The Return (17 page)

Now what was I supposed to do? It took me two seconds to make a decision. I had to convince him who I was. If I didn't, I knew I would spend the rest of my life regretting that I hadn't at least tried. Also, I believed the time was ripe for revelations. I believed the Rishi had moved Jimmy to let me read the story.

That was why Jimmy had gotten emotional around me, something I knew he seldom did. I believed the Rishi's grace was all around. I couldn't get over how I had been dead and was now alive. I was so happy.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly. "You look like you've been crying."

I set my picture down. "Yes. But that's all right. Please have a seat. I have something to tell you. You're not going to like what I say at first. You're going to get angry and order me to leave. But if you'll let me continue, then something wonderful will happen. Something beyond words."

He studied me quizzically. "What are you talkingabout?"

"I haven't read all of Shari's book. I don't need to. I know it from beginning to end. But I don't want to talk about particular incidents in the book. You could always say I happened to glance at a particular part and know what happened.

Or else you could say I somehow got ahold of a copy and read it beforehand in order to confuse you."

He sat down on the couch. "You are confusing me. What are you talking about?"

"Jimmy, what do you think of me? I don't mean am I pretty or interesting or boring or crazy. I mean, is there something about me that you find familiar?"

He hesitated. "Yes."

"What is it?"

"I don't know."

"Do I remind you of anyone?"

He lowered his head. "No."

I understood that he was saying yes. But that it was not possible for him to say yes to his suspicion because what he suspected was not possible. Besides, the entire subject of Shari Cooper was so painful for him. I realized I'd have to punch a hole through that pain if I was to stand any chance of convincing him that I had come back from the grave. I took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy.

"I'm going to list a few events that happened between you and your sister. Only you two knew about them, no one else. None of them is discussed in her story.

What I want you to do is just listen as I talk. Don't try to form any conclusions.

Can you do that?"

"Yes. But you already said that you never met my sister. How can you know anything about us that isn't in the book? Have you talked to her friends? To Jo?"

"No. Even Jo wouldn't know the things I'm about to say. Please, just let me talk for a few minutes." I paused for effect. "On Sharps first day of high school she locked the number of the combination of her locker inside her locker. She was so embarrassed she didn't tell anyone what happened. But she came to you at lunchtime and asked if she could borrow some money to buy something to eat because her lunch was in the locker, too. She made you swear you wouldn't tell anyone what had happened and you kept your promise."

"No. I told my mother what had happened."

I jumped in my seat. "You told Mom? Why the hell did you do that?" I stopped myself. Nothing was sacred, I thought. "Never mind. Let me take another example. On the night of your first date with Amanda, just before you went to pick her up, you entered Shari's bedroom and asked your sister how far you should try to go with Amanda. Like should you kiss her or just hold her hand—

those kinds of questions. And Shari told you with a perfectly straight face that you should try to have intercourse with her before taking her to dinner. Do you remember?"

Jimmy sat up. "Yes. How do you know that?"

I raised my hand. "Be patient. When you were fifteen and Shari was thirteen, your parents took you for a trip to the desert. The two of you woke up early and decided to hike to a nearby rock formation. But what neither of you knew was that distances are deceptive in the desert and that the rock formation turned out to be five or six miles away. By the time you got to it you were both exhausted and thirsty. Then, on the hike back, while climbing through a dried ravine, you heard a rattlesnake in the nearby shrubs. Both of you panicked.

You jumped out of the ravine and left your poor sister alone with the snake.

She peed her pants. The rattlesnake looked at her and just crawled away.

Afterward you both realized you had behaved like cowards, and you made a secret pact not to talk about what had happened." I paused. "You never told anyone about that incident, did you?"

"No." He was getting annoyed. "How do you know about it?"

"Let me tell you one more incident, and then I will try to explain myself. This happened after Shari died, but it is not recorded in her story. It did not happen between you and Shari but between you and Mrs. Parish. Listen closely here, it might sound a little confusing. After it became known that Amanda had killed Shari and that she was in fact your real sister, and not Shari, you went over to visit Mrs. Parish, Amanda's mother, who was in reality Shari's mother. While you were there you both talked about how great Shari had been. Toward the end of the conversation you made a touching comment. You said, "I think the things I loved most about Shari were all the things that made her different from me. In a way I'm grateful she wasn't my blood sister because then she wouldn't have been so different. She wouldn't have been who she was, which was the greatest sister in the world." After that you asked Mrs. Parish not to repeat the remark because you feared it would get back to your parents and they might be hurt by it."

There was a strange light in Jimmy's eyes. It was kind of scary, actually. But so is the fine line between fear and hope, pain and joy. It was as if I were being guided directly by the Rishi right then. I knew I had to take Jimmy to a place where he was about to explode before I hit him from just the right angle. I believed I was closing on that place fast.

"How do you know that?" he asked softly, his voice thick with feeling.

"Because I was there with the two of you when you spoke about Shari."

"That's impossible," he said flatly. "We were alone in her house. Amanda was under arrest at the time. How did you know about what happened in the desert?"

"Because I was there."

"I don't understand."

"In each of these incidents, I was there."

He spoke with exaggerated patience. "No, Jean. You weren't there. I would have known if you were there."

"Then how do I know these things? You explain it to me."

"I don't know. You must be lying. You must be a friend of Jo's. Shari must have told Jo these things and Jo told you."

"The phone is right there. Why don't you call Jo and ask her if she knows a Jean Rodrigues?"

His fear increased, as did his anger. "How do I even know your name is Jean Rodrigues? Why are you talking about these things? What are you doing here?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Yes." He stood. "As a matter of fact I do,"

"Not thirty minutes ago you left me alone to read your most private computer entry. Now you're kicking me out. Sit down, Jimmy, I told you what I had to say would make you angry."

He sat back down. "I'm going to give you another three minutes."

"Good. That should be enough. If you were to call Jo, you would discover she knows no one who fits my description. If you were to call Mrs. Parish, you would learn she has never repeated your remark to anyone. Mrs. Parish is an extremely sensitive person. She would say nothing that might hurt your parents."

"So you know her at least? You're admitting that?"

I had to take another breath. "I know her in a manner of speaking. I know all of Shari's friends. I can tell you about them at length. But they do not know me. There isn't one of them who would recognize me." I paused. "Strange, isn't it?"

"Yes. If it's true, but I doubt it is."

"Why do you doubt it? Think about what I've just told you. Think about the things only you and Shari could have known."

"That's not true. Shari didn't know what I said to Mrs. Parish. She was dead at the time."

"No. That's what I'm trying to tell you. She wasn't dead. She was there in that house with the two of you!"

He stood again and pointed at the door. "I want you to leave. I don't know who you are or what you want. I just want you out. Now."

I stood and walked toward the door. But I stopped in front of him, I had to stop. He was my brother, after all, my big brother. My Jimmy. I stopped and rested my open palm on his chest and looked up into his eyes. He didn't brush me off. He appeared to be transfixed by my touch, my eyes—there was a hint of green in them somewhere, I thought. Not that it mattered since he was color-blind. He had not been able to see the color even before I died. How could I hope that he would now? Still, I stared at him and I felt so much love for him that my own vision began to blur and he lost definition in my sight. Then I couldn't even tell what he looked like.

It was then, however, that his face appeared to soften, and not just because of my tears, but perhaps because the old saying about the eyes being the windows of the soul was true. It was then he finally reached up to pull back the curtains a little. He reached up and squeezed my hand in that moment.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"It is me standing here. Just me."

"It was me lying there," he whispered, quoting from my story. "Just me." He brushed a tear off my cheek.

He shook his head sadly. "It can't be you."

"I haven't forgotten you. How can you have forgotten me?"

He got choked up. "It can't be you."

I shook his hand. "Look at me! I'm here in front of you! What does it matter that my body has changed? It's still me."

He wanted to walk away, but I wouldn't let him. I held on to his hand as if it were a lifeline to safety. His head fell forward as if dragged down by weights.

His eyes blinked at the floor. His anger was all gone now. There was just pain and a ray of hope.

"But you're dead," he said pitifully.

"Was I dead when I sat beside you that night and wrote my story? Jimmy, what was that story written for? To let everyone know that death does not exist! How can you have forgotten the main point of the stupid book?"

He shook uneasily, almost talking to himself. "But I didn't write it. I was asleep.

I didn't know what I was doing. I just woke up in the morning and it was there."

"I wrote it!"

"It can't be. It can't be you."

"It is me! Look at me, Jimmy! Just look and you'll see. I've come back. I came back for you."

He looked up. I had the window at my back. Perhaps the light from it reflected on his face. Perhaps an angel brushed a wing over his forehead. I don't know.

All I know is the scale finally tilted between the unequal balance of his longing and his grief. Just one more grain of sand had to be placed on our side, I saw.

But he had to do it, not I. He had to say it.

Master! If you really are there now, please help us.

"Shari?" Jimmy said.

"Yes." I smiled. "You remember me."

CHAPTER XIII

TWO HOURS LATER we were both still talking our heads off and busting our guts laughing. And the funny thing was, it was as if I had never died. It was as if we were continuing a conversation we had started over a year ago. But the reverse was also true because it was the best talk we ever had. Sweeter than any I could remember. Neither of us would have come up for air if Jimmy hadn't suddenly begun to look tired. I commented on the fact and he shrugged.

"I've been working a lot of overtime lately," he said.

"For the telephone company? Still chopping down those telephone poles?"

He shook his head. "Is there nothing you don't know about me?"

"I'm sorry, but this Chicana babe remembers everything about her big brother."

I reached over and felt his head. "I also remember you have diabetes. I think you need your insulin."

He nodded. "You're probably right. You know that was always one thing that amazed me about you. You knew when I needed a shot before I did."

"That's because I'm not color-blind, and I can see when you start to turn green."

"Do I look that bad?"

"No. I'm exaggerating. Are you still taking ten units in the afternoon?"

He stood and shook his head and stepped toward the bathroom. "I had to increase my dosage after you died. The doctor said stress has that effect on diabetics.

I've never been able to bring it back down." He glanced back at me. He was obviously tired but hadn't lost his smile. "It just struck me how odd it sounds to talk to someone about her own death."

"I got used to it on the other side with Peter."

"That's right, good old Peter Nichols." Jimmy stepped into the bathroom and opened his medicine cabinet. "He didn't happen to wander back into a body, did he?"

I hesitated, feeling a lump in my throat. "No. He's still—gone."

Jimmy noticed my tone. "But you know he's fine where he is?"

I nodded. "But you can know one thing with your head and feel something quite different with your heart. I miss him."

Jimmy pulled out a short strip of paper he used to test the blood sugar level of his urine. He closed the door only partway. The simple act meant a lot to me.

He felt comfortable enough with me that he didn't have to close the door completely.

"You'll meet plenty of guys with those tits," he said casually.

I had to chuckle, although the topic made me a little sad. "To tell you the truth I already have a boyfriend. I inherited him from Jean. His name's Lenny Mandez."

"How do you feel about him?"

The question caught me off guard. So did my own answer; it just popped out of my mouth. "I love him," I said.

"Interesting," Jimmy remarked from the other side of the door.

"It is." I had to ask myself why I loved Lenny. He wasn't exactly Shari Cooper's type, not by about ten light-years. There was no question in my mind I had a distinct identity separate from the one Jean had formed over her eighteen years on Earth. Yet I had her memories; they were as much a part of me as they had been of her. When I sat quietly, it was easy to understand how someone like Malcolm X had not been able to pierce through the memory barrier. If not for meeting Jimmy and reading my own book, I doubted if I would have been able to do it. I realized so much of our identity was tied to our bodies, and wrongly, because we were much more than that. Still, the allure of the flesh was strong.