Page 153 - Musings 2020

14

Walking Back with Death

Shaily Bhatt 2017A7PS0040P

I died on a Thursday, if I recall correctly. I could easily blame it on the weather, but it was a
nice sunny day, not too bright, not too cold, and I just wasn’t paying attention. I just HAD to
see who texted me… a telemarketing text. When I looked up, I was already into oncoming
traffic. The last thing I remember seeing with my physical eyes was the word “Freightliner”, I
heard a squeal of rubber on asphalt and then the flash. I opened my eyes to see nothing but
pavement. I stood up, dusted myself off, and turned back to witness a grizzly scene. The
entire front of my car was compacted, crushed by the massive frame of the semi that I
collided with. I surveyed the damage and I still shudder to this day when I saw myself. I was
barely recognizable. Blood everywhere, bones protruding through the skin, limbs mangled, I
felt like I was going to throw up. But then I heard a voice behind me and I knew exactly who
it was.

“Michael Aaron Kozlowski?” The voice was deep but not intimidating, not as fearful as I had
imagined all these years and from all the movies I had seen. I turned around to see him. There
was no robe, no scythe, just a skeleton in a plain black suit and overcoat studying a clipboard
and checking his pocket watch. He looked up at me.

“Mr. Kozlowski, am I correct?” he had the expression of weariness.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I responded.
“Good. For a moment, I thought I got lost on the way. You’d be surprised how many Michael
Kozlowski’s there are in the world.” He was not this hulking foreboding figure that I was
expecting. My curiosity got the better of me. I walked from the wreckage and approached
him.
“Wait a minute. If you’re dead …” I lost my words for a moment, but was quick to find them
“...so how does this work? The whole death thing?”
“Oh... OH.…almost forgot to do my job again.” He quickly switched his focus back to his
clipboard and flipped through several papers.
“Ah, here we are. Michael Aaron Kozlowski.” he trailed off in an indiscernible mumble for a
moment and then rose back to audible clarity “…age 41…” I watched as his boney finger
traced the information on the page, from line to line and section to section.

“…died July 27, Two Thousand….” I knew what day it was, but I guess he had to go through
all of the particulars as part of his duty.
“…sudden fracture of the skull, succumbed to multiple internal injuries, hemorrhaging, blunt
trauma, collapsed lung, DAMN… that was a nasty one, wasn’t it?” I grimly nodded, trying to
be as patient as possible.
“…survived by Kathryn Avery, wife, and Jacob Thomas, son…”
“OH SHIT!” He stopped the read-through of his documentation and looked up at me.
“Excuse me?”
“I completely forgot about Katie and Jake”
“Well, you’ve been through quite a lot in the past 3 weeks.”
“Well I know but… wait a minute. Three weeks?”

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