The New Immortal

In-Between

Where am I? That is my first thought as I awaken from a haze. I can’t remember where I came from or how I got here. I stand up and take in the scene around me, as gruesome as it is. Policeman and medics are everywhere. The whole area I’m standing in has been blocked off with caution tape. There has been a bad accident on the freeway, where I have miraculously appeared. I think the accident was caused by a drunken truck driver. I heard somewhere that drunk drivers usually survive the car crashes they cause because their bodies are in a relaxed state. He looks pretty guilty and is currently being interrogated by the police while the medics treat his mild lacerations. It is the innocent victims that usually die, which seems to be the case for the poor women at my feet. Her body is stiff and her face, completely mangled. I wonder how anyone could identify her. Her body has deteriorated beyond all recognition. She looks almost as bad as her car. It appears to be a jumble of metal. The next thing I see shocks me. I feel my stomach drop. I think I’m going to puke.

“Erica!” I scream. Her face is riddled with cuts. Her arm is in a sling and she wears a look of horror on her face. The police man tries to console her, but he can’t stop her from sobbing profusely. “Are you okay? Oh dear God, how did you get in this accident?”

“Mom! Mom. I want my mom! MOM!” she screams at the top of her lungs in-between sobs. Did she not hear me? How can she not realize I’m here? Maybe she is too distraught.

“Oh, honey. It’s okay. Mommy’s right here,” I say as I move over to hug her, but my hand goes straight through her skin. What just happened? I try it again, but my hand glides through effortlessly. She didn’t even flinch. “Erica, can you hear me. Say something if you can her me!” I shout in peril. Erica doesn’t react, but keeps on sobbing. A wave of fear comes over me. Who was that women on the ground? Slowly, as if walking on glass, I maneuver my way to the dead body. Her face is mangled, so I can’t identify her that way. There is only one way to tell. I crouch down to take a closer look at her left wrist. She’s wearing a silver bracelet that I know all too well. I don’t even have to read the inscription to know what is says. “Sandra Smith. Allergic to bees. In case of emergency, administer Epi-pen.” Well that seems insignificant now. Epinephrine is not going to save me now.

I’m dead! The mangled body covered in blood and glass used to be belong to me. But if that’s true, why am I still here?

Then comes the guilt. My daughter is motherless. She is going to live the rest of her life with an empty space where I should be. Jack can’t take care of her alone. Heck, he can’t even take care of himself! Does he know how to cook? How are they going to survive? I can’t believe I died on them. I am never going to see my daughter graduate high school or be at her wedding. This is horrible! To top it off, my poor baby girl is going to be traumatized from this experience. She must have watched me die right in front of her face! I’m not sure why I can’t remember the accident, but it must have been gruesome.

I come out of my thoughts and back to reality, or what reality must be to the deceased. I think the medics must have given Erica something to calm down because she is now sitting on the curb of the road in some type of trance. I have to find a way to communicate with her. First, I need to find out what I can do. I don’t feel any different. In fact, my whole body looks just like it did before the accident. I should see if I can move anything. When I was alive, I heard somewhere that ghosts could move small objects. Maybe if I could find something small and light, I could draw my daughter’s attention. Then at least she’d know her mom is here and watching over her. I can see it working just like in the movie Ghost, with Patrick Swazie. I always loved the part of that movie when Patrick’s character picks up a penny and at that moment, his wife knows that he is there with her. That’s what I need, a penny.

I search the area looking for small change. It looks like money fell out of my purse during the accident. I search around for a penny. I find one close to the curb where Erica is sitting with her head bowed. I am going to have to get the penny right underneath her to catch her attention. I put a light amount of pressure on the penny and push it. It moves a few inches! Oh my god, this is going to work! I keep pushing in until it is right underneath Erica’s feet. She sees it move and sits up with her eyes bulging out of their sockets. Yes, I got her attention. Now I need to make sure she believes what she is seeing. Slowly, I use the curb to move the penny on top of my finger. To her, it must look like it’s floating. Suddenly, she understands and begins crying. I can’t tell if they are tears of disbelief or happiness.

“Mom,” she says in-between tears, “is that you?”