Touching the Surface

My body smacked the water. Thoughts scattered like a handful of beads dropped on a bare wood floor. I gasped for air and the current rushed in. My throat burned. Panic, thrashing, spots of light exploding in my head. Surrender. I sank softly down . . . until . . . fingers wrapped around my wrist, yanking me out of the water. As my head broke the surface it all became clear. I had died . . . again.

• • •

I stood on the end of the dock that jutted out toward the middle of the lake, fingering the silver eagle feather charm that hung in the hollow below my neck. The chain tangled in the short hairs below my ponytail. I was stunned and spots bounced in front of my eyes. Memories of Mel and my previous visits
to the Obmil were rushing at me, but when it came to knowing who I was in my last life, all I could pull from the murky haze was the fact that I was a girl. A girl and a failure.

“Samantha? Is that really you?” Mel inhaled deeply and smiled, confirming that she knew exactly who I was.

It was starting to come back to me now. Everything around me looked the same as it had on my last two visits. I, on the other hand, was guaranteed to appear completely different. But that wasn’t unusual or problematic. A soul in the afterlife is recognizable. When you arrive at the Obmil in the last body you inhabited, it really isn’t much different than showing up at a family reunion in a different outfit. Everyone has a scent, a personal pheromone that overrides the optical illusion of the body they’re wearing. I’m told my soul smells a little like freshly cut wood and dark chocolate.

Mel took another deep breath and smiled at me, her face warm and welcoming. Slowly, the knot of information in my head was unraveling. It was Mel’s familiar hand that had pulled me from the water, out of my third life. That made sense. After all, she’d greeted me on my last two arrivals at the Obmil Center for Progression. Crappity, crap, crap—this meant I was here for the third time. I was stuck.

Mel studied me for a moment, then dropped her gaze and focused on recording my arrival in her notebook. She was big
into journaling, but I also suspected she was giving me time to get my bearings. Her pen flew across the page as she wrote down tidbits of information. I could imagine her comments about my future.
Lost soul—going nowhere fast.

I thought about it for a moment, realizing that I wasn’t Samantha anymore. That had been my name in my second life, the last time I’d taken a detour through the Obmil. I could feel the skin between my eyes crinkle up as I searched my memory. Who was I now?

On my first visit to the Obmil, my memories of life had been like Swiss cheese: baby Swiss, to be exact. There was more information present than missing. As a Second Timer the gaps were larger. It took a little longer for the memories to return, but with time, all the voids were filled. Honestly, it had almost been easy. No Delving was necessary for First and Second Timers. But I could still hear Mel’s voice warning me last time that
remembering
my past wasn’t my primary goal, I was supposed to be learning something deeper about myself during the process, to avoid ending up at the Obmil again. Why hadn’t I done it then? Being a Third Timer was humiliating. It was like failing gym because you refused to change for class. But as stupid as I felt for being in the afterlife again, I also knew I would have to find out what had led me here.

Last time, I’d tried doing what Mel suggested, letting one
of my memories go deeper, but it had been like rubbing my heart against a cheese grater. In my second life, my husband had cheated on me. Repeatedly. Remembering that was painful enough, but then I discovered my response to his philandering. I’d thought I could fix it. I thought it was me. I was convinced that if I put my mind to it, I could be whatever it was that he needed. I stayed—in an all-star show of pathetic behavior—and then he dumped me. I’d wanted to kill myself and maybe would have, if it hadn’t been for my best friend. She’d saved me from doing something unforgivable.

What I’d learned from the exercise was that self-examination hurts. It had taken my breath away. I never wanted to do that again. Things were better on the surface.

Standing on the dock now, the memories from my previous life as Samantha raced past me like a train passing through the station. I was so engrossed in the slide show in my head that I sucked in my breath when the recollections suddenly stopped short at the end of my second life. Who was I
now
?

Mel’s hand steadied my elbow and I knew without a doubt that this time around, things were different. I was empty. There weren’t any significant memories from my third life for my mind to grasp. The whole thing was one big, blank hole. I didn’t know my own story. It was the Obmil’s way of forcing my hand, upping the ante.

“Samantha?” Mel waved her hand in front of my face.

I felt a small ping. Like the wink of a firefly, one small memory shot across my mind. “It’s Elliot. Elliot Turner,” I answered.

“Elliot . . .” She rolled the name around on her tongue, looking me over from head to toe. “You’re younger than you were on your last visit. Not as curvy, either.”

I hugged myself, trying to make my own acquaintance, more small details starting to emerge. I squeezed tighter, attempting to reconcile the changes between my body as Samantha and the new me—Elliot. My hands and arms crushed my chest and sides. My new shape wasn’t a roller-coaster ride, Workshop this morning0hi that was for sure. Leaning over, I found my reflection in the smooth water of the lake. Seventeen was a lot younger than forty. I studied my face. It was plain compared to Samantha’s. The new me appeared forgettable. I turned away from the water.

Mel tilted her head to the side. “How was your trip in?”

“Wet.”

Sarcasm? I wasn’t sure where that came from. Maybe it was my first clue to my new personality.

Mel paused for a second, maneuvered her mane of frizzy red hair out of the way and gave a chuckle. Everyone who came to the Obmil through a waterway was dry as a bone when they exited. It was one of the perks of being dead. There were
others. The last time I’d been here I’d dropped in from the sky. Cause of death: plane crash due to mechanical failure. Luckily, high-impact landings were about as painful as water entries were wet.

Searching Mel’s sympathetic eyes, the full realization of being a Third Timer crashed over me like a wave. Without thinking, I flew into her arms.

“I don’t remember anything at all this time.” Small hiccups bounced my shoulders up and down. I remembered my first two lives, but my life as Elliot felt as if it was tucked away, someplace long forgotten, and no one had given me a map to find it. I buried my face in the crook of Mel’s neck where she always smelled the strongest of lavender and peppermint.

“Sshh . . .” Mel crooned in my ear. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to feel embarrassed about. I know you thought you’d figured it out last time, but I did try to warn you. It takes more than just touching the surface.” She squeezed my shoulder and smiled. “It’s fine, it wasn’t meant to be. Besides, if you’d gotten it right, I wouldn’t have the chance to see you again.”

I sniffed once or twice, allowing myself to feel safe for a moment, wrapped in her arms and her confidence.

“Enlightenment is highly overrated,” I said, pulling back and shrugging my shoulders. I thought about the cheese grater pain of recollected memories and deeper emotions. I shuddered.
“I’m not in a rush anyway. Staying here isn’t so bad—I’ll just hang around with you for a while.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Mel snapped.

I looked up in surprise. She was usually as even-tempered as they come.

“Listen, Elliot, I’m not really supposed to interfere too much with a soul’s personal journey. I’m simply a guide. But you should know that there are consequences for lingering too long at the Obmil. It’s okay to take all the time that you need if you’re actively working toward your growth plan, but eternal avoidance isn’t an option.”

“What kind of consequences?” I asked, noticing how her mouth was a thin hard line.

“It’s—let’s just say the consequences can be hellish.” She shifted her gaze away from mine.

“So, what you’re saying is that there really is a he—” Mel cut me off with a sharp stare before I could finish. Everyone at the Obmil was always speculating. Do all souls move forward after their time here, or are there other options—less pleasant options?

Mel cleared her throat. “I’m just saying that the best way to handle being a Third Timer is to take Julia’s approach.”

“Who’s">But this little bird’s fallen out of that nest now.

Mel gave herself a light thunk on the head. “Sorry. Julia is Emma.”

Emma
. My best friend in life and the afterlife. During my first life she’d also been a
he
. In fact, we were eighty-year-old twin bachelor brothers named Arty and Jim. We’d both died in our sleep and woke up in “twin” beds at the Obmil.

During my second life as Samantha, Emma was my best friend. We’d met at a divorce support group. She’d found me when I was at the end of my rope. We were on our way back from a retreat when our plane went down. Twice we’d been in the same life and afterlife together.

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