The Heavenly Heart (12 page)

“Just be with her,” Pete says and turns to go. He nods his head for me to follow.

Carla’s on another sphere of what Pete calls “the front porch”. This place is endless. It stretches on forever.

“Hello Carla,” Pete calls out. “I’ve brought you someone your own age to keep you company.”

I step forward and smile brightly.

“Hi! I’m Lorelei. Welcome to h—heav—ah, welcome to—” I stutter.

“To Paradise,” Pete says. “Soon, you’ll see that it is, Carla, I promise.”

“Is there room for me?” I ask.

She nods slightly and pats the big satin pillow she’s resting on. I settle in next to her.

“I’ll be off then,” Pete says. “Let you two get acquainted.

“But Pete, Pete,” I call out after him. “What, ah, what—”

“Order a pizza!—or, maybe some Chinese. Use the bell. You can ring for anything!”

With that he’s gone. It’s true. There’s a bell hanging with a braided velvet rope. I have one too, but I thought it was just for looks, you know, for atmosphere. I find out new things everyday. I yank the rope. It’s like room service. A golden scroll unfolds from a white cabinet. Everything possible to eat is listed. It’s at least ten miles long. The choices are listed in alphabetical order. Heaven thinks of everything.

I turn to see if Carla would like to order something. She’s staring down at Earth, fixated on a park-like setting. It’s very dark and hard to make out just what’s going on. I take a closer look. There’s a large assortment of swings, three slides—each one taller than the one before—a merry-go-round, sand boxes, picnic tables and lots of trees. There’s a full moon. In the corner I see a large shadowy figure moving next to a long row of bushes. The shadow is watching someone cut through the park. It’s a girl. My stomach flips over like a pancake. It’s Carla! She has on the same brown sweatshirt that she’s wearing now. I close my eyes hoping the image will pass. When I open them again, the shadow’s right behind her. He lunges at her and wraps the crook of one arm around her neck. His free arm’s holding something shiny. It glistens in the moonlight. It’s a bowie knife. He places it next to Carla’s throat and tells her not to make a sound.

“Take off your clothes!”

She does exactly like he says. She takes off her jeans and her sweatshirt and puts them neatly on the ground. He tells her to take off the rest. She’s stands there naked with her arms wrapped around her chest. She’s shivering, but I don’t think it’s because of the cold. Her lips are quivering and her eyes are standing outside their sockets. She’s maybe five-foot-two inches tall and by the look of her ribs, weighs maybe ninety pounds. He places the knife against her belly and drags it slowly up to her breasts. He’s disgusting. He licks his lips. His teeth are the color of scum—if scum had a color—and he’s drooling like he hasn’t eaten in days. He rubs the front of his pants and then unbuckles his belt.

“Get on the ground!” he spats, and some of his spittle lands on her chest.

“Now!” he says. His voice sounds like it’s made out of gravel.

Carla lowers herself slowly to the ground and lays on her back with her arms still across her chest.

The man keeps the knife in his hand pressed firmly against Carla’s neck and grunts like a pig. When he’s finished he throws her jeans at her and says to get dressed. She grabs her sweatshirt and does like he says, her fingers shaking with palsy.

“Turn around and count to ten,” he says “And I’ll be gone.”

Carla continues to do like he says. But he lies like a rug. Carla starts counting. Before she even makes it to
three
, he stabs the bowie knife into her back.

He stabs again and again. Carla crumples to the ground. She’s a small and tender heap of flesh riddled with blood. He
keeps
stabbing. The knife has gone through her back and is stuck in the ground.

“Stop,” she says weekly, “Can’t you see?—I’m already dead.”

THIRTY-TWO

The Golden Window

Carla’s had a very difficult life. She got an allowance of ten dollars a week, and her parents never once gave her a credit card,
not ever
. They don’t even have credit cards. I feel so bad. If there were a place to use them up here, I’d give her mine. But, we don’t need them. We can have anything we want for free.

“We didn’t need them down there, either,” Carle says, and points below. “My dad just paid cash.”

“Wow,” I say. I didn’t know people still did that.

Carla’s been in love with Joey Balducci since sixth grade. They were planning to marry and having exactly three children. I know people call that puppy love, but from the longing words that pour from her heart, it sounds like the real kind to me.

She was on her way to his house when she cut through the park.

“We meet every Friday night after my dad falls asleep and my mom goes to work at her night job,” Carla explains. “She’s a waitress. But in the day she’s a dental hygienist,” she adds, proudly.

I’ve never known anyone whose mother waited on other people. My mother said those occupations are beneath us. Carla’s father Ralph’s a mechanic. I’m sure my mother would feel that he’s beneath us too, but who does she think does these important things in the world, like fixing cars and cleaning our teeth?

Carla’s giving me all the details on her life, and I find it fascinating. She knows how to cook and do laundry and change the oil in a car. Cool!  And Joey’s father’s a carpenter, so they’re both learning on weekends how to build decks and he pays them to learn. Carla looks like a hammer would be heavier than her.

“I can drive nails with the best of them,” she says.

I’m glad I have gotten her mind off the Golden Window. Later I’ll tell her that there are other things for her to at look through the window, if she finds she’s like me and doesn’t want to let go. And if her heart can’t heal, I’ll beg Pete to let her have a Silver Window, so she can experience life again with Joey.

We’ve ordered Pizza with lobster. Sounds gross, but they are two of our favorite foods, so I thought why not order it as a combination with lots of cheese and if we don’t like it we’ll order something else, you know?—but we love it!

And now she’s getting to the really interesting parts of her life. She’s had SEX! No one my age that I know personally has had sex, or if they have, they didn’t tell me. I wondered why she and Joey didn’t start having those three children, and she says she’s been taking the pill since the very first time they decided to just go ahead and do it.

“We were getting married someday anyway,” she says.

“What’s it like?” I ask. I’m dying to know.

“It’s hard to explain. It’s the sort of thing you have to experience for yourself,” she says.

“Fat chance of that,” I tell her, and laugh and we both end up with the giggles.

Pete will be so happy that I’ve been able to get her mind off the Golden Window.

“So, how did it go?” he asks when Carla goes off to explore.

“It was great. We stuffed ourselves and I got her mind on other things.”

Like what?” Pete says.

“Like. . .like school, and boys, and stuff and—”

“And?” he says. Curiosity’s sitting on his face like lotion.

And, just stuff,” I say.

If he thinks I’m telling him about the sex part, he can just think again.

“So, do I get the job?” I ask.

“Job?”

“As your assistant?”

“Ah,” Pete says, and chuckles.

“Well, do I?”

“Lorelei, you can’t hang around here forever,” he says, and points upwards. “The Big Guy’s waiting on you.”

“Well, please ask him to wait awhile longer. There’s stuff I still want to do.”

First, I want to find out if Andy’s okay and will think and talk and be like he used to be. And I want to take Carla to the Nursery of Lost Kisses and Hugs. She misses her little brother Dillon and her little sister Delia. I know she’ll help me find whatever type of sibling I have.

THIRTY-THREE

The Golden Window

I tell Carla I’ll be gone for awhile and tag along with my father to see the man who has my corneas. I’m hoping Carla won’t ask specific questions. I haven’t told her the bit about my organs because maybe she’d feel bad. I’m sure her parents couldn’t consider donating hers. They were in terrible shape.

She did ask how I got here.

“I can’t really remember, but I’m working on it,” I say.

She nods her head.

“Will you keep an eye on Miss Lily for me while I’m gone?” I ask. “She’s really sweet.”

“Why not?” she says. “I haven’t got anything else to do, except maybe check out the Stairs to the Hereafter. They look cool.”

I hope she won’t do that too quickly. I’m really enjoying her company.

“Just be careful,” I warn her. “If you go too far, there’s no coming back.”

“Pete didn’t tell me that,” she says, a frown on her face.

“Probably because you didn’t ask—I’m sure he wasn’t trying to trick you. He’s a pretty nice guy.”

That makes me think of Miss Lily and how tender he was to her when she got here. I ask Carla to watch out for her while I’m gone.

“Sometime Miss Lily gets all weepy about her husband,” I explain. “He’s down there,” I whisper and point to a dark cloud we can see deep below the earth. “If she does, just order up croissants with butter and strawberry jam. That’s her favorite.”

I’m off.

Then I remember something and call to her over my shoulder.

“I have a great surprise for you when I get back. If you go to the Stairs to the Hereafter, don’t step on any one permanently!”

She says she won’t. Pete’s great, but it’s so nice to have a friend my age around again.

*     *     *

An old man has my corneas. He’s all excited because his great-granddaughter Rory is getting married and he’s going to walk her down the aisle. That’s because her father’s not around. He left Rory and her mother for another woman years ago, and her grandfather’s dead.

Her great-grandfather, the one who’s got my eyes, lives in Cincinnati. My father’s taken him to a nice restaurant, Bistro at Harper’s Point. His name is Norman Edward Powell. He’s eighty-three years old. Rory better be getting married very soon.

My father’s having crab cakes. Mr. Powell’s ordered Chile-glazed Salmon, which looks gross. After a very boring dinner, my father takes Mr. Powell back to his apartment. He’s fiddling on his computer, Mr. Powell, not my father. It’s kind of neat. I mean he’s this old man and he’s computer literate—amazing. I snoop around his apartment. Why not? He’s got a small color television. An old upright piano loaded with pictures of what must be various family members. There’s a corduroy recliner placed smack in front of the television, a plain green sofa and a brown tweed side chair with a foot rest. He has some newspapers tucked in a magazine rack, so my eyes must be working well for him. Of course he wears glasses that are thick as coke bottles, but the important thing is he can see for the first time in years. His kitchen’s the size of a postage stamp and has a tiny stove with two burners, a refrigerator meant for Barbie, and a drop leave table against a window. His bedroom has a double bed, a dresser without a mirror and a rocking chair. There are hand made doilies on the dresser. Both windows are wearing shades—that have turned yellow—pulled completely down, so the room’s not only dreary, it’s dark as well. I decide I’ve seen enough and hope he’s very happy with my eyes. Before I leave I take a quick peak at what he’s doing on the computer. My father has left, and the old man’s eyes (mine, sort of) have been glued to the screen ever since. When I find out what he is watching, my eyes nearly fly out of their sockets.

Mr. Norman Edward Powel’s zeroed in on a pornography site. It has women of all shapes and sizes who appear to be wrestling with donkeys! Or maybe worse. I look away quicker than you can sneeze.

Mr. Powel has his zipper down. He has one hand on the keyboard, but I will not discuss what he’s doing with the other one—period.

I think I’m major sick to my stomach. I think I made a mistake in coming here. And for sure I think my corneas should be recalled immediately.

THIRTY-FOUR

The Golden Window

Before I re-join Carla, I check in on Mona. Andy’s home! And he’s doing just fine. It seems children can sometimes survive under water for a longer period of time than you’d ever expect—something to do with their body temperature dropping to levels that don’t require the need for as much oxygen to the brain. Even though the weather wasn’t cold the day he climbed into the pool, the water was cold enough to lower Andy’s core body temperature. This is the best news!

Rita and Mona and their husbands and the kids are having a cookout. They’re grilling chicken. They’ve got potato salad and three-bean salad and heaping glasses of iced tea. And there’s cupcakes and milk for the kids. Bobby and Allison are licking the frosting off their cupcakes and Andy has more of his on his face than in his mouth. Bradley’s running circles on the lawn, with a new puppy at his heals.

The pool has a brand new cover anchored properly in place. That’s not going to keep a child from sliding under, given the right circumstances, but it’s a good start. Inside the house, locks on the doors have been bolted in place near the top. That should keep Andy inside until an adult decides to slide the bolt back and open the door. I’m relieved. I don’t like to think about what would have happened if Mona hadn’t been there—if Mona had not been
alive
to be there! My kidney not only saved her life, it saved Andy’s as well. I’m beginning to see that organ transplantation is like a ripple of water. It has far-reaching affects. Generations to come that might not have been will be able to be here—heavy stuff.

Rita picks up her glass of tea. “A toast,” she says, and turns to Mona. Their husbands join in.

“To Mona, who saved our precious Andy!”

“Hear, hear—to Mona!” Rita’s husband says. I think his name is Jon. “We are forever grateful. Hear! Hear!”

“
Where? Where?
” Bobby raises his glass of milk, slopping a good portion of it onto the picnic table. He’s a little ham.