Ascension

They don’t tell you that when you die, there’s a brief moment where you’re suspended in time. Floating. Waiting. Hoping you’ll transition into the next state of being quickly.

The day I died was like any other. I woke up, got dressed, and barely had time to snag a half-buttered piece of toast before running out the door to catch the bus. I was only fifteen. A baby, really, when it happened.

I went to school, kept my head down. I didn’t want to be noticed. I wasn’t popular, not by any stretch of the imagination. But at least I wasn’t clumped into some subhuman category by the high school elites. In fact, I doubted they were even aware that I existed.

My only claim to fame—if you could even call it that—stemmed from my time spent on the soccer field. I was a halfway decent player. Honestly, I was probably one of the better players on the team. I was a defender; my job was to keep the ball as far away from the goalie and net as possible. I wasn’t afraid of a little confrontation. Not on the soccer field, at least. It made me brave, I supposed, or maybe stupid. It was anyone’s guess.

I was in the middle of a soccer game, playing what felt like the longest, most ridiculous game of footsie ever, when I fell limp. The girl who had been trying to get the ball past me saw my collapse as her opportunity. She sped by and took a shot. Georgia, our goalie, almost stopped her, but the ball slipped right through her fingers at the last second. I cursed.

It was only then that I realized that something wasn’t quite right with this picture. My body was still sprawled out on the grass, my eyes closed, and yet I was standing up straight and watching everything go down with a keen eye. It was in the next instant that I noticed my feet weren’t touching the ground. Instead, they were hovering a few feet above my body; they were still fully clad in my soccer cleats.

Finally, other people recognized that something was wrong; they realized I still hadn’t gotten up. A few adults shouted. The girls on the field looked my way, their mouths agape. My dad and older brother jumped off the bleachers and ran to me, both of their faces extremely pale. My dad’s was pinched tight, his eyes concerned. The athletic trainer came next with her medical bag swinging against her hip. She dropped down next to my still form.

She listened for a heartbeat. Nothing. She checked again. She started chest compressions. Nothing. She looked at my family.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

My dad shook his head. Told her to check again, to do something, anything.

“She’s gone.”

The next thing I knew, something even more bizarre happened. My brother started crying. No, he was sobbing. Dad got to his knees and reached for me, cradling my body to his chest, and rocking back and forth. I looked at my family, wanting to comfort them, but not knowing how.

I thought of all the things I’d never get to do. Never get to see, smell, touch, taste, or hear. I thought of Billy, the cute and tragically awkward boy who blushed every time he saw me. I had thought once about putting him out of his misery by taking the first step and asking him out on a date. But I didn’t do it. Why, I wasn’t sure exactly. Maybe for some silly reason I thought he’d turn me down and I was convinced that I wouldn’t be able to handle the rejection well. Now I’d never know.

College came to mind. I had intended to study history and art. I wanted to work as a museum curator, in someplace like the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C. That wouldn’t be happening.

Eventually, down the road, I had considered starting a family. My mind—or spirit? I wasn’t entirely sure anymore—conjured up images of the children I’d never get to have. For some reason unbeknownst to me, the little boy I imagined looked a heck of a lot like Billy; he sported short, dark, curly hair, freckles, and little round glasses.

And then, out of seemingly nowhere, a bright light appeared. I had watched enough TV shows and movies to realize that that light was probably meant for me. Was I just supposed to walk right in? Should I knock first? Could I even knock first? I decided to take my chances and just walked right in unannounced. After all, what was the worst that could happen? I was already dead.

When I made it past the bright light, I looked around, and was shocked to see that I was in a place that resembled a hotel lobby. A single elevator sat next to the reception desk. A man with dark skin and kind brown eyes smiled at me.

“Hello, you must be Tilly.”

“Hi.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I’m Gabriel. I’ll be helping you get to where you need to go.”

“Okay.”

A chair appeared next to me. I sat in it. Gabriel typed on the computer that suddenly became visible to me. Odd, that even in Heaven—or wait, maybe this place was Limbo?—technology still existed.

“Gabriel?” I hesitated. He glanced up.

“What happened to me?”

He looked at me sympathetically. “Your heart gave out. You’ve had a heart defect for a while now, but you weren’t presenting any symptoms, so no one knew to treat it.”

“Oh,” I said, nodding. I stopped speaking and Gabriel went back to typing.

“Good news!” Gabriel said suddenly. “You’re heading up. If you follow me to the elevator, I can show you which button you’ll need to press.”

I followed him. He told me I’d need to go to floor 201. A lady would greet me there, and she would help me with the transition. I didn’t argue.

“Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” Gabriel replied.

I pressed the button and held my breath. Here goes nothing.

I ascended.