Between Heaven and Hell
Chapter Two- Ant farms quickly become ant cemeteries
When I woke up, I was in a bus terminal in Chicago. There was a ticket in my hand and a backpack next to me on the bench I had been sleeping on. It was my backpack, I mean it had my name on it. I brought the ticket up to my eyes and scanned it for information.
I was going from Chicago to Newport and my bus would leave at ten. I looked around for a clock and spotted one hanging above the city map. It was nine fifty five. What day was it?
I looked back at the ticket, 9-27-2009. That was impossible. It could not be September. It was just April 3rd yesterday, my birthday. Something was very wrong. How did I even get to Chicago?
I stood up and immediately regretted it. My head started to spin and my stomach turned over. I sat back down and looked around. There weren’t very many other people waiting for the bus to Newport. I looked down at myself. I didn’t recognize the clothes I was wearing, the ripped jeans and tie die shirt. There was writing all over the shirt, names and messages, a few phone numbers. There was writing on the back pack too. I tried reading some of them but they were in different languages in some cases. A tap on the shoulder made me jump.
I looked up to see an elderly man in a uniform looking down at me, “You finally wake up now, did ya?” He chuckled and helped me up from the bench.
A weak, “What?” was all I could manage. I felt like I hadn’t used my voice in a while.
The old man shook his head and laughed a little more, “Come on or you’ll miss your bus. You’re the only other passenger anyways."
“How long have I been asleep there?” I asked grabbing my backpack and handing him the ticket.
“You and you friends came in late last night making all kinds of noise, but then you bought the ticket and they left. You fell asleep on that bench at about three in the morning,” He answered checking the ticket and nodding to himself.
“I don’t remember,” I answered rubbing my head and yawning.
“Well, you didn’t exactly seem on the right side of sober when you came in if you know what I mean,” He led me towards my bus and motioned for me to get on, “You don’t look nearly old enough to be out on your own with a crowd like that.”
“I’m eighteen,” I answered somewhat defensively.
“Well, I hope you know where you’re going,” he said.
I shrugged, “Home,” I answered mostly to myself.
I turned to set my bag down on the seat then turned back and he was gone. I stepped down back onto the sidewalk and looked around, there was no sign of the old man.
As the bus started off I tentatively opened my backpack hoping to find some sort of clue as to what was going on. I was half heartedly hoping Ashton Kutcher would jump out of the bus bathroom and tell me I was being punk’d. That was highly unlikely though.
Inside my backpack I found some extra clothes, an empty beer bottle, about eighty dollars in ones and fives, a small journal filled with little drawings and symbols that made absolutely no sense, and a tin box filled with pictures.
The pictures were my only clue and I looked through them wildly. I was in every picture, sometimes with other people. There was one of me in front of the statue of liberty, one of me and a group of people eating by the Eiffel tower, and even one of me sitting on a boy’s shoulders at a “legalize marijuana” protest in Canada.
I tried, but I didn’t remember any of it, nothing.
My heart started to beat so fast I thought it was going to give out on me. Panic was quickly starting to kick in. I got a tingly feeling in my spine and it felt like the inhabitants of the entire St. Louis Zoo butterfly garden were living in my stomach. There was writing on the back of the “legalize marijuana” picture. It said; Jess, one word-amazing. See you in Vegas! Ty. I didn’t even know anyone named Ty. I assumed he was the boy in the picture who’s shoulders I was sitting on. What could have been so amazing? I wonder if I ever made it to Vegas.
The world felt like it was upside down and I dove into my backpack again opening every compartment I could find. The only other thing in there was a half chewed pack of gum. This was so messed up.
I leaned my head against the window and tried not to cry to rest of the ride to Newport.
The bus dropped me off on the only road that lead in and out of Newport, the road the church was on.
“What day of the week is it?” I asked the bus driver.
“Sunday.” He answered gruffly, motioning for me to get off the bus.
“Great,” I murmured to myself. Everyone would be at church.
If I really had been gone for nearly six months, then had I talked to my mom at all, did she know where I had been? I just wanted to remember, but I couldn’t.
I made sure to go in the back of the church so that if I chickened out nobody would notice I had even been there. I stopped in the bathroom on the way there to look at myself.
I don’t know what I had expected to see, but I didn’t see the same Jessie I remembered. My hair was still just as long, about half way down my back, but I had bangs and layers and pink streaks now. My face was thinner and there were bags under my eyes. I splashed water on my face and prepared myself as I headed to the chapel.
The hallways in the church were small, and dark. The only light came from the high windows that were tinted different shades of red and blue. I walked slowly down the hall, stumbling a little over a few hymn books left behind from choir practice.
When I reached the chapel door I hesitated.
“The service is almost over, you might as well wait to go in,” the voice came from behind me. I froze because I knew that voice, I had heard it yesterday; only not yesterday, six months ago. It was Ryan. I couldn’t see him, but from his tone I assumed he didn’t recognize me, I barely recognized myself.
I took a deep breath and turned towards him, not sure how he would react. I was expecting him to run to me and hug me and that we would both stand there hugging and crying, and he would tell me everything was okay. Well, I was hoping for it actually.
He didn’t move.
He still looked the same, just like the day that I left, except sadder. His hair was still dirty blond and messy in that cute way, his eyes were still as blue as the ocean, but they were sad. There was a scar along his jawbone and a cast on his right arm.
He recognized me, he had to. I tried to catch his eyes but he wouldn’t let me.
Slowly, he took a step towards me, then another one and another one. He reached his hand out and touched my hair and my face, like he was uncertain if I was real. A tear fell down his face and he sobbed slightly when he inhaled.
“Jess,” his voice was barely audible.
The chapel doors flew open as the congressional music started playing. The silence was quickly destroyed and Ryan dropped his hand from my face.
The chatter and laughter stopped as people realized that it was me, I had never felt so naked and exposed before. A low murmur spread through the crowd and people pointed and shook there heads in my direction.
Hillary saw me first. She put her hand over her mouth in disbelief and started crying. Then my mom looked up and broke out in sobs. She was still inside the chapel doors, I walked towards her and then I saw my picture sitting inside of a casket surrounded by flowers and notes.
I had showed up to my own funeral. I suddenly felt like maybe I should have stayed gone.
