From Above

Inspired by Alice Sebold's novel The Lovely Bones

My name is Andrew Malic. I was eighteen years old when I was killed on January 14th, 2011. It had all happened so quickly; I didn't realize I was dead until I opened my eyes to a bright green pasture. I specifically remembered that field because it was one in Austria I had visited once and always wanted to return to with that special someone at my side.

My death feels as if it had occurred yesterday, and it makes me remember what one of my favorite book characters had said: "Life is like a perpetual yesterday for us." It helped me understand what eternity truly meant, so I passed my days in heaven watching my friends and family live their lives back on Earth.

The day I died had been particularly special to me. That night I had just finished my eleven page apology letter to a unique ex-girlfriend of mine whose family had charged me with harassment in the juvenile court of law. It was on that day my charges would be expunged, my slate would be clean, and I could finally tell her how sorry I was. To be honest, I didn't expect her to accept my apology, but I didn't see any harm in trying.

I had painstakingly written that letter over the course of the past year and I wanted to be sure I handed it to her myself. It was strangely cold in Memphis that month and the roads had been particularly icy that year, but icy roads weren't the reason for my death. It was in the evening when I was hit head-on by a driver who had fallen asleep behind the wheel.

My heaven was an interesting combination of the Venetian-Austrian landscape and the college campus I had so longed to go to: Texas A&M. There were plenty of other people my age there and it was at the entrance to the campus where I met Claire who would be my friend in heaven forever.

The beige color of the buildings towered over the people that scampered readily around them. My dream had been to become a chemical or civil engineer in the military, it was a goal I had set myself so long ago, I couldn't remember when.

Life in heaven was something of a strange experience when you first get there. Death wasn't something I thought I'd get to so early; I thought I'd die of old age somewhere in the European countryside. Obviously, that was not to happen.

When I was leaving the Earth on the day of my death, I touched two people on my way out. First, strangely enough, had been a girl I started growing attached to after the latest school production. Her name was Madison and she went to Harding Academy. I just happened to pass by her on her way home from my school: Christian Brothers High.

The second person was Grant Lacey. He was a new transfer student from Illinois and went to Saint Benedict at Auburndale. He and I had met, coincidentally, over a video game we both played very often. We were instant friends.

I affected their lives, not negatively, but they often thought about what might have happened if I hadn't died. What might have happened if that man did not fall asleep while driving? And what might have happened if I grew up into the person I was born to be.

My family took my death seriously. My brother, Vincent, who was twenty-six at the time, didn't know about what happened to me until a week after when my parents finally decided to tell him. It was he that helped my parents cope with my death. That there was nothing they could've done and nothing they could do would bring me back. It would be years before they would enter my second-floor bedroom again.

Claire and I talked many times about the places we had visited around the world and the hobbies we had enjoyed in life. I was an avid writer back on Earth and had successfully published one novel before my early end. She was intrigued by it, which made me feel welcome in this strange and new place. And it was Claire who taught me the valuable lessons on letting go.

Perhaps the hardest thing to do is accept your death and grasp the fact that you have to leave everything you once knew behind.

The hardest thing for me to release, in both life and death, was the memory of my ex-girlfriend: Hannah Scarbrough. It didn't matter to me that her family hated me. I truly loved her for who she was and nothing else.

Hannah had short dark-blonde hair that I would describe more like a mousy brown than blonde and her eyes were a beautiful shade of bright teal. She was always so self-conscious about her skinny body, though she hated admitting it. But I always found her visually pleasing with her tight waist, skinny limbs, and small breasts.

My relationship with her, however, was focused more on her characteristics rather than her sex appeal. Her prickly personality perfectly complemented my own. I loved her overzealous nature and sudden drops into silent solitude. She knew when to have fun and not to. Knowing her was thinking, talking with her was revealing, and being with her was dreaming.

We had a messy break-up and I didn't expect her to really care that I was gone.

At 9:37 that night, approximately two and a half hours after the accident that killed me, a tall and lanky police detective knocked on the front door of Hannah's house. I didn't want her to be the one to answer the door, I hoped her mother would be downstairs doing work, but Hannah was the only person awake. It took him several seconds to introduce himself as Detective Philip Hansen.

The first question he asked was if she was, indeed, Hannah Scarbrough. She nodded. Then he asked if she did, in fact, know me. Again she nodded. Hansen paused briefly and began to give an account of what had happened, speaking gently since he knew we had a previous record and that he was treading on sensitive ground. Hannah's face remained abnormally stoic; her lack of emotion caused the young detective to tug nervously at his collar. He left out what he was about to give her.

I was the only one to see her cheeks redden in the darkness. The sixteen-year-old sighed. "Why did you come here?"

Hansen took a plastic bag from the officer standing behind him. Inside was my wrinkled, but intact, eleven-page letter. "We thought, perhaps, you'd like to have this. It was obvious he was on his way to give it to you."

It was then I saw something break slightly inside of her. She slowly pulled the document out of its plastic seal and began to read, bringing her hand up in an attempt to hide a sigh of disbelief. "This is dated for today..." Hannah sat down in the living room and began to cry as she continued to read.

I could never stand it when she cried, it would just tear my heart out. But unlike before, I could no longer hold her in my arms and comfort her.

Hannah would spend the next week out of school, barely speaking a word upon her return that Monday. In time, I would watch her heal, attend college, marry, and raise a wonderful family. Sometimes, whenever she was alone, she would think of me... And I would do the same.

After a week or two in my heaven, I can't quite be sure since time is irrelevant when you're dead, I came to realize how surprisingly accurate Alice Sebold was in her novel The Lovely Bones. I remember when I was still alive, I had read the book and enjoyed its straightforward perspective as well as the positive messages it conveyed. It had become one of my instant favorites.

The story of Susie Salmon greatly affected my life back on Earth. For fun, I even wrote a story about how my friend's lives would be like when I was gone. Heaven, for me, was like how Sebold had described through Susie. Anything you wanted, you simply had to desire it.

When I was alive, I really didn't believe any notion of being able to communicate with your family or friends in the afterlife. The first time I broke through my heavenly barrier was on a Tuesday, January 25th, three days after Hannah returned to school.

Someone had mentioned my name and how much of a 'bitch' she was to never try and understand what had happened between us. She ran to the bathroom and cried. When she emerged to wash her eyes, Hannah briefly saw me in the mirror, my hand resting gently on her shoulder. Needless to say, she started to cry again.

I was surprised to see how many people attended my funeral. A whole community of people I never thought I knew was there stretching from Arlington High to Harding. It was obvious that I had influenced more people than I realized. Among some there were my extended family; my best friends Claire, Brock, and Keegan; Madison, the girl I had recently had a crush on; Grant Lacey my St. Benedict buddy; and even Hannah, who was standing silently in the back, trying to avoid everybody's gaze.

As the memorial came to an end, Grant, Madison, and Hannah stumbled into each other as they walked out of the church doors. For several minutes all three of them were quiet, looking curiously at one another, questioningly. Grant was the first to speak. "He really liked both of you, however quiet he might have been."

Madison nodded. "Yeah. I know. I was still plenty unsure what to do when he told me that he liked me. I had to think on it. I regret not getting to know him more."

"I miss him." Hannah finally said. "It feels weird not knowing that he's here. I guess I took for granted the fact that he loved me. As a friend if not a girlfriend."

That's when I broke through the second time. Just like Ruth with Susie, Grant allowed me my precious moment in which I could apologize, face to face, with Hannah. And the most satisfying part, was that she knew it was me. Madison smiled gently in the background, telling me what her thoughts really were. That made me smile too.

And in an instant. I was gone.

You don't notice the dead leaving when they really choose to leave you. You're not meant to. At most you feel them as a whisper or the wave of a whisper undulating down. I would compare it to a woman in the back of a lecture hall or theater whom no one notices until she slips out. Then only those near the door themselves notice; to the rest it is like an unexplained breeze in a closed room.

My name is Andrew. I was here for a moment, and then I was gone.

I wish you all a long and happy life.