Racing Entropy

“I’m twenty-three. Although I was reborn at eighty-one, I have aged backward.”

I’m sorry the guy died. No, I really am, but when it’s your time, it’s your time. There will be no opportunities for tearful goodbyes, last-minute rewrites of your clever dying soliloquies, or a chance to pack a toothbrush, just here today and gone tomorrow.

But wouldn’t it be grand to divine when your last day will be? Something like a schedule maintenance reminder that would alert you that your eighty-thousand-mile lifetime was coming due on the third of March. Make things easier a lot easier for all involved. 

Hell, an entirely new industry would flourish. It would be a mixture of the funeral industry and Hollywood. You would have a film crew follow you around during your last days as you tie up loose ends with your enemies and friends. This new industry would have writers and directors scripting your parting lines and placing them on film with cinematic panache. You’ll recite your stinging lines to those you’ve hated and/or give tearful soliloquies to those you love the most, complete with soundtracks, lighting, and precise direction.

They will immortalize your dying days as a cinematic masterpiece. Your life will trend with mounting viewership until the season-ending episode runs its final credits. And then, when it is your time, you’ll die surrounded by fawning critiques and national commercial sponsors, who’ll grin about their future Oscars and their expanding wallets.

But I digress. My purpose is to tell you the rhyme and reason behind the arbitrary nature of death, and it really is quite brilliant.

I never gave death much thought. Taxes were more important to me than death. I always considered death an immutable constant, like those asshole BMW drivers during rush hour. It was just something you’d have to deal with when the time came. 

Yet that all changed one Saturday morning about a month ago when I was sitting at my regular spot in Starbucks. I was wired up with my headphones, typing away on my laptop, sucking on my iced latte, quite content in my little world, when a peculiar rapping and tapping interrupted my solitude.  

I spied a handsome young woman striding through the door. Her statuesque physique made her appear taller than her five-foot-eight frame. Dressed in a black suit and a starch white blouse that complemented her pearly white Chester grin, but it was her cane that grabbed my attention. A polished silver heel and bright silver handle in the shape of a raven’s wing complemented its dark ebony shaft. She glanced about the crowded coffee shop until she found an unoccupied table for two that was next to mine. I looked away, not wanting to stare, as she took her seat. She scanned the room and slowly sat down. A few minutes later, I heard the barista shout out, “Black Dark roast for a Jackie R., extra hot.” I watched Jackie rise from her table. Her long legs made deliberate strides through the crowd to pick up her order. She returned to her table as a young couple attempted to sit in her chair.

Jackie’s voice crackled like rusted church bells long forgotten. “This table’s taken,” she said. Reflexively, the young man retorted, “It is empty, and we got here first.” I followed the young man’s gaze as he made eye contact with the tall blonde. Together we witnessed the edges of Jackie’s mouth curl into a menacing grin, “I like nothing better than to accommodate you two, but I have been waiting a lifetime to catch, er, meet my guest, who’ll be along shortly.” As she spoke, her smile exposed her teeth. Yet it wasn’t her smile that conducted chills to race down my spine. It was how her sparkling blue iris appeared to char around their edges. Suddenly demure, the young couple relented and backed away, almost bowing, “Oh sorry miss, never mind.” Jackie took her seat, and I returned to my laptop.

I thought to myself; You meet all kinds of people at Starbucks. Almost as much fun as Walmart in December. I chucked under my breath and then became lost again in my writing.

Until I again heard that rapping and tapping. Glancing up, I saw Jackie tapping her cane on the floor. She sat straight up in her chair and locked her gaze on an old man shuffling towards the register. She fidgeted impatiently. The barista shouted out, “Iced mango for Adam E.” After the older man retrieved his drink and turned towards the door, Jackie rose quickly and cut off his exit. Jackie’s cane tapped impatiently. ‘Adam, Adam Evonski, Coach E. Do you remember me?’ I’m Jackie. I was on your high school soccer team.” 

Adam looked befuddled. “Er, maybe. What years did you play?” 

“Coach E, I was on your championship team. I was one of your mid-fielders.” 

Adam squinted at Jackie. “I think I remember you, but my memory is shaky nowadays.”

Jackie motioned to her table. “Got a minute. I’m only in town for a few more hours and I would like to make the most of this chance encounter.”

“Guess I got nothing better to do. Sure, Jane.”

“It’s Jackie. My name is Jackie.”

Feeling a little sheepish, Adam sits down, “Oh, sorry Jackie, I’m getting a little forgetful.”

Jackie takes a sip of her coffee and continues, “Adam, I was visiting the old high school and I asked about you. One lady in the office remembered you. She said that you had retired right after your wife died.” She put her coffee down. “Adam, I’m sorry for your loss. How long were you married?”

Adam pauses and looks up. “Let’s see, we were married in August of eighty-two, so it has been over forty years.” 

“Impressive, Adam, over forty years. Almost no one makes it that long anymore.” 

There is an awkward silence when Jackie asks, “Do you miss her?”

Jackie watches Adam’s lined and worn face quiver oh so slightly. “Yep, for the last four years of her life, we’d walk to this coffee shop every day. Once here, we’d grab a cup of Joe and just talk.” Adam smiles. “We chatter away like teenagers, talking about old times and our old friends, then laughing together about things that used to make us cry.” 

“Adam, the ladies in the administration building talked about your dedication to your ailing wife and said that I’d catch you here. But why are you still coming? Must be a hard memory to bear.”    

The old man stiffened. “Jackie, I live for those memories. It is all I have left of her. Each night I pray my dreams will be of her and me together.”

Jackie’s voice cracks as she talks, “Adam sounds like you really miss her and want to be with her again to create fresh stories.” Now holding back tears, Jackie continues, “Adam, I understand we just met, but I’ve known you for many, many years. You might say you’ve been a pet project of mine. I am here to help you on your way to see your love again. Today is the start of a new journey for both of us.” Jackie pauses for that to sink in. 

“Our journeys?” questions Adam.   

“Yes, Adam, our journeys.” She leans in and whispers, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I died seventy-two years ago. And I’ve been looking for you ever since.”

Jackie’s words lay Adam bare, “You’re not dead.” He chuckles nervously, “And why would the dead be looking for me? I’m just an old, retired teacher?”

“Adam, I experienced that same confusion when I was reincarnated.” Jackie looks away in thought, then continues, “All those years ago, I was an old eighty-two-year-old man living in a remote village in the Carpathian Mountains. The only thing I can remember of my last day was some lost tourist stopping and asking for directions.” Her body involuntarily shivered as if she had walked across a fresh grave. Then, with renewed determination, Jackie turns back to Adam. “I died on the exact day you were born, and that was no coincidence.” Jackie removes her gloves. “Adam, I was reborn for the sole reason to find you.” She leans back, “Adam, I am your personal grim reaper.” 

Adam blinks in astonishment. “Are you crazy?” He gets up.

Jackie looks imploringly. “Adam, hear me out.”

Adam looks down into her eye and experiences a deep sincerity in those blue pools that pull him back into his seat. 

Jackie smiles. “Adam, I grasp it is a fantastical story and, even if you don’t believe it, then consider it a great story you can tell your friends.”

“Ok, Jackie, I’ll indulge you.” He takes a long sip of his drink.

“I appreciate your patience, Adam.” She slowly sips her strong coffee as if it was some elixir of courage. “At the very moment of my death, I was ‘reborn’ on the streets of Mardi Gras. One moment I was trudging through goat pastures, the next I was flung into the chaos of Bourbon Street. The drunken, costumed crowds disoriented me and frightened me. I fell to my knees and there on the cobblestones streets I prayed for God’s forgiveness. And that is when I glimpsed myself in a saloon window. There, I saw something that assured me God had sent me straight to hell.”

Now completely engrossed in Jackie’s ‘story’, Adam asks, “What did you see?”

“Adam, put yourself in my place. One moment I’m an old goat herder grubbing for subsistence in the muddy meadow below the teeth of the Carpathian Mountains and the next instant I’m an eighty-one-year-old woman of northern European descent who knew for certain that she had entered hell in high heels wondering what forgotten sin had caused me to be cast into the ninth level of Dante’s inferno.”

Almost laughing, Adam asked, “You were reincarnated as a Swedish woman? Well, if what you say is true, God’s got a profound sense of humor.” Squinting, he looks Jackie up and down. “You resemble a Swedish beauty all right, but you can’t be a day over twenty-five.”

“I’m twenty-three. Although I was reborn at eighty-one, I have aged backward.” Jackie unveiled a bright smile. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? But I guess it’s God’s way to keep the process fair. When you were just a babe, I was ancient and, as you’ve heard, I was very confused.” Jackie takes a big gulp, wishing it was Kentucky bourbon and not coffee. “Eventually I grew younger and quicker, and you slowed down. I might have gotten here many years sooner, but I was stuck in therapy for a decade, coming to grips with my new female body. My old Eastern Orthodox parish priest never prepared me for this afterlife twist.”

Now fully engaged in Jackie’s ‘story’, Adam asked. “How did you know to search for me?”

“Your name swirled in my head from that very first moment on Bourbon Street. I could never get your name out of my head. Regardless of what I did, whatever distraction I could think of, the name of Adam Evonski would always return. It took me decades before I searched you out.” She pondered aloud, “How does one find someone in a world of billions and billions of people?”

Adam bit, “I have no idea. How’d you do it?”

“I became a good genealogist. Were you aware that your roots go back to the Prussian Empire? I doggedly traced down every avenue. I’ve met all your relatives in Europe. Eventually tracing you back to North America and to this caffeine shop.” She looked up and for the first time, Jackie could see fear in Adams’s eyes. “Adam, it’s gonna turn out all right.”

Adam relaxes. “Jackie, my house is so empty without my sweetheart to talk to. I feel like an actor without a role.”

Jackie slowly extends her hands across the table, “Adam, take my hands, it’ll be all right” Sniffling now, she repeats, “It’ll be all right.”

Adam’s hands shake as he stretches to reach Jackie’s open hands. Their fingers intertwine like a young vine encasing old branches. Adam’s face radiates with the warm glow of lovers embracing. He smiles.

Jackie gently squeezes Adam’s hands one last time, then slowly breaks the caress. Adam’s head slowly slumps to rest on the table. Smiling, she looks down and takes a deep, slow breath.

Jackie shoots up from her chair shouting, “Help, help! Can someone help us?” Her eyes dart back and forth, then shrill, “Call a doctor.”

The crowd swarms around Adam’s body. Some woman in hospital scrubs steps in. “He’s not breathing.” She guides Adam’s body to the floor and begins resuscitation.

With her cane in hand, Jackie slowly stands and imperceptibly moves back towards the door. The crush of onlookers disguises her retreat. The pressing crowd trapped me in my seat as they jostle to get a better view of the nurse’s futile attempt to resuscitate Adam. Yet my attention is not on Adam. My attention was on the tall blonde with the ebony cane exiting the coffee shop.

I watch as Jackie strode by the window behind me. As she was almost out of sight, she turns, taps her cane twice, and winks at me. My body quakes with an icy shiver and when I look back again, she is gone.

Since this happened, I’ve asked myself over and over, Is this how it works? Death is an ill-trained, involuntary temp worker looking to recruit us to replace themselves. Are we just players in a cosmic game of tag?

My takeaway is for us to live life spontaneously, thus making it difficult for your personal reaper to track you down. If you get into a rut, then you’ll be a sitting duck.

But in the darkest hours of the night, the most unthinkable thought crosses my mind. Why did Jackie wink at me as she left? Is it because she heard that name that has been running through my mind for as far back as I can imagine? Am I a temp reaper like her?

Well, that’s for me to know and for you to find out.

I’ll resist the urge to laugh like a villain as you ponder how you’re going to prolong your days before you come face to face with your part-time reaper.

And maybe they’ll send you a reminder not to be late.    

        

Listen to this story.

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