image of a collapsed stop sign and chunks of red metal flashed through my mind. I blinked hard toforce it back as the invasive sounds—the crackle of fire, the grating screech of fingernails on a chalkboard—raced inside my head, colliding with the melody, like a distorted, scratched record, like they were competing, pulling me in different directions.

Just focus on his voice,
I told myself as the lyrics in my head soared above the other noise. They were as loud and clear as the first time I heard them that day on the golf course. It made me think of the boy hitting balls from the roof of his car. How he looked courageous and free, just like I wished I could be.

As I was working up the nerve to leave, the door creaked open. A figure appeared in the doorway, causing me to gasp and
nearly fall out of my chair. It was like I was having an out-of-body experience right there, on the spot. Only as I pinched my leg, I knew I hadn’t gone anywhere. I was still in my body, in this windowless room, with these lost souls.

And him.

The boy who was hitting golf balls in the parking lot, the boy I was just thinking about, the boy I never thought I’d see again walked into the room. Even though I never got a good look at his face, I had no doubt it was him. He was wearing the same navy jacket, the same black jeans, and had the same wavy dark hair that swept across his forehead. But the thing that made me most certain was the way he moved, with a mix of grace and confidence, just like he had that day at the club.

My heart raced as I tried to stop myself from reading anything into it. The old me would have said it was fate; that there was a larger purpose behind everything, that perhaps we were meant to meet again. But whoever I was now knew better than to chalk it up to anything more than a coincidence. A meaningless coincidence.

With a sharp breath, I quickly averted my gaze as he sauntered toward the back of the room. Lifting a chair from the pile, he pulled it up just outside the circle and plopped onto it backward, his legs spread wide like he was straddling a motorcycle.

Now I was close enough to really see his face. His gray eyes were the color of steel, a thin layer of stubble blanketed his jawline, and his jagged nose looked like it had been broken and left to set without medical intervention. There was something so
perfect about its imperfection. Despite the fact that the larger sum of his traits made him seem older, there was still something youthful about his features. It was as if whatever he’d been through in his life had aged him. But underneath, there was still a trace of the person he used to be. Looking at him was like looking at a reflection of myself. I looked the same way.

“Welcome back, Nick.”

Stuart’s voice snapped me out of my trance, reminding me where I was. Just a few minutes ago I wanted to escape. But now I found myself sitting here, across the circle from the mysterious golf boy. The mystery boy named Nick.

Nick shifted in his seat so that it tipped forward, balancing on its two rear legs. His right knee poked through a tear in his jeans. My thoughts snapped back to Derek’s hand on Betsy’s knee, jutting out through a similar hole.

“I wasn’t sure we’d see you again,” Stuart said. “What brought you back?”

“The donuts, of course. Best ones in town,” Nick said, with a completely straight face. Only his accent, his completely unexpected English accent, made it seem like he was being sarcastic.

Just then Nick looked up at me, as if he both noticed me and sensed that I was in on the joke. I quickly glanced away, biting down on the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.

“Why don’t we take our break now.” Stuart clapped his hands together. “We’ll reconvene in ten minutes.”

I made my way to the snack table by the entrance. Sure enough, two boxes of donuts were laid out on a white plastic tablecloth, next to a large thermos and a stack of Styrofoam
cups. I hesitated for a moment before reaching for a chocolate éclair.

“Eat at your own risk,” said a voice behind me.

Without turning around, I knew it was Nick. It was more than just his accent and his deep, gravelly voice. It was as if I could
feel
him behind me before he even said a word. I wondered if that’s what happened when two people who’d died and came back to life got near each other, like the pull between two magnets. Of course Nick hadn’t said that he died, but somehow I was willing to bet he wasn’t here because of a weird, closet-hopping dream.

I took a deep breath and turned around. Something about him made me nervous. “I thought they were the best in town?”

A half-smirk edged up the corner of his mouth. “They probably were the day they were baked. Last week.” He took the donut from my hand and tapped it against the table. “See? Hard as a rock,” he said, handing it back to me. “Still want to give it a go?”

“I think I’ll pass and take my chances with the coffee,” I said, reaching for the thermos.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to kill your appetite.”

He walked around to the other side of the table, his arm grazing my backside. I flinched, like an electric current had jolted through me. Coffee sloshed over the cup’s edge, onto my hand.

“Whoa, careful there.” He set the cup down and inspected my skin where a small red burn was emerging. “Does it hurt?”

The sting evaporated beneath his touch. “I think I’ll survive.”

“That’s a relief.” He released his grip. “It’d be a little ironic actually dying here, don’t you think?”

“Or maybe fitting…” I joked, quickly turning back to the table.

I reached to refill my cup but he blocked my path. “Sure you can handle it?”

Was he being sarcastic again, like he was with the donuts? His face was serious, but it was hard to tell.

“Yes, I think I can handle it,” I spat back, my voice clipped.

“It usually takes longer for me to piss someone off but I guess I’m out of practice.”

“It’s not you,” I said. I was suddenly tempted to tell him that I saw him at the club that day, hitting balls into oblivion. But something held me back.