MY STUBBORN AFTERLIFE

 

My name is Sara Grace Hall, and I don’t believe in fairy tales. I am 17 years old, and fairy tales are something made to put people to sleep if they have sleep problems.

I’ve heard my mother read my little sister, Paige, fairytales at night. Paige is only 8; she’s been having nightmares and sudden chills in her sleep from them. We’ve sent her to sleep researchers since she was 6. The results were that she has an anxiety disorder. My little sister, with an anxiety disorder. 

It sucks watching her jolt awake in her sleep, screaming. What sucked even more was that she would cry so hard after. She’s only 8. 

I’d do anything for my family. Anything. The only problem was that it came with a cost. I paid the same cost as my oldest sister, Olivia.

 

“Sara. Sara! Sara Grace!” my mom yells.

She opens my curtains, letting sunlight into my room. 

“Well would you look at that! It’s snowing! Looks like Minnesota is finally acting like Minnesota!” my mom exclaims.

I groan.

“Get up, Sara.” my mom says. 

She shuts my door, and leaves me to get ready. 

I hit my phone and music starts playing. I curl my light brown hair, then swishing it up in a ponytail. I put on a little bit of makeup, such as mascara and eyeliner. Nothing big and fancy.

I slip on a pair of clothes, and go downstairs. I put on my long coat and tan uggs, and eat my bagel.

"Come on, Sara! Kelly and Erica are here to pick you up!” my mom yells.

I grab my backpack and run into the blizzard. I jump into their Jeep and close the door immediately. I shake the snow out of my hair, and set my backpack down on the floor. Kelly and Erica are my best friends.

Kelly and Erica are identical twins. They have blonde hair and light skin tones. Kelly has grey eyes and Erica has green eyes. That’s the only way you can tell them apart. 

Kelly holds the record for being the one person who’s never gotten a tardy or missed a day of school. She’s never gotten lower than an A-, and she’s trying to be valedictorian.

“Hey!” Kelly exclaims.

“What’s up, loser?” Erica says from the backseat. 

“Nothing.” I say.

“Really?” I ask Kelly when I look at her outfit.

Kelly is wearing a pink tank top, a black skirt, white pumps, and a red, thin cardigan. 

“It’s February, hon. It’s almost Valentine’s day!” she exclaims.

“Ok, whatever. Just drive.” I say.

The car lurches forward, pushing me into the seat. 

“Jeez, Kel.” Erica says.

"Stop backseat driving!" Kelly says.

“There’s ice coming up.” I say suddenly, interrupting their fight.

“I’m fine, Sara.” she says. 

“Seriously, Kel.” I say.

“I’m serious!”

She steps on the brakes and the car slides forward a little bit at a red light. She laughs a little, and pushes my shoulder playfully.

“That’s it. I’m driving.” I say.

“But-we’ll be late!”

“We’ll be on time and alive when I’m driving!”

“But I won’t get the award!”

“It’s a red light. I can drive from here so get in the passenger’s seat or else I will PERSONALLY kill you!” I yell.

She gets out of the car and nearly trips in her giant shoes. I slip into the driver’s seat just as Kelly gets into the passenger’s seat. The light turns green and I start to drive, being careful of the ice.

“Speed up!” she yells.

“I am keeping you alive.” I say, slowly stepping on the gas.    

“Someone had a little too much coffee this morning.” Erica says to me.

“Shut up.” I reply, laughing.

Minutes later, we arrive at the school and Kelly bursts out of the car, half-running into the school.

Erica gets out after her, actually running to the school to make it into the bell on time. Erica just wants to make it to college. She doesn’t care about valedictorian. She wants a good education.

I get into the school just in time as the bell rings. I hate the noise. It reminds me of the fire alarm. 

When I was 8, there was a fire in our old apartment. My dad died in the fire. My mom was pregnant with Paige. I cried for days. Then Paige was born and everything turned around.

I slip into my seat just as class starts. My first class is philosophy. When I signed up for this class, I thought it was the science behind things. Maybe I should have looked up the definition first. I have this class with Kelly.

“Today, class, we are learning about the afterlife.” says my teacher, Mrs. Jobe.

“What’s there to learn?” I ask.

“Miss Hall?”

“There’s nothing to learn. It’s a myth and nobody can prove it exists.”

“Yes, we can. People have gone there and come back.”

“But has there been scientific proof?”

    “Well-”

“It’s a yes or no question, Mrs. Jobe.”

    Her face is purpler than a plum, and her knuckles are whiter than the blizzard outside. She takes a deep breath, and sighs.

“No.”

    “Then the afterlife isn’t real.” I say.

“Sara.” Kelly says. I look over and she mouths, “Don’t push it.”

I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. 

“Miss Hall, if you do not have a question about learning, I will advise you to follow along.” she says. Her face dies down to a subtle red and her knuckles return to their original form.

I roll my eyes, and pull out my textbook. I could swear that the after life isn’t real. The afterlife is a myth that has never been busted.

    School goes on. Class after class, minute by minute. After Kelly and Erica take me home, I see Paige rocking back and forth on my bed.

 

    “Paige, what’s wrong?” I ask when I come home.

    “I’m exhausted. I can’t sleep.” she says. 

    “Paige?” I ask.

    She won’t look at me.

    “Paige.” I say. I put my hand on her chin and shift it towards my face. Her eyes are red and bloodshot and she looks absolutely terrified. 

    “Please don’t tell mom.” she whispers.

    I shake my head and get eye drops from the bathroom.

    “It’s gonna be cold, but it’ll help.” I say.

    I drop it in, and she shivers uncontrollably. I feel her ice cold feet and take her temperature. 

    “You need meds.” I say.

    “What?” she asks.

    “Medicine. Have you been, oh I don’t know, throwing up?” 

    “Last night.” she says.

    “You need actual medicine.” I say.

    Paige has the flu that has been spreading like pink eye, and mom is currently asleep on the couch. I have to get her meds. 

    “Mom! Can I use the car?” I ask.

    She tosses me the keys from the couch she hasn’t left in 2 hours.

     I grab my purse and my phone and get into the Nissan. I start the ignition, and turn the heat all the way up. The windows fog up, and I wipe them clean. I pull out of the icy driveway, and start on the highway. The closest CVS is two towns over. 

    I click on the radio, and keep both eyes on the road.

    “Do you have dry, cracked, or peeling-” I change the station.

    “Do you constantly have dry lips? Well-”

    “Folks, it is COLD outside today. It is at a chilly 16 degrees and icy on Highway 40. If you are driving on Highway 40, please drive safe.” it says.

    “I know.” I whisper to myself.

    I look ahead into the window. Black ice. I feel the car slip and slide. I slowly veer off to the side of the road. I got my license a few months ago; I’ve never driven in a Minnesota winter. I take a few, deep breaths, and pull out on the road. 

    I start ahead slowly. I look in the rearview mirror and see a black Kia sliding towards me on the ice. I grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn a pasty white. The horn honks loudly, and the car’s not slowing down.

    There it is; the impact. I feel the seat crush me against the steering wheel, and the airbag slams into my face, making me dizzy. I hear my heart race in my chest. The world starts to spin and my stomach does somersaults. The car flips and tumbles, while the glass cuts my cheek.

    I hear my heart slowing down, and feel the car stop moving. The radio stutters suddenly, and hot, sticky blood rolls down my cheek. I feel hurt all over, and all I can taste is blood. 

    A faint smell of gasoline is enclosing around me, and people stop their cars.

    “There’s someone in there!” someone shouts.

    “HELP!” I shout.

    “It’s gonna blow! Step back!” someone else yells.

    “Help me!” I scream again. 

    I hear a faint ringing, a fire alarm, and see the orange-yellow spikes of fire.

 

    I jolt up in my blankets. I don’t hear my heart racing like it did. In fact, I don’t hear my heart at all. I hold my palm to my chest and search for the steady beats. I look at my alarm clock. 9:49 a.m. It’s tomorrow. I put my legs down on the floor, and slowly walk down the stairs. 

    I poke my head around the corner, and see a police officer. He holds a small box, and gives a stack of papers to my mom. She looks through them and I see her cry. Is it about dad? 

    I put my hand on mom’s shoulder. I look more closely at the papers and realize that it’s a death certificate-for me. ‘Cause of death - Asphyxiation from smoke.’ It reads. I died. I legitimately died. 

    I run up to Paige’s room where she sits, crying. 

    “I’m right here.” I say, but she doesn’t look at me. She can’t see me. 

    She coughs for a few seconds, and I suddenly realize that I never got her cold medicine. I was supposed to get her medicine. 

    I go upstairs to my room and throw on a pair of shoes and jeans, and go outside. The frigid air stings my teeth and lungs as I walk down the frozen sidewalk. In all the movies and books I’ve seen, if you die and come back to life, you have unfinished business. I decide to walk down to Kelly and Erica’s house. A snow covered police car is in the driveway, so I make the decision to keep walking. 

    Snowflakes bite my ears and cheeks, and I see the grocery store at the end of the road. My hair trails behind me as I run to it, being careful to not step on chunks of ice. 

    “Jack’s Food Mart.” I whisper.

    I step through the doors, and heat gently touches the snowflakes on my coat and in my hair. Nobody greets me when I walk in the door, like they always did when I was little. They just stand there, like I’m invisible.

There has to be medicine here somewhere. I walk down every aisle, scanning the shelves at least twice. At the bottom of the shelf, there is a small bottle of Children’s Cold & Flu. I snatch the bottle, and run back home.

When I reach the door, I hear mom’s screams. She cries uncontrollably. 

“17. 17!” she cries. 

As I gingerly walk through the front door, I see her curled up in a ball on the floor, littering it with snotty tissues. For every year since I was 13, I was convinced that my mom didn’t care about me or Paige. Now, however, I see that she truly did care. With her long, black hair and mascara tears dripping down her face, she doesn’t look like my mom. She looks like a woman who just lost her daughter. 

Holding back tears, I quietly go up into Paige’s princess room. The pink walls, princess stickers littering the walls, and the stars on her ceiling all make me want to stay for her. I look to her bed, and see her quietly sleeping. Her snores are peaceful, like she’s dreaming of clouds, and twirling in a pink ball gown. I set the medicine down on her nightstand, grab a sharpie and sticky note, and write, “From your big sister - lots of love, Sara.”

All of a sudden, I see a bright light and a shining glass staircase in front of me.