What Happens When You Die?

Mikey came over this morning.

I was laying in bed staring at the ceiling.

Nothing new there.

He practically broke down the front door.

If I wasn’t so numb inside I wound have been angry.

I heard him walk up the stairs and come closer to my room.

Good thing I locked the door.

He knocked softly.

“Frank? You in there?”

I kept as quiet as possible.

Silently hoping he’d go away.

I didn’t want to talk to him.

I didn’t want to hear his voice.

I didn’t want to see his face.

He reminds me too much of him.

And that hurts me.

Everything hurts me now.

Sleeping.

Because I dream of him.

Being awake.

Because everything reminds me of him.

Living

Because he’s not here anymore.

Mikey stopped knocking.

I couldn’t hear anything.

But I knew he was still there.

After a while of silence I heard him sigh.

“I know you’re in there Frank. Please open up.”

I came to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to leave and if he wanted me to open the door then I’d open the door.

But that doesn’t mean I’m going to talk.

I opened the door.

“Thank God Frank.”

Mikey smothered me in a hug.

Usually I’d push him off and say something sarcastic, but I just don’t have the strength anymore.

So I just let him hug me while I stood there limply, arms resting at my sides refusing to hug back.

Mikey let go of me, took a step back and took in my appearance.

“You look horrible, Frank.”

And I’m sure I did.

“I’ve never seen you so skinny before. When was the last time you ate?

Instead of answering his simple question with an equally simple, but true, answer of “Not in a long time.” I just stood there and looked at the ground.

“Frank?”

I took in the details of my carpet. It was red with a stain of what looked like purple soda pop.

“Frank are you okay?”

The red color wasn’t as bright as it once was but I still think it’s pretty.

Mikey sighed.

“Why don’t you lay down. I’ll go make you something to eat.”

He walked back down the stairs and I laid down.

And while I laid there, suffocating in silence, I thought.

I though about my questions.

I though about my inner battle with my questions.

And then I thought about the question.

Then all the other questions seemed to fade as I wondered:

What happens when you die?