My Afterlife

By David McElwee

My Afterlife will appeal to mature readers fascinated in the beauty of subtle changes like dandelions appearing or the glee when drinking a milkshake while acutely aware of life's unpleasantries. Skeeter McGee shares this intrigue and trepidation with the reader as a small-town genius whose life is truncated minutes before he's to graduate as valedictorian.

During his brief life, curiosity leads Skeeter to identify events and decisions guiding him to those he loves, including a merry-go-round ride resulting in lifelong friendships, a curious connection with a maternalistic junkman, and a simple decision resulting in his own death. However, that morning, he rides his bicycle book bag to deliver gifts to his four best friends.

Years later, three of these gifts (the drumsticks, skeleton keys, and scapular) are instrumental in saving the life of its recipient during adulthood. The fourth, a pair of yellow earrings, sparks an odyssey in which a young woman from a distant city is thrust into an unexpected life.

My Afterlife tethers tragic events and humorous situations to complex human experiences such as faith, death, and social complications encountered by each as time passes during their journey. Hopefully, the reader will reflect on their own life, shaped by important (and unimportant) events and decisions, leading them to ask, "What if...?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887631806

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Part 1

Mannequin and Mystery

Mosquito

Janitor and Junkman

A Matter of Your ABC's

Part 2

Hanley, Deaver, and Joanne

Nearing Graduation Day

Immaculate Connection

Scapular for the Secular

Skeleton Keys

Cleveland Rocks

3 Down and 3 Back

Dandelions

Part 3

Joanne

Headstone

The Last Front Porch Garden

Pane Kats

Keys Need to Be Seen

Judas Gets a Bookmarker

Part 4

An Accidental Investigation

The Setup

Please Take My Advice

The Daze of the Week

About the Author

cover.jpg

My Afterlife

David McElwee

Copyright © 2023 David McElwee

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2023

Cover design by Debra McElwee

ISBN 979-8-88763-179-0 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88763-180-6 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To Phyllis and Jim

Part 1

The probability of you existing at all comes out to 1 in 10 followed by 2,685,000 zeroes. Binazir concludes that the odds of you being alive are basically zero.

Mannequin and Mystery

1977

The young boy lies motionless on the green grass. His hands are crossed at his waist, and his red tie is flat, covering the buttons of his new white dress shirt. His tailored navy-blue suit appears unrumpled, and his shoes shine from the sun's rays. It appears as if a well-dressed mannequin has been placed gently to the ground. The little pug diligently licks the face of the supine boy. The smell of diesel fuel, spilled crude, and smoke mix, forming a caustic concoction to the eyes and nose. The black crude flows from the damaged tanker onto the street, then drains, forming pools in low spots on each side of the road.

Hearing the violent crash and crunch, the only member on duty at the fire hall knows immediately that a serious accident has occurred. Instinctually, Ted looks through the window toward the horrific sound. He witnesses black smoke drifting on the other side of the town's only grocery store. Ted then cranks the alarm of the antiquated system used to send an auditory signal to the town's volunteer response team, indicating an emergency response is required. The muffled horn emits a blat that, experience tells him, cannot be heard beyond the station walls. Between the squirrels, birds, and debris, the speaker is muffled again.

Ted maneuvers the ambulance from the parking garage, then drives forty yards before turning right on Water Street. With sirens blaring, he parks in the intersection at the last stop sign before leaving town. From the four-way intersection, he assesses the accident scene. The tanker has demolished the small old wooden engine repair shop on the right, a gathering place for some to discuss matters of higher importance while drinking beer purchased at the distributor across the street. The tanker continued to skid, finally stopping perpendicular to Route 6, blocking the entrance and exit to the potholed Forest Avenue, which dead ends at Marvin Creek.

Ted sees the glistening silver tanker turned and twisted. The black oil slick sprawls both sides of the road. He watches the smoke rise but feels some sense of relief as there appears to be no active fire. Ted surmises the tanker driver missed the quick arriving left turn at the four-way intersection leading to the oil refinery. But why not just turn around instead of skidding through the intersection? he wonders.

Voices rise from the shambles but are difficult to discern given the hectic scene. Ted observes about a dozen people including Deaver standing around the perimeter of the black oil slick. Amid the confusion he hears, The boy is on the ground over here as the fortunate truck driver covered in oil waves Ted to the location. Given the closest hospital is twelve miles away and the tanker is blocking passage, Ted must improvise and drive around the mangled mess. He cuts through backyards, bushes, and dense brush to join the crowd of five or six gathered around the unresponsive boy. Quickly checking the scene, Ted dispatches Deaver to go to the school to find Ben, the Junkman, Florence, or Hanley and tell them what has happened. He then enlists the truck driver to assist him with lifting, rolling, and securing the gurney into the ambulance. A faint pulse, Ted whispers to himself, speeding from the accident scene.

2001

Joan sits on her bed. The room is dimly lit by the late afternoon sun, which pushes its way through the dark curtains. The pint of chocolate ice cream once full now holds only a well-cleaned spoon. As would be Joan's habit, she seeks refuge in her bed when grappling with major concerns such as relationships, academic projects, or in this case, relocation for a career. Hence, today's problem-solving session is enhanced by the cold ice cream companion.

Joan has two offers for entry-level positions with news organizations. Recognizing her good fortune, the recent recipient of a master's degree in journalism knows a decision must be made. One offer would require her to leave the suburbs and move into the city, writing for a giant newspaper and magazine conglomerate. She loves Chicago, but accepting the offer would result with her initial assignment in the human-interest department. Not exactly her real passion of investigative journalism.

The other requires relocation to Arizona. The position is a pool beat writer for an independently owned Tucson newspaper. She likes the work assignment but wonders about the heat and distance from her parents in Chicago, thus her conundrum.

Despite her desire to investigate, write, and report hard news, she declines the Tucson job. Family and friends are caught off guard by her announcement, and at least one very expensive Gucci handbag is returned as a result. When queried about her decision, Joan states flatly, CSun Media offers me more growth potential given size, networking, and our city's national and international prominence. No one argues hard against Joan's rationales, recognizing the professional drive of the twenty-four-year-old.

Great, that decision's behind me, she thinks, rising from her bed. Joan is compelled to sit back down and returns to a thought that's recently started to visit her. Last week while on a cab ride, she found a book of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales on the back seat. She read the book from cover to cover. Joan liked reading The Princess and the Pea but was perplexed that something as insignificant as a pea could be used to determine the princess's inner beauty.

In the fairy tale, on a stormy night, a young woman arrives at a prince's castle seeking shelter and claiming to be a princess. Unsure of their wet guest's claims, the prince's mother places a pea beneath twenty mattresses as only the sensitivity of a princess could detect the pea while sleeping on the bed. Well, sure enough, the distressed woman reports a terrible sleep, convincing the prince and his mother that indeed she is who she claims. This results in the prince finding his true love. Joan scoffs and thinks, If I were the princess, I would have called bullshit on the mother and the prince and left with the pea.

However, for no discernable reason, after reading the fairy tale, she thinks of it often. Her mind always wanders to the pea. She reflects, Maybe picking this job is my pea, and it represents another side of who I am becoming as an adult. I'm an open book. There are no secrets or skeletons in the closet. Since the day I was born and brought home by my adoptive parents, I've had a transparent life. Joan's thoughts continue to meander, and it strikes her: Why at twenty-four have I never seriously pondered my biological identity until the pea? Does it matter? If yes, why does it matter? Is knowing fair to anyone? Will it hurt my parents? Will knowing change me? And with this cognitive confusion, Joan exits her childhood home in search of a pint of chocolate ice cream.

*****

Because of Binazir proclaiming the odds of being alive as basically zero, one could anticipate the probability of a mathematical meltdown if he were asked to calculate the odds of two strangers born twenty-six years apart to be connected by everyday decisions in discovering an unknown truth. Well, let's start at the beginning with the birth of that young boy who lies motionless on the ground and travel twenty-six years to when a pea sprouts in a story that defies the odds.

Mosquito

1957

Things are looking up for newlyweds Ben and Mary McGee. How fortunate for the couple to have Tim Tucker as their realtor, given he has access to the greatest number of homes in the tri-county area. The McGees' plan is to move a county or two from family to minimize unannounced visits yet close enough to spend holidays and significant events together, if minded doing so.

Listen, let's take the drive and look at this place. It seems the old Irish immigrants raised their six kids to a satisfying result. With the nest officially empty, they are motivated to sell the four-bedroom home and surrounding property at a price not to be ignored. Whoever ponies up the money first will own the house and empty properties that accompany. That's options, options, and more options. Listen, you can't beat it as a starter home and I suppose in the Coley's case, as a finisher as well. But it will not last, ready to roll? the frenetic, fast-talking, hand-waving, well-intentioned realtor asks.

The young couple sit in the back seat of the realtor's new 1957 Chevy convertible enroute to the property. I just got this baby blue a couple weeks ago from a dealership in Pittsburgh, Tim informs the couple as he begins to drive. The brightly dressed realtor narrates their journey across the two rural counties as he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other used as a pointer. He orates with nary a pause and incredible detail the history of the roads, hills, valleys, homesteads, businesses, and people's private affairs during their travels. The couple hear very little said by their verbose tour guide as they're huddled in the back seat quietly discussing their plans, acutely aware of the realtor's penchant for information collection and distribution.

*****

Son, a man who works hard for his money no matter how others value the job will be rewarded, especially when you master the job and don't complain, Paul Connor says, clenching his ever-present pipe between his teeth. I'd be willing to give you a try, but you need to know I don't like much talking, lateness, nor complaining like I said. My help works up to ten hours a day, mostly six days a week. I give you a fair wage for a fair day. We do not work Sundays as we rest paying respects to the Lord in the manner of your choosing.

The pipe smoker continues, You just moved here from a couple counties over, right? You're married with no kids, and you bought the old Coley place on Forest Avenue. It's a small town, and word gets around quick. Matter a fact, one of them boys worked for me for a couple of years. Hard worker, liked to drink too much for my liking but never missed work nor avoided effort. I have a few others working for me mostly managing the timber on my land or working for my construction company. You will meet them in time.

At first you will be working with me on a little project. Matter a fact, it's on your side of town but across the creek in the little wooded area on the other side of the Y. We got to build a road from the bridge down to where we will be constructing a two-room cabin with only electric for a guy named Deaver. His best buddy, a teacher named Patrick Hanley, is a local guy who went to college and returned and handles Deaver's business affairs. They're quite a pair. As the story goes, in high school, Hanley and this feller Deaver struck a friendship, both being avid fisherman, you see. Well, ole Deaver isn't the most well done in the head, but can he fish. And if that don't to beat all, ties the finest flies in the land according to most. The cabin will have two rooms, one for living and the other for tying flies. And get this, Deaver wants a trapdoor on the floor of the second room of the cabin in case he locks himself out, the old codger says, scratching his head through his hat.

However, as these things happen, Hanley shows Deaver's flies around the county where such things are sold, and before you know it, ole Deaver becomes a businessman. Most fly shops this side of Harrisburg have flies by Deaver. As a matter of fact, Hanley told me the other day Deaver got an order from a guy in Nebraska named Cabrilla's or something like that. In short, this leads us to the job. So I'll meet you at the bridge at seven to begin the roadwork. I'll run the chain saw and you clear, bring a lunch and water. Paul and Ben seal the deal with a handshake, then part ways.

*****

Later that evening, Ben and Mary walk the overgrown path behind their new home to the Potato Creek Bridge. They look upstream to the confluence of Potato and Marvin as Ben points to the area he speculates they will be building Deaver's road and cabin. Ben relates the particulars of the job to his wife as they stand on the bridge planning their life together. Mary feigns displeasure and begrudgingly accepts the long hours, knowing they can use the money. Mary is ecstatic and Ben proud he found a job so quickly even though it was her doing.

While waiting in line with a full cart at the town's only grocery store, Mary stands behind a tall gray-haired man dressed for working outdoors. She overhears his lament of his difficulties finding a good worker not afraid of hard labor. The tall gray-haired man obviously knows the cashier, asking if one of her older brothers is looking for work, to which she replies, They are not. Paul nods at her, grabs his grocery bag, and leaves the store. Mary looks at the young cashier, then apologizes for leaving the full cart, stating she forgot her wallet.

Excuse me, sir, she trumpets to the man sitting with his truck door open in the small parking lot. He raises his head slowly, turning toward the voice. The brim of his hat lifts just enough, revealing slate gray eyes. Mary looks at his weathered hands, one holding a lit stick match, the other a pipe. His face is leathery, deeply lined, and appears stern. I'm sorry for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but overhear you say you're looking for a good laborer. She pauses, noticing the only movement is the flicker of the stick match as the man sits motionless and listens. She continues, We're new in town and live right over there. She points between the old repair shop and the grocery store. Still no movement other than the burning matchstick. Well, I think I can help. You're going to burn yourself, she exclaims emphatically.

Oh, don't hurt that much. He drops the charred stick match to the ground and asks, So you any good with a chain saw?

No, she snorts, slightly undignified by the question.

He cracks another match and draws the shredded Five Brothers tobacco red in a billow of hearty smoke. He tamps the embers tight in the pipe's bowl using his calloused thumb and says, Only job I got.

I'm sorry, may I explain? and without formal approval, Mary tells the stoic listener of her recent nuptials, relocating from two counties away, the fast-talking realtor, and Forest Avenue. He listens patiently, nurturing his pipe like a kid with a lollipop, as Mary explains the dreams of the young married couple.

Much obliged for the opportunity, Mr. Connor. Mary smiles and walks across the lot, then disappears down a path lined with tall grass and small trees ending at the avenue. Mary emerges just as Mr. Connor turns right, heading down the street toward the creek. Paul Connor smiles wryly, again scratching his head through his hat, and says aloud, How'd Mary McGee convince me to drive past the old Coley place, then accidently strike up a conversation with her husband about work? Heck, I even offered to drive her to the house and talk with her husband. However, she declines saying, ‘It's best if he gets the job on his own.' If that just don't beat all.

Paul pulls over in front of the house as Mary emerges from the path. As she crosses the empty lot, he thinks, Such a short walk to the store. Paul eyes Ben in the front yard of the house admiring a large maple tree that stands tall on the fresh cut grass. Paul Connor reckons, any man who can admire an old maple tree might make a pretty good worker. Removing his pipe from his mouth, he steps from his truck and walks toward Ben, then says, Howdy, my name's Paul Connor. Mind if I park my truck below your driveway? I'm doing some cutting, clearing, and construction on the other side of Potato and want to walk up Marvin and around the bridge just for perspective. I'm also trying to figure how much help I'll need when I start the job tomorrow. Is that okay with you?

Why yes, sir, go right ahead. I'm Ben McGee. Mind if I walk with you? I just finished up my yard work and could use a walk by the creek to relax, he says, recognizing an unexpected opportunity.

That's fine I suppose, Paul replies, clenching his pipe in his teeth, feeling satisfied with his acting skills.

Ben waves for Mary to join them. Mr. Connor, this is my wife, Mary.

Nice to meet you, Mr. Connor, got to run back to the store. I forgot my wallet, she replies warmly.

You too, ma'am. Paul nods, looking at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

Mary watches as the two men walk briskly down the avenue. In full stride, Mr. Connor cracks another wooden match, then releases a huge plume of smoke. At the end of the avenue, they push through golden rod and other tall grasses, then veer right to avoid a depression, which forms a spring swamp always full of frog eggs. The pair disappear among the gnarled and twisted crab apple trees, sumac, and spruce and happen upon a small area of lawn beside Marvin Creek. Paul stops on the grass, a little perplexed by the vegetative anomaly until Ben clarifies, When Mary and I were exploring, we found it overgrown. With each visit, we'd worked it a little, and the next thing you know, it's a clover patch. Innocently, Ben asks Paul, Sir, do you think anyone will have a problem with it?

I think not, Paul answers, walking down Marvin toward the bridge, feeling satisfied with his role in Mary's charade.

*****

Well, Mary, we got a new house, and now I have a good job. Maybe it's time to start thinking about starting that big family we both want. Ben pauses only to have their gaze suddenly broken by the swoosh of an eighteen-wheeler crossing the bridge. Great guns a-blazing! Ben yells, feeling ambushed by the truck's sudden appearance on the bridge. He instinctually holds Mary close, protecting her from the wind and vibrations as the trucker honks and noisily