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.
I could close my eyes and feel exactly how Jean had felt on her first day of high school—she had been stoned, naturally—and what it had been like to make love to Lenny for the first time. The latter experience had been more satisfying than my one roll in the hay with Daniel. Lenny, at least, knew what it took to please a girl. Or he used to know, I reminded myself. I had to see him soon. I missed him.
"Damn," I heard Jimmy mutter.
"Did you pee on your hand?" I asked.
I giggled. "I'm glad you're testing your sugar level and not estimating like Amanda advised that night."
He popped his head out of the bathroom door.
"You were there that night?"
"Of course I was there. You read that in the book. I saved your life, brother."
He shook his head again. "I have no doubt you're Shari, but it's still taking me time to absorb it all." He paused. "What did you see that night?"
"Are you asking if I saw the two of you screwing?"
"I never did it with Amanda."
"Gimme a break. When I got to our house that night the two of you were wearing bathrobes and nothing else."
"We didn't do anything."
"Yeah, right, sure. Why are you embarrassed to admit it? Is it because she turned out to be your sister?"
"Reread your own book, Shari. You will see we definitely did not have sex.
Besides, what about you and Daniel?"
"I never did it with Daniel."
"Sure you did. It's in your book."
I was dumbfounded. "I put that in my book? God, you're right. You know I only wrote that because I was dead at the time. We've got to take that out."
"We've got to take out the part about Amanda and me. Even though we didn't do anything."
"No. We can't do that."
"Why not?"
"It's a major plot point. Daniel—he was just a minor character. The story doesn't revolve around whether I had sex with him or not."
Jimmy was worried. "You're not thinking of trying to get that story published?"
"I have to get it published. It's part of my mission on earth. To enlighten humanity about profound spiritual matters."
"But you can't publish that story."
"Don't worry, Jimmy. We can tone down things between you and Amanda."
"No. That story can't go out in that form. Mom and Dad will hear about it."
"Is that so bad? I want them to read it. I want to go see them next."
Jimmy came back into the room and sat on the couch beside me. "You can't tell Mom and Dad who you are. They'll never believe you, no matter how many personal incidents you recount. You'll just end up hurting them."
"But my being dead hurts them."
"That's true. But it's been a year, Shari. They're getting over it. I know that must be hard to hear, but it's true. If you show up at their doorstep and say you're their daughter and a Wanderer—they'll freak. You know them. They'll never accept it."
"But you accepted it."
"Because we were very close. I can see beyond your body. Also, I have always been open to metaphysical ideas. Mom and Dad aren't. The only esoteric thing they do is read their horoscopes in the paper every now and then."
I sighed, knowing he was right. It was a painful realization. One of the first things I thought of when my memory had returned was to go see my parents and ease their grief. I had imagined all kinds of beautiful scenarios. Now I had to forget them.
"But can't I at least go over and see them?" I asked.
"As a friend of yours?"
"Yes. But you'll have to be careful what you say."
"You never showed them my story?"
"No."
I nodded reluctantly. "Maybe that was wise. But I do want to try to get it published. I can always change the names and places."
"That's a good idea. We'll do that."
I hugged him. "You're so wise and yet I'm the one who's supposed to write the stories. Is it possible we could work together?"
"Only if I get half the royalties."
"No way! You're as bad as Sam."
"Who's Sam?"
"He's my muse. He's a troll and lives in my closet in South Central."
Jimmy
's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"
I socked him. "You idiot! You still believe everything I tell you. Just because I came back from the dead doesn't mean there are trolls. Anyway, have you given yourself your insulin? I want to go out."
"Yes. Where do you want to go?"
"I want to see Jo and Mrs. Parish, my real mom. I want to see Detective Garrett, the guy who investigated my murder, as well. Boy, do I owe him. I hope he hasn't started drinking again. I'm telling Jo who I am. She'll believe me. She was practically born on the back side of a Ouija board."
Jimmy nodded. "We can see Jo. She lives on the other side of town. She's going to U.C.L.A."
"I was going to go to U.C.L.A."
"You can still go."
"My grades aren't good enough. Jean Rodrigues spent too much time in high school smoking dope. And I doubt U.C.L.A. will accept a transcript of Shari Cooper's grades on an entrance application. Besides, I don't have the money to go there. I live in the ghetto."
"We can change that. Tomorrow, you can move in here with me."
I stopped to think of the Rishi's words. My memory of my time with him was fragmented. I wondered if it was because we had spoken in a place outside of normal time. I knew he had told me to write and serve and meditate. But there were other things I sensed I had lost upon returning to the physical. He had given me some kind of warning
"No," I said. "I have to stay with my new family. It's important that I work in that area of town to help improve things. Anyway, I never cared that much for material things." I paused again. "But I would like my Ferrari back."
"Who doesn't care about material things?"
"Well, it was mine. Where is it?"
"Dad sold it."
"My car? Who did he sell it to?"
"Your old boyfriend."
"Daniel is driving my car?"
Jimmy laughed. "It gets worse. He's still going out with Beth Palmones."
I waved my hand. "I don't care about that. He tried to make it with her an hour after my funeral. They deserve each other. But it pisses me off that he has my car. Could you buy it back from him?"
"That car cost a hundred grand. I don't have that kind of money. Besides, you can't drive a Ferrari and live in the ghetto. It wouldn't last a night there."
"The ghetto is not as bad as rich white kids like you think. It has a lot of color.
Take my best friend, Carol, for example. She's full of life. I have to introduce you to her. Maybe you two would hit it off." I paused.
"Maybe not."
"Why do you say it like that?"
"Because she's a lesbian." I giggled. "But for a guy who's slept with his own sister, a lesbian might be a step in the right direction."
Jimmy was beet red. "Would you drop that? You know that's not true. Besides, I didn't know she was my sister. I thought you were my sister."
I quieted in a hurry. "You do still think of me as your sister, don't you? I still think of you as my brother. The fact that Amanda and I were switched at birth doesn't mean that much to you, does it?"
"Don't worry. You will always be my sister."
I was relieved. "Good."
"But there is something I think you should worry about. Should you see Mrs.
Parish so soon after recovering your memory?"
"I'm not going to try to convince her who I am."
"I realize that. But she's a sensitive woman. She might sense something unusual about you and it might upset her. You might get upset around her."
I shook my head. "You forget, I have walked through the valley of the shadow of death. I am much stronger than when you last said goodbye to me. I don't mind getting upset. And Mrs. Parish is wise. If she does notice something about me, she'll be able to assimilate it in her own way. She doesn't have to understand that I'm Shari, but she can know that I am someone close."
"You want to see her now?"
"Yes. Please take me over. It means a lot to me."
He considered, then nodded. "That woman is an angel, as well as your mother.
I suppose it's only right you should see her."
CHAPTER XIV
I HAD A PECULIAR EXPERIENCE as Jimmy drove me up to Mrs. Parish's place, a small apartment over someone's garage. She had moved since I'd last been on Earth. I thought of Mrs. Parish not in terms of how I remembered her, but how I had written about her in my story. My memory of my life as Shari Cooper, I realized, although distinct, also was blank in a few spots. I was Shari but someone else as well, and I wasn't just talking about Jean Rodrigues again.
It was like I was a third person, a new and improved version of the other two girls. But the memories I had from after I died, the ones I could recall, didn't suffer from this veil, and perhaps that was the reason I thought of Mrs. Parish the way I did.
Mrs. Parish had an arthritic spine. Often, if we were alone in the house, she would let me help her sweep the floor or scrub the bathrooms.... Her hair was not one of her finer features. It was terribly thin. Her scalp showed a little, particularly on the top, whenever she bent over, and she was only fifty. To be quite frank, she wasn't what anyone would have called a handsome lady. She did, however, have a gentle, lovely smile.
Mrs. Parish smiled as she answered the door. Her right leg was encased in a walking cast. Her hands were covered with liver spots. She had lost considerable weight, and seemed more stooped, older than fifty-one. But her smile was lovely; it made my heart leap in my chest to see her.
"Jimmy," she said. "What a wonderful surprise. And you've brought a friend."
She offered her hand.
"Hello, I'm Mrs. Parish."
I shook her frail fingers. "I'm Jean Rodrigues."
Mrs. Parish stepped aside. "Please come in. I was just making myself coffee.
Would you like some? I know Jimmy does. Black with cream, right? I have carrot cake as well, but I know Jimmy doesn't want any of that."
"The coffee would be great," Jimmy said. "Jean drinks it as well. How did you break your leg?"
"I was cleaning a friend of your mother's house,"
Mrs. Parish said as she limped into the tiny kitchen. There wasn't room to watch MTV in the apartment, but I supposed she didn't need much space now that Amanda was away in a state psychiatric hospital. Mrs. Parish opened the refrigerator and continued. "I was mopping the woman's floor when I just slipped and fell. I lay there for three hours before anyone came home. I couldn't even get to the phone. Have a seat, Jean, Jimmy, make yourselves at home."
"You poor dear," I said, sitting down.
Mrs. Parish chuckled. "It was my own fault. I'm getting clumsy. Anyway, I've been stuck in here for a couple of months. And the doctors say it will be another two months before I can go back to work."
She finished putting on more coffee and came over and sat down near us. "Oh, well, at least I have a chance to catch up on my reading."
"I read a lot," I said. "I write stories as well."
Mrs. Parish was interested. "Do you now? That's wonderful, to be able to put your ideas down on paper. You must let me read your work. I'm sure I'll love it."
"I would be flattered to have you read it."
Mrs. Parish gestured to Jimmy. "So how did you two meet?" she asked.
"I knew his sister," I said quickly.
Mrs. Parish blinked. "Did you now? Shari?"
"Yes," I said, holding her eye, with Jimmy staring at me, fidgeting, no doubt wondering what I was up to.
"I was one of her best friends. I only learned a short time ago that you were her actual mom. I told him I had to meet you."
Mrs. Parish had to take a breath. "I'm sorry, Jean, I never heard Shari talk about you. But it's always nice to meet someone who knew her. Did you two go to school together?"
"No. I live on the other side of town. But we often talked on the phone."
Mrs. Parish nodded pleasantly, but her face fell a little. "She was a lovely girl."
I leaned forward. "Another reason I wanted to meet you is because I wan
ted to share with you an experience I had a few days after Shari died. I thought that you would be the one person who could understand it. But if it's too upsetting to talk about her, I understand."
She straightened. "No. Please tell me. I want to hear."
I thought of what Mrs. Parish had said to the empty air as I sat beside her in the days after I died.
"Shari. If you're there, if you can hear me, I want to tell you something that I almost told you a thousand times while you were alive. Finding you again after losing you for all those years was wonderful. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. It brought me so much joy, I thought I would never ask God for anything else, because he had given me everything. And I kept that promise, until right now. You see, I have to ask him one more thing, to tell you this, that I loved you as much as any mother loved a child. You were always my daughter."
"I was sitting alone in my living room and thinking about Shari," I said. "There was no one at home, and somehow I dozed off in my chair. I had this dream that Shari was with a woman about your age and she was helping her sweep a floor. The woman had a sore back, and when Shari set her broom down, she rubbed the woman's spine to ease her pain. She said to her, 'Mom, finding you again was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. I know how much you loved me. Don't worry about me, I'm fine. I just wanted you to know how much I loved you. When I was alive, deep inside, a part of me always knew you were my mother.'" I paused. "Then something woke me up. A hand on my arm. But there was no one there, Mrs. Parish." I spoke gently. "Does my dream mean anything to you?"
A soft light shone on Mrs. Parish's face. In that moment, even with her wrinkles and her cast and her liver spots, she reminded me of the Rishi. They both had grace.
"Yes," she said quietly. "It means everything to me. Thank you, Jean, for sharing it with me." She touched her chest. "I know in my heart she's all right."
I stood and went over to hug her. I was crying again—for maybe the tenth time that day. A baby cried when it was born, and for me this was like my birthday.
It felt so good to hug my mother again.
"I know she is, too," I said.
CHAPTER XV
WE GOT BACK to Jimmy's place, I asked if I could call my mother.