[First place winner of the Synapse Storytelling Contest Fiction category.]
The experience of dying can vary greatly. Some see a light at the end of a tunnel. Others recollect all their life events. Some are carried by beautiful blonde women riding a horse up to the sky. And others don’t get to go up at all, only down. Down to a very, very hot place.
For Jun Jiang, who after achieving his first grey hair received the nickname of Mr. Jiang, dying meant reminiscing about Mary Anne.
♢ ♢ ♢
Third house after turning right on Sunset St.
Sweaty palms. Heart banging.
Third house…third house…There it is.
Don’t slouch. Shirt tucked in.
Ding-dong.
“Hi, Mr. Miller. It’s been a while.”
Strong smell of liquor. And cigarettes.
“Sorry, who are you?”
Bloody warmth across the face. Eyes to the floor.
“I’m Jun. It’s been two years, and we only met once I think. But I used to hang out with your daughter…”
“Oh, Jun! Of course! I remember how Mary Anne wouldn’t stop talking about you. I didn’t recognize you at all with your uniform. I’m glad to see you. Those Viet were not enough to bring you down, huh?”
“No, sir. Is Mary Anne home by any chance? I was hoping to see her.”
Dead eyes from a dead man.
“You don’t know, do you?”
Confusion.
“My daughter passed away about a year ago. Fucking measles got her.”
Darkness, all enveloping darkness.
Falling, deeper and deeper.
♢ ♢ ♢
“Sir…Sir!” A young man’s voice echoed far away.
I’ll see you soon, Mary Anne. I’m sorry you had to wait for so long. Did you miss me?
“Mr. Jiang! Can you open your eyes?” The same young man persisted, his voice much closer. Maybe too close.
Mr. Jiang groaned and slowly opened his left eye. A young man with disheveled hair in blue scrubs flashed him with a big smile.
“I’m glad to see you awake, Mr. Jiang. My name is Harold. I’m a medical student, and this is Dr. Kindword,” Harold signaled to a man in his sixties with a thick grey mustache, hiding his lips. “We’ll be taking care of you,” Harold continued.
Mr. Jiang sighed, disappointed. Wait just a little more, Mary Anne. “What happened to…hmm–” he scrunched his forehead trying to remember, “-- Dr. AlBani? He was the one taking care of me. I’m quite disappointed,” he gave a dry laugh. “My time was soon to come. I was looking forward to it, but I guess I have to be patient.”
“Well, sir,” Harold gulped. “Your heart did give us a bit of a scare there, but you’re back now. The healthiest you’ve been in a long while. Now, in regard to where you are…” The young man quickly glanced at Dr. Kindword seeking help. Dr. Kindword just nodded. Harold took a deep breath. “Sir!”
Mr. Jiang perked up, instincts he gained in the army decades ago immediately kicked in. He straightened his back and looked ahead. “Yes!”
The young man looked deep into his eyes. Mr. Jiang felt the honesty of that stare. “You don’t have to wait any longer. You’re dead, sir.”
Mr. Jiang’s eyes widened, and his mouth unconsciously hung open. He then slowly tilted his head in confusion. “Dead? Me?”
Harold nodded seriously. Mr. Jiang turned toward Dr. Kindword, who also nodded back. Mr. Jiang burst out laughing, a hearty laugh. As if his whole life depended on it. Literally. Harold joined in, a bit nervously.
“I be damned,” Mr. Jiang wiped his tears and rubbed his ribs against the laughter. “I just thought heaven wouldn’t be so…so…boring! Ha! I died in a hospital, and now I got reborn into another one.”
Mr. Kindword stepped closer to the bed. “You won’t stay here for long, Mr. Jiang. You’ve already gone through the worst. We just want you to regain your strength before you can go to heaven.”
Mr. Jiang looked even more confused and began to shake slightly. “What kind of doctors are you? I mean, I did say I want to go to heaven, but what kind of doctors are so eager to see a patient die?”
Dr. Kindword sat on the bed beside Mr. Jiang’s feet. “Mr. Jiang, you WERE hospitalized before, but your heart stopped. Your other doctors could not revive you. But we did.” Dr. Kindword took a breath and adjusted his glasses methodically, as if he had already given this kind of speech many times before. “This hospital where you are recovering is not heaven per se, but it’s the closest you’ve ever been to it. Here, we take care of the dead before they go to heaven.” Mr. Kindword smiled warmly. “I’ve heard heaven is amazing. Not that I’ve been there yet, of course.” Mr. Kindword patted Mr. Jiang’s leg and left to see another patient three beds away.
Harold gave a slight bow to Mr. Jiang as if to leave, but Mr. Jiang reached out with a strong grip toward Harold. “Is it true? Will I truly go to heaven?” Mr. Jiang looked at Harold with desperate eyes and thought, Did I actually die? Was that what it was? Mr. Jiang had definitely felt something moments ago.
“You WILL go to heaven.” Harold took Mr. Jiang’s hand between his and asked, “If it’s not too much to ask, Mr. Jiang, is there a reason why you are so intent on going to heaven?”
Mr. Jiang’s eyes glazed over, as if he was looking toward himself. Memories of a summer long past flooded his mind, as clear as yesterday. A girl in a light blue dress, hair as brown as chestnut, flowing along the wind. Mary Anne. That name. That name which pushed life into his heart. That name which had haunted him for so long.
“I want to see Mary Anne,” Mr. Jiang finally said.
“Mary Anne,” Harold repeated. “Is that your wife?”
Mr. Jiang gave him a small smile. “I have married twice, Harold. But neither I or them would be thrilled to see each other in heaven! Ha!” Mr. Jiang’s grin broadened. “No, Mary Anne was my first love.” The boy’s eyes gleamed with the excitement of a story to come. Mr. Jiang paused. He usually did not share much about himself with other people. Much less to strangers. But Harold seemed like an honest young man. And he was about to go to heaven, so what mattered anymore?
Mr. Jiang cleared his throat and began, “when I was a kid, I spent my time with my head buried in books rather than playing outside like most of my other classmates. That would change during the summer of my 18th birthday, when I met the love of my life. Mary Anne. It was through her that I learned about the thrills of life that lay outside of books– the butterflies in the stomach during a first date, the excitement of going to the movies, of sharing ice cream, or watching fireworks along the bay.” Mr. Jiang paused; his voice became softer. “All was great until the war began.”
“War!? What war?” Harold exclaimed.
Dr. Kindword stepped in. He did not have to knock on or open a door since there were no rooms separating patients, only curtains. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Jiang. Unfortunately, I’ve been told by our nurses that we need to move people along for the newcomers. I checked your vitals and labs– they’re great. Usually, I let people rest a little more, but would you want to give it a try to stand up and walk?”
“When you say, ‘move along,’ you mean to Heaven?” Mr. Jiang asked seriously.
“Yes,” Dr. Kindword responded.
Mr. Jiang weakly turned his body and slowly sat on the bed. The sign above the double doors reading HEAVEN did not seem as inviting as it should have been moments before. A sinking feeling of failure, now an old friend, was hugging him tight. Insufferably tight. “I can’t,” Mr. Jiang whispered.
“You said you can’t?” Dr. Kindword asked worriedly. “Do you feel too weak to move? Any pain?”
“No.” Mr. Jiang sighed and deflated on his bed.
Harold tried asking this time. “Then what happened, Mr. Jiang? You were so excited to see Mary Anne moments ago!”
Mr. Jiang responded immediately, “I was!” He looked down at his hands sheepishly and added, “I am. But I failed her, I don’t know how I can face her.”
Harold asked, “How did you fail her? I’m sure she would be excited to see you.”
Mr. Jiang eyed his army uniform folded on the stand next to his bed. “I had promised her, ‘Once I return from Vietnam, we’ll build a life together.’ But when I came back…she was dead. She suffered until the end, and I was not there for her.”
Silence hung in the air.
Will you stop crying already and finally come see me? a female voice spoke to Mr. Jiang.
Mr. Jiang looked bewildered, his eyes darting around the room. This voice sounded so familiar. “Who spoke just now!?” Mr. Jiang asked Harold and Dr. Kindword.
The two looked at each other concerned. “I did not hear anybody speak,” Dr. Kindword answered.
You’re gonna tell me you forgot how my voice sounded, JJ? Mr. Jiang sprung up from the bed, as if somebody had just pinched his buttocks. There was only one person who ever called him by that nickname.
♢ ♢ ♢
Harold leaned toward Dr. Kindword and whispered, “Are we just going to let him go?”
Dr. Kindword sighed. “We are.”
“But don’t you think he might be having… auditory hallucinations?” Harold asked worriedly.
“He might,” Dr. Kindword said.
Harold raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to argue further, but Dr. Kindword was faster. Dr. Kindword lowered his voice, “He might. But we need that extra bed– we’re getting backed up with new patients. And look at him now. I don’t know what switched for him but look at his eyes. Are those the eyes of a mad man or the eyes of a soldier?”
Harold didn’t like that response. The hospital should have the best interests of the patient, not of the hospital itself. And about Mr. Jiang’s eyes…Harold had no idea what Dr. Kindword was talking about.
He decided to pay closer attention to Mr. Jiang. The elderly man was fully dressed in his soldier uniform. A dark green jacket, larger than his size. Well, probably his current size. Harold could imagine that 50 years ago, a bigger, younger Mr. Jiang would have filled that uniform. Four golden buttons kept the jacket closed, and a cluster of ribbons and pins lined his chest, left and right. All symbols of his service for the country.
Mr. Jiang’s demeanor was calm, the demeanor of a man who had successfully accomplished his mission, and who could now have the satisfaction of enjoying peace. And finally meet the woman waiting for him.
Mr. Jiang walked toward Harold and Dr. Kindword with confident steps. He still used his cane, but it looked more out of habit rather than from true need. “Thank you both for taking care of me. I’m ready.”
Dr. Kindword nodded and signaled, “This way, then.”
The three of them headed to the double doors with a big sign over them reading HEAVEN.
“Sir, it was a pleasure meeting you.” Dr. Kindword shook Mr. Jiang’s hand.
Harold’s eyes began to water, but he was still able to say, “I hope you meet Mary Anne, sir.”
Mr. Jiang gave him a warm smile. “Thank you, Harold.”
Harold opened the doors, and a warm light seeped into the room. Mr. Jiang took a deep breath, straightened his back, and stepped through them.
Dr. Kindword patted Harold on the back and turned around to check on other patients. Harold kept staring at Mr. Jiang’s back as his silhouette became smaller and smaller. In the far distance, Harold thought he could glimpse the silhouette of a woman standing next to Mr. Jiang, and whether he imagined or not, he heard laughter.
