A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long! But you know I have issues with depressing stuff.... :) I might be able to post one more chapter before Christmas, because school is out. Please review!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and if I did, I would not be sitting here writing stories about them.

CHAPTER FOUR

Suddenly, as the limo pulled away, I too began to drift - away from the procession, from Chandler and my body, from Earth. I found myself in a gigantic, open field of flowers. The flowers were surrounding me - I was drowning in bright golds and pinks and blues and reds. I had never been to this part of heaven. Where was I?

I saw a woman, a little older than me, walking towards me, walking on top of the flowers.

"Hey!" I called to her. "How do I get up there?" I may have been in heaven, but I still felt like a mortal. I wasn't used to the fact that I could fly or walk on water if I felt like it.

"You're stuck down there, Monica," she said to me. "You're stuck in the flowers because you refuse to leave your own funeral. You're drowning in the flowers the mourners brought."

"Please, how do I get out?" I called, frightened. Still, I refused to stop watching Chandler and my friends drive away - refused to stop watching the coffin that bore my ravaged body.

"This is perfectly normal. You need to stop watching this part for a moment, or you'll be trapped. This is the first step of moving on. Can you let go, Monica?"

No, I wanted to cry. I won't stop watching them. "Can I see them again?"

"Of course," the woman said. "Just not now. Stop watching and climb up."

I took a deep breath and let the picture float away. Then I gripped the thornless flower stems in my hands and climbed up. I stood next to the woman, who stuck her hand out to me.

"Jessie Franklin," she introduced herself.

"Monica Bing," I said.

"I know."

"Right." I studied the woman's smiling face.

"You have a lot of questions for me."

"Yes," I said, relieved. "Why can't I watch anymore?"

"You can," she said. "But when you watch your own funeral, you are being tied too close to your death. You need to let your body go, or your loved ones will be disturbed."

"But I wasn't concentrating on my body," I argued.

"Yes, you were."

You were, I told myself.

"Okay, well, I let it go now," I said stubbornly. "Now, who are you, and how did you know my name?"

"I'm your guidance counselor," Jessie said simply.

"Guidance counselor? Like, as in a high school guidance counselor?" I scoffed.

"In a sense, yes," Jessie said. "I know you've been very confused lately, and I'm here to help you out - basically, to teach you how heaven works." She started walking, and I followed her. "Do you understand that it was your body that was trapping you in the flowers? Your body was weighing you down. You're not a mortal anymore, Monica, but I think you know that." Something on her wrist beeped. She looked at her watch, and I peered at it too. It wasn't a normal watch with two hands and numbers. It had names on many different hands. I saw my own name, flashing, and many other names. Suddenly, my name stopped flashing, and a new one, "Geraldine Calore," began to flash.

"I'm sorry, Monica," Jessie said. "But someone just died. I have to go."

"Wait!" I cried, alarmed. Why did everyone in heaven disappear right when I needed them? "When will I see you again?"

"Sometime," she said. "Don't worry." And she left.

Annoyed, I walked back to my house. I had learned a few things today. First of all, I had a guidance counselor, who was supposed to guide me. Second, I had to let my body go. Well, that was easy. I was six feet under, now, wasn't I? That was a creepy feeling - knowing your body was gone. At least they hadn't cremated me. I don't think I would like the idea of sitting in a tin can on Chandler's mantelpiece forever.

Chandler. Well, she didn't say I couldn't watch Chandler, I thought. I closed my eyes and thought of him - I was getting used to this.

He was walking into our apartment, alone. He sat down on the couch and loosened his tie, then turned on the TV. He was cold, and wet, and I sadly thought, If I was still alive, I'd be yelling at him to take his wet clothes off before sitting on the couch.

Seconds later, Chandler jumped up, looking guilty and woeful, with a strange half-smile.

"Mon, I know you'd be angry to see me sitting here all wet," he said.
I'm ruining the couch." He promptly went into the bathroom and changed out of his wet tux.

I was startled. Could he hear me? He hung the tux over the line on the shower just as I'd taught him. I remembered that lesson. It was just after he moved in, and I'd found one of his wet towels on the floor. After taking a deep breath and counting to ten, I'd called him into the bathroom and explained to him that it took all of two seconds to hang up a towel. He'd been hanging towels up ever since.

I watched as he walked, naked, from the bathroom to our bedroom and smiled. I felt strangely guilty for seeing him naked without him knowing it. But that was ridiculous - I'd certainly seen him naked before. Although not since I died. I'd contemplated watching him while he took a shower, but had been too embarrassed to follow through.

He got dressed and then pulled out a notebook from my dresser. My jaw dropped as I realized what it was - my diary! "Hey!" I called, forgetting for the four-thousandth time since my death that he couldn't hear me. "How did you find that?"

Chandler hesitantly closed the notebook for a second. My God, I thought. Maybe he can hear me! Then he opened it again, and began to write.

Monica, he began. I miss you so much. Today was your funeral. I had to say good-bye. I'm so sorry I let them take you away. I wanted to stay with you forever. I just wanted you to know that. His writing was shaky and childlike. That's what he was - a child. A lost child, looking for their mother, crying out for her - but he was damned.

He continued to write. I feel you everywhere. You're always around me, you're with me all the time. I feel like I can hear you talking to me. I knew you would be mad earlier if I ruined the couch. Please talk to me, Monica! I need to hear your voice again!

He put the diary down and laid down. Tears ran down his face like rivers, and he made no move to wipe them away. He stayed like that for hours, and finally I drifted away to watch Ross and Rachel.

Ross was staring blankly at the TV, which was not on, in his apartment. Rachel, looking wearied and still wearing her black dress, came out of Emma's room and sat on the couch next to Ross. He put his arm around her, and they snuggled close together. She started to cry, and he gently wiped her tears away and kissed her hair.

Despite the fact that they were grieving for me, I saw an opportunity. Kiss her! I thought. Kiss her, now! I wanted them to be together so badly. If only they would admit they were still in love, things would be so much easier!

But they didn't kiss. They laid there together, their eyes wide and staring, too exhausted to cry or move. Until they both fell asleep.

Now that my funeral was over, things began to, well, not go back to normal entirely, but get some of its normality back. Joey went on an audition five days after my funeral, and Phoebe massaged a few clients. The group even met once at the coffee shop a few weeks after my death, but all ended up going home in tears after seeing that Gunther had placed a picture of me behind the counter, along with the words, "Our Best Customer.

"Days slipped by. Just before the three-week mark, Chandler's boss called him at home. "Hello?" he answered.

"Bing? Are you coming in tomorrow?" Chandler was shocked. Had his boss forgotten I had died?

"Well, sir, I - I don't know."

"We need you here."

"Thank you, but see, my wife just - just died." It was difficult for him to say out loud.

"I know, and I'm sorry," he replied. "But we need you to come back. It'll be good for you. A distraction, you know."

Chandler shook his head, and I could tell we were thinking the same thing - does this man have no respect for human grieving?

"I guess - I guess I'll be back tomorrow," Chandler said, and hung up without another word. "Jerk," he muttered. "Asshole."

I realized, then, that Chandler's boss, however misguided, was right. Chandler needed a distraction. He couldn't sit home and think about me forever. I was glad he was going back.

The next day, Chandler went to work, went through the motions again. It hurt me to see it, but he was moving on.

I didn't get to watch anymore during the day, because, taking Chandler's lead, everyone went back to work. My friends were moving on, in a way. They weren't forgetting me. They were trying to have lives again. I thought things would get better for them as time went on. How very wrong I was.