Small Stuff

     My laptop is still being held hostage in a pawn shop, so I'm updating today from my phone. I'm going to post the beginning of an unfinished story I started writing back in 2011. I woke up in a cold sweat after having the most vivid dream, and I immediately started writing it down.  This is what I was able to get down before the dream slipped from my mind.  I know it ends kind of abruptly, but as I said, it's unfinished.  Let me know in the comments what you think! I hope you enjoy!

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     They say not to sweat the small stuff, that the unimportant minutiae of your life won't matter at all when you're gone. They, whoever 'they' are, don't know how right they are. Details are unimportant. The only things that matter, the only things you take with you, are the things that reach you on a deep level. Only the most important things, the details that touched your soul, matter enough to make that final journey with you.

     I don't remember how I died, I don't remember how old I was, or the name of my boss, or even what job I had. I don't remember where, exactly, I lived, or where I ceased to live. I only knew three things for certain during those first few confusing moments. I am me, I am dead, I am loved. Details.

     Death is confusing, that's really the only word that describes it. Oh, the time leading up to it can be any number of things; painful, scary, relaxing, the whole gamut of human emotions and experience. But the actual moment of death, the moment when you cross over from this world to the next, is confusing. I remember a jumble of images. Thoughts, feelings, memories, sights,
sounds, smells and a cat all swirling around me in a maelstrom of chaos and confusion. I couldn't make sense of any of it, but I knew it all pertained to me.

     Like a thread tying all these loose images together, a theme ran through everything. Me, I was the center of it all. As my befuddled mind came to that realization, the chaos died down, and I found myself standing at a crossroads. The first thing I noticed were my clothes. My old favorite boots, most comfortable pair I ever had, fresh and whole even though I knew for certain that they had been worn down to the soles for years. A pair of khaki cargo pants, with big pockets. The comfortable weight of my old blue backpack hanging from my shoulders. And a Hawaiian shirt, its riot of colors almost as loud and confusing as the maelstrom that brought me here.

     Here. After taking stock of myself (and being pleasantly surprised to find a tin of Altoids in my shirt pocket) I took stock of my surroundings. I was standing at a crossroads of a couple of two lane highways, meeting in the middle of nowhere. Fresh cotton and golden corn fields lined the roads on all sides, I could see distant mountains on the horizon and I could hear flowing water somewhere nearby. It was a pleasant day on a nondescript stretch of road that could be
anywhere, and I was alone.

     Alone. Something about that thought bothered me. Not a feeling so much as a lack of one, a weight or a presence missing, something that should be here with me but wasn't. I was missing something, something important, but, for the life of me, I couldn't remember exactly what. Well, nothing I can do about it right now, I told myself, no sense in worrying. But I did worry.

     Before that nagging feeling could become a real concern, I heard the rumble and sigh of a large engine lumbering down the road towards me. The bus resembled an old white and blue school bus, the kind my high school show choir used to take to competitions. The bus had an old, faded picture of a gondola, like the rafts used in Venice, complete with a man standing in the back with a large pushing stick, painted on the sides, and the doors rolled open as the bus rumbled to a halt in front of me.

     I got on, smiling at the friendly looking old man in the black suit behind the wheel, who smiled back at me in pleasant surprise. Never hurts to be polite, as my mom used to say. I stopped at the top of the stairs, and told the nice man that I didn't have any money. He didn't say a word, just winked at me and pointed to the back of the bus with his thumb. I took the hint and made my way past semi crowded seats full of people, some silent and staring, some having muffled
conversations, towards the back.

     I found an open seat, stuffed my bag on the rack overhead, and sat down. There were perhaps another dozen people on the bus with me, all ages, male, female, white, black. Even a scared looking latino woman cooing to a baby in spanish near the front row. None of the other passengers seemed to want to chat, so I settled back on the comfortably uncomfortable seat and stared absently out the window as the bus got moving again.

     I watched the golden fields swim past the window in the afternoon sun, the flow of the horizon only disturbed once as the bus crossed a narrow concrete bridge over a large flowing river. The bus had been moving for perhaps an hour when the sun began to set, the sky turning a brilliant shade of red speared with golden rays of dying sunlight, I remember thinking it was one of the most beautiful sunsets I had ever seen.

     Like most of the passengers, I stared out the window as night fell, our ever silent driver piloting us with the ease and practice of someone many comfortable years at his job. When it got too dark to see the endless fields I turned to my fellow travelers, noticing that the latino woman had gotten her baby to sleep. Good, I thought, sleeping seems like a good choice right now. I grabbed my backpack from overhead and curled protectively around it, more out of habit than anything else, before laying my head against the window and letting the motion of the bus
lull me to sleep.

     The ride must have been smooth, because I didn't wake until the next morning, when the bus hissed to a stop in front of a large, off-white building. The building had strange way of reflecting the morning light. It had a glass front and a permanent sign hanging over the large open double doors that read, simply, Welcome. I gathered my meagre belongings and made my way to the front of the bus, bidding the thin driver safe travels as I waited my turn to jump down the stairs. I was rewarded with another pleasantly surprised smile, though he still didn't speak.

     "You must be special!" Came the voice of a cheerful woman in a white uniform who greeted me as soon as I was on the ground. "Old Che's been doing this rout for longer than I can remember, but I can count on one hand the number of times he's taken an interest in a passenger. Always means something interesting is gonna happen around here soon." She trailed off for a moment, her eyes alight with possibilities. "Oh well, no matter now. Welcome to the P.G. center, Mr. Davidson, your *ahem* gateway to The Summerland Resort.

     "The what now?" I was confused again. "Where am I? I think I'm missing something, I think I may have..." 

     "Died?" She said in a bright voice. "Don't worry Mr. Davidson, a little confusion is normal, thats what I'm here for! My name is Anna, and it's my job to get you settled happily in your new surroundings." She stuck out her hand, which I shook, noting how warm her skin felt. "Let's get the important bits out of the way first, easier that way, trust me." She winked at me conspiratorially. "Besides, I don't think you're going to have much of a problem grasping the finer bits, you seem pretty smart, at least Cheron thought so."

     She produced a clipboard from who knows where and proceeded to rattle off questions while my mind was still reeling with confusion. And always, there was the nagging feeling of missing something important. 

     "You are Mr. Byron Davidson, Born to Debbie and David in march of 1983, correct? Good." She consulted something on her clipboard. "You seem to be a genuinely nice person, a few minor infractions here and there, but nothing to worry about. You shouldn't have a problem passing through. which is a relief, trust me, you wouldn't believe the kind of stuff I see on here with some people." She tapped her board with a pen, glancing up at me with another welcoming smile. "And they all want to know why they just cant pass right on through, like we owe them something! Sheesh, can you believe it? Anyway, back to business."
...

To Be Continued...

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     I know it's unfinished, but I'm posting it here because I kinda want to finish it, and leaving something unfinished where people can see it is a great motivator. Anyway, back to exams for me! (Yay!)