Standing next to my cardiovascular surgeon, I heard him announce the exact time of my death:
“I'm calling it. 3:43pm. Close him up!”
I followed my old friend back to prep, where he discarded his greens, washed his hands, and rushed out of the operating wing up to the third floor to his elaborate office. He sat down behind his desk and let out a noticeable sigh. 'How can I tell George's wife that I failed the transplant when I virtually promised a positive outcome. I'll use the receptionist.'
'Exactly,' I said out loud, but Dr. Saul Goldstein didn't seem to hear me. It was no more than 24 hours ago that my wife and I, Christine, sat in this office, and listened to Saul weigh-in on the pros and cons of the transplant.
“We have a perfect donor, so I see no foreseeable problems. George, you've known me for years, and I know a winner when I see one.”
Saul picked up the phone and called the reception, asking for my wife to come into his office.
“And I want you in here, Kerri when I break the news to George's wife.” he asked.
“Yes, doctor.”
My beautiful wife of 27 years entered my friend's office and knew exactly what Saul was about to say. She broke down, her head in her hands, and sobbed silently, shaking from grief and disbelief. Saul didn't say a word, now sitting in front of her, holding her hands to somehow alleviate the loss of her husband.
Christine finally looked up and said, “You said our chances were excellent. That's what you said, Saul. You promised.”
“I'm so terribly sorry, Christine. But the heart wouldn't hold. Again, I'm so sorry for your loss.” he said.
Suddenly Christine's emotional level turned from sorrow to anger. “That's not good enough. You promised! You never liked George, anyway.” she stood up and stormed out of the room.
'That'll be all, Kerri.' he said.
Saul didn't make any attempt to stop my wife from leaving his office. He just sat there like a knowing Buddha, walking casually back around his desk and sitting down.
I didn't bother to follow my wife but decided to remain in the office and offer my old friend a piece of my mind.
'You piece of work. I think you failed the surgery on purpose! You're a petty old shit who wanted me to die because of your god damn career. You knew if I survived the procedure and healed properly, I would have retained my position as head of the department. You just wanted my job.'
I wanted to continue ranting in Saul's ear, but I finally stopped myself because I knew he couldn't hear me. Hell, I was dead, and really, why should I give a shit now? But for some unknown reason, I didn't want to let it go. Something has been left unfinished. What was keeping me here, anyway? Where was that “tunnel of loving light” that many of my patients talked about after a near-death experience under my scalpel on the operating table. Why was I still here, a damn ghost?
Acting like nothing had changed, I entered my office across the hall. On my filling cabinet sat my cat, Jasper, curled-up, and sleeping. He finally opened his eyes and stared right at me. He yawned and had a big stretch, and said, “So I see Saul got away with it.”
Jasper and I go way back to the time I picked him out of a litter of alley kittens discovered in the hospital's basement. All three of the newly born's were scrawny and looked near death because the mother didn't survive the birthing process. I knew I liked him when he walked out of the blanket away from the litter in a kind of search and discovery mission. Jasper was different, so the hospital gave away his sisters, and I brought Jasper home. He now is an old man of 14 and has really never left my side since our first meeting. Jasper is now talking to me in human English, and I know I'm absolutely deceased, dead, gone, kaput.
'Can you see me, Jasper?' I asked.
'Gezz, doc, can you hear me?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'Then yep, I can see you, and I know you're dead. And there are a few things we need to discuss. ' He said.
I thought: 'So this is what death is, you can talk to the animals like Doctor Doolittle?'
'What do we need to discuss, Jasper?' I heard myself thinking.
'The reality is that your lovely wife and Dr. Goldstein have been having an affair right under your nose for the past two years.'
'That's not possible.' I thought.
'George, really, for such a smart and kind human, you sure can be an idiot.' he said.
'I just left Saul's office when he broke the news to Christine. She appeared pretty upset to me.'
Jasper jumped off the filling cabinet onto my desk, and elegantly placed himself by the window under the light of the sun. Positioning himself comfortably, he said, “All an act. You didn't see Saul's receptionist in the office, acting as a witness to the big charade?'
'Well, as a matter of fact...'
'They've got big plans, and the grand plan is in motion, now that you're out of the way.'
My perception of reality, similar to a slow fade-out and fade-in of a scene disappearing and a new one appearing on a screen, like the black and white films of the early '40s (minus the corny soundtrack) something was manifesting into view. My perceptions were fading and were shifting to black. I felt like a piece of dust spinning on the edges of a massive, twisting tornado, heading downward, out of control, towards the eye of the storm. When out of the ether, I heard,
“George, George! Get a grip on yourself. Think! USE YOUR THOUGHTS, GEORGE.”
Like falling out of nothing, I found myself sitting on my desk chair, facing a framed photograph of my wife and me, taken professionally on our wedding day, so many years ago.
Jasper had moved from the windowsill and was now sitting on the desk directly in front of me.
“George, I believe you need to hang around a little longer. You may need to rectify a few problems before taking the final leap. And for goodness’ sake, you're not in this dimension anymore...well”, he paused for a moment, “your kind of half in this one and a little in the other one. What I'm trying to tell you is you're in control now. You just need to use your thoughts with intention.”
I peered at the old cat, and said, “I really don't have a damn idea about what you're talking about.”
Jasper sat silent for a few moments, and I could see the kitty-wheels turning in his head. He jumped back on the window sill and began cleaning in his left paw. I knew not to ask him anything and bother him because I understood that a cat cleaning themselves is the time they are deep in thought, deciding something, meditating on a problem. I remained quiet and waited.
“George, we have become good friends this lifetime during our short time together. I'm going to be what you humans call “Brutally honest.” You have been living in your own little world, and have missed the important things in your life. Why I believe you are still here, sort of, is you need to reconcile something, something to do with Christine.”
“Over the years, I've given Christine everything she ever wanted, and more...”
“Stop right there, George. Christine has been doing stuff, bad stuff, right under your nose for months.” he said.
“Like what, Jasper?”
“Okay, this is the hard part. I will give you my right paw, and I want you to grip it tightly, but not too hard. Got me.”
“Okay,” I said.
Jasper lifted his right paw, and once touching it, the entire environment changed. I now stood at the bottom of the stairs in my home in Malibu. Jasper sat on the stairs a few feet above me. I loved this home. Christine wanted to live in southern California's upper crust with the pop stars, film actors, and the rich. A beautiful home over-looking the Pacific Ocean. We built the house from the ground up according to Christine's specifications. She hired an architect that cost me a small fortune. After two years, we finally moved in, and I thought she was happy. Now Jasper, my cat of 14 years, is telling me a different story.
“Follow me, George,” Jasper ordered.
I followed him up the stairs into my wife's expansive bedroom. The room had a fantastic view of the beach and sea. The problem is the room was solely hers and hers alone. She claimed to need more space, and sex could be arranged between us in any room in the house. (So, she said at the time.) I went along with the idea because she did amass clothing and shoes that would rival Denmark's princess. Christine's closet is as large as the living room below, taking up most of the entire second floor.
“What are we doing here, Jasper?” I asked.
I opened the doors of her closet to see a vast space devoid of any clothing. Instead is a make-shift apartment, with a single bed, nightstand, flat-screen television, and a clothes rack full of men's clothing. The room/closet was a pigsty: dirty dishes sprawled across the floor, including fast-food wrappers and empty bottles of Chivas Regal. It then dawned on me why I kept running out of scotch. I would buy a case, and most of it would be gone in less than a month. I kept telling myself that I couldn't have drunk so much and vowed to slow down. Now I get it. This is my scotch!
Jasper sauntered into the space between my legs, and looking up, said, “The tenant's name is Raul Gorgonzola. Your wife met him at a Tapas bar in downtown LA. They started the affair over a year ago, but 3 months ago, Raul ran into some financial difficulties. Christine decided to move him to your home and keep it a secret. Raul has been an 'unknown' tenant of yours for just over 3 months.”
“You mean Christine's lover has been screwing her in my house right under my nose?”
Jasper walked out of the closet, settling himself on Christine's king-size canopy bed. I followed him and couldn't really find anything to think or say at that moment.
Jasper's ears pricked-up. The front door of the house just opened and slammed shut. I heard someone bounding up the stairs, three steps at a time, to see a handsome, young man of around 25 years of age enter the room with an arm full of grocery bags. At first, he appeared startled because the closet door was opened. He shook his head and entered his make-shift apartment, closing the door behind him.
Of course, the man didn't see me because I was dead, or half dead. I was furious with Christine for pulling off such a covert betrayal. Her live-in lover, staying in my house, and me, without the slightest clue. The anger turned in-ward for being such a fool. This was certainly a difficult reality to face, but now I was actually facing it from a different reality. I had to die to discover such an absurd situation and the ultimate betrayal.
“I know what you're thinking, George.” Jasper said.
“I thought Christine was having an affair with Goldstein, not this Raul character...”
“Think about it, George?” he asked.
I thought about it for a second. “Is she playing them both?” I asked.
Jasper ignored that thought and began vigorously cleaning his paws.
Sitting on the bed next to my cat, overlooking the beautiful view of the ocean from my wife's bedroom window, it dawned on me that seeing this mass betrayal from Christine, keeping her lover in her own closet within our home for so many months, surprised me, yes, but there was no epiphany as to why I was continuing to hang about like a ghost in this world.
It did surprise me how she had got away with it for so long, but even more surprising was my utter ignorance and zero suspicion that she was even having an affair, let alone literally right under my nose. Add to the fact that she was also having an affair with my closest colleague at work. I trusted Goldstein. He's not only a great surgeon, but I thought, a good person, too. Why has he betrayed me as well? At that moment, I began to feel extreme self-pity. Interestingly, the more I felt sorry for myself, the more I felt like I was vanishing from the scene. It seemed that the “victim-emotion” is not suited to my current standing in this dimension. I could feel myself slowly moving into a dark void. It was then that Jasper spoke up:
“This emotional self-indulgence crap is not going to help anyone, George. Here, take my paw and close your eyes. There's something else you need to see.”
As I touched Jasper's paw, opened my eyes, and was standing in a bar/restaurant that my wife and I used to frequent on the weekends. The place is called the “Rusty Scupper” and has the best seafood in LA county. Once I got my bearings, I saw Goldstein and my wife sitting in a booth at the back. I decided to join them.
“ George signed the insurance policy over 6 months ago before his diagnosis. Like you suggested, it's worth over 1 million dollars. There's no way the death can be traced back to us because it was simply a failed heart transplant.” she said.
“Well, it helped that I postponed giving George the diagnosis until after you had made a few payments on the policy.” Goldstein replied.
“So, we're in the clear.” she said.
“Not so fast, Christine. Because it was a failed transplant, there's going to be an autopsy. It's standard procedure in any failed heart surgery. George would have wanted that considering he was the leading hospital instructor for all our current residences.”
Christine sipped her Vodka tonic and peered into her glass.
“You know I'm just careful, but will they find anything suspicious in the autopsy?” she asked.
Goldstein looked hurt. “I'd hoped you had more trust in me as a doctor, Christine,” he said.
Good old Saul. He always did have an ego the size of Texas! Knowing Goldstein, he would have left nothing to raise suspicion in my surgery. He is the best heart surgeon in the state. And even if they did find irregularities during the surgery, the hospital would over-look them to maintain Goldstein's reputation, and of course, their own. As far as I could see, now hearing the conspiracy from their own mouths, the whole plan appeared foolproof. My wife and a close colleague had been successful in murdering me for what, a million dollars? This didn't make any sense. Goldstein is a wealthy man from his practice and a vast inheritance he received when his parents died some years ago in a strange car accident.
My wife, according to my Last Will and Testament, would get everything. I made a quick calculation, and $ in the bank, including my many assets, amounted to over 10 million. I don't understand. At that moment. I felt another pang of self-pity and noticed myself falling again into nothing. Looking out the window, I saw Jasper sitting on the hood of a 2020 Mercedes staring straight at me. I ran out of the restaurant and finally reached my cat, who had his right paw extended in the air.
Before entirely disappearing, I reached Jasper just in time. The entire scene changed, and now I was standing on a beach looking down at my younger self, sunbathing next to my gorgeous bride, Christine, a newlywed couple on their honeymoon in Hawaii so many years ago.
As I stood above my younger self lying next to his new bride, my first thought was how young we appeared, and that it was almost 25 years to the day of my death.
Jasper was behind me, jumping up and down like a jackrabbit because the heat of the sand was burning his paws. He eventually made his way to the path above the beach.
The younger George sat up and said, “It's getting way too hot. I'm going to the room for a shower and hit the bar for a cool drink. Care to join me?
Christine slightly changed positions and said, “No, I'm staying here for a while. But I'll meet you in the bar later.”
“Don't stay out here too long, or you'll burn.” he said.
I followed George, the younger, inside the resort, and up the elevator to his room. He didn't waste any time jumping in the shower, dressing and out the door, back down the elevator, and into the bar. The bar is relatively empty. He sat on a stool and ordered a scotch neat. I decided to sit beside him, wishing I could have a drink as well. When the bartender walked in front of me and asked, “What will you have, sir?”
This was a great surprise because let's face it, I was dead.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked.
“Who else would I be talking to, sir?” he replied with slight sarcasm, looking around the empty bar.
“Of course, sorry. I'll have a scotch neat.” I asked.
The handsome bartender returned with my drink, saying, “I gave you a double on the house. You look like you need it.”
I smiled and sipped the drink and relished the taste.
George the younger turned and asked, “I'm sorry but do I know you. Sorry if that sounds weird, but really, you do look familiar.”
As far as I know, one living has ever looked face to face into the eyes of one's younger self. I remember back in medical school taking psychology, and this is a treatment in certain therapy sessions. That is, asking one's younger self why they made certain decisions in life, etc... This wasn't a therapy technique, however, but the real thing.
I turned and said, “No, I don't believe we have ever met before. But I must say, you look a bit familiar as well.”
George the younger shrugged his shoulders, sipping his drink.
A few minutes passed when a young, beautiful woman entered the bar. I'd guess her age to be around her late twenties. She sat down at a table next to the open window overlooking the beach. I noticed George, the younger, turn around and began sizing her-up, admiring her beauty.
The memory of this encounter with the sophisticated woman on my honeymoon in Hawaii flashed into consciousness at once. I absolutely knew the chain of events that would follow meeting this woman in the empty bar. We would strike up a conversation and immediately connect on a mental and physical level. In a few hours, she would hand me her room number, offering a more kinetic connection later that night. Once Christine fell asleep that night after dinner. I would sneak out of our room and meet the young woman in her room. We would have unmitigated sex like only strangers can or dare. After this meeting, I would come back to my room, relieved that Christine hadn't woken up, and slide back next to her like a garden snake.
Above all else, I believed it was necessary to prevent this encounter, this adultery, from happening because my future depended on it. But what could I do? And really, this betrayal had happened 25 years ago.
I sat at the bar, watching the entire event between my younger self and this beautiful woman transpire before my eyes. How could I intervene and stop this from happening?
In over an hour, I had consumed 4 scotches to see the woman pass George the younger her room number. He stood up and kissed her on the cheek, walking out of the bar and up to his room. 'What a sleaze bag!' I thought.
Leaving the bar, I walked outside to see my cat, Jasper, comfortably sitting on a lounge chair waiting for me. Sitting down next to him, I put my head in my hands, feeling confused but more guilty than anything else. Jasper waited without uttering a thought. He was waiting for me to come up with an answer.
“Jasper, this betrayal on my honeymoon started all the crap in my life. I wish I could change my mind about going to that woman's room. I really don't know why, because I never admitted the fling to Christine, over our 25 years of marriage. I don't understand.”
“There's something you need to see,” Jasper said.
He extended his paw, and instantly we were standing in the hallway of the hotel. The elevator doors opened, and out I walked with a strange expression. George the younger knocked on the door of a room, and the beautiful woman from the bar let him in.
Jasper whispered. “Look.” Standing in the shadow of the hallway was Christine, who I guess followed me to my adulterous rendezvous. She put her ear to the door, listening to the rough and tumble of my fling. After a few minutes, she walked to the exit sign leading to the stairs.
“My God, Jasper, Christine knew about the fling the entire time and didn't say a word for 25 years. I'm a total idiot!”
Jasper looked up and said, “She found the card and number in your pants and waited to follow if you decided to go through with it.”
Jasper extended his paw, and I bent down and connected. There I was sitting at the bar again at the same time earlier that afternoon. George, the younger, sat next to me as the handsome bartender asked me what I wanted to drink.
“Give me a scotch neat.” I asked.
“I gave you a double on the house. You look like you need it.” he said.
This was certainly a “groundhog” moment. I was repeating a scene in the past for the third time. George, the younger, sat at the barstool next to me, nursing his scotch neat. In a few seconds, he would turn to me and say:
“I'm sorry, but do I know you. Sorry if that sounds weird, but really, you do look familiar.”
As this is the third repetition of this short moment in a long life; instinctively, I knew that something needed to change to set the future straight or in the right direction. At that time, I really didn't have the slightest idea. I replied:
“No, I don't believe we have ever met before. But I must say, you look a bit familiar as well.”
George the younger turned away, sipping his drink.
As the silence between my younger self and I continued, the beautiful woman, like the past two times, entered the bar. George the younger peered longingly back at the lady sitting alone at the seat next to the open windows. It dawned on me that perhaps by running interference between them, the adulterous encounter would never happen. It was then I thought, 'I'll initiate the encounter!'
“Excuse me, bartender.” I said.
“Yes sir.”
“You see the young lady by the window. Please give her a glass of your best champagne.”
“Certainly, sir.”
George the younger gave me a disapproving look. “She's a bit young for you. Don't you think?”
This statement had taken me off guard. I looked down at his sparkling gold wedding ring. “Well, George, is it? I'm currently single, and by what I saw on the beach today, your new bride is quite attractive.” He saw me peering at his ring, shrugged, remained silent, and continued to sip his scotch.
The bartender served the woman the champagne and told her who it was from. I raised my glass to her, and she did the same. It was then she beckoned me over to her table.
Our conversation touched on the banal, telling her that I was a heart surgeon practicing in Los Angeles. She told me she was a model, meeting a fashion crew over the next few days to shoot for some sports company. Over the years in my medical practice, I always know when someone is lying to me. This beautiful woman was not a fashion model, but the hotel's resident escorted anyone she deemed appropriate for her special services. Our conversation was coming to a close when she handed me a card with her room number. George, the younger, walked out of the bar with a noticeable scowl. I accepted the card and whispered in her ear.
“How much for an hour of your services?”
Rather than verbally respond, she grabbed the card out of my hands and wrote down something, and promptly exited the bar. I looked down at the writing, and it said: $1000 for the hour. The original memory of the scene returned, and I remembered the woman only charged George the younger a mere $500 for the hour. This didn't upset me because I was old and an established professional. This beautiful woman knew her business and understood her mark. But my next thought was filled with anxiety; did I change the course of my life?
Again, Jasper is sitting outside in one of the lounge chairs on the deck.
Jasper never offered his thoughts but offered his right paw instead.
Jasper and I am now standing at the rear of a huge church. At a younger age, I see myself sitting beside two boys I know to be my sons. I know this is a funeral because I can see a huge portrait of Christine at the front of the church. I can barely make out what the pastor is saying:
“Christine was taken from us by a freak accident, hit by a speeding car as she was crossing the street to a movie theatre to see a film. Going to the movies was her greatest passion...”
I turned to Jasper and thought, “What is this?”
Jasper lifted his paw, and now I see Christine and I standing in a park, watching children play. We are much older, in our late 70's, and the children we are seeing are our grandchildren. So, I thought, we did grow old together and enjoying the fruits of our hard work with our grandchildren. I can see and feel that we are delighted at this point in our lives.
The scene changes again. Jasper and I are back in my office. The old cat is sitting by the window, sunning himself. I'm sitting on a visitor's chair facing the window. And it occurs to me that without a doubt, I'm dead.
“This may sound really corny, George, but you had the opportunity to see what your life could have been like if you had made the right decision back at the time of your honeymoon. What is promising is the fact that you witnessed your terrible decision and attempted to fix it. This, in turn, allowed you to see how your life could have been by rectifying that decision. But the fact remains you decided to have sex with that escort on your honeymoon, and your wife witnessed it. That choice has led us to here and now.”
“So you're saying all this moving through time has not changed a single thing. I'm still dead, and that's it. Right?
Jasper jumped off the windowsill onto the desk and stared me straight in the eyes.
“You saw what you did and knowing it was wrong, changed it. That's good enough for me.”
“But what about Christine and Saul? What will happen to them.”
Jasper replied, “At this stage, it's none of your concern. But there will come a time when you souls, together, can work this all out.”
“So George, you need to move on. And let me say it was a pleasure knowing you. And don't worry about Christine and Saul. They'll negotiate their own karma.”
My perceptions changed, the world now out of focus, and I felt myself moving along…