Elsewhere(18)

"Why is that?"

"Young people tend to think they're immortal. Many of them can't conceive of themselves as dead, Elizabeth."

Aldous proceeds to go through all the things Liz would have to do in the next several months.

Dying seems to entail a great deal more work than Liz initially thought. In a way, dying isn't that different from school.

"Do you have any initial thoughts about an avocation?" Aldous asks.

Liz shrugs. "Not really. I didn't have a job on Earth because I was still in school."

"Oh no, no, no," Aldous says. "An avocation is not a job. A job has to do with prestige! Money! An avocation is something a person does to make his or her soul complete."

Liz rolls her eyes.

"I see by your expression you don't believe me," Aldous says. "It appears I've got a cynic on my hands."

Liz shrugs. Who wouldn't be cynical in her situation?

"Is there anything you particularly loved on Earth?"

Liz shrugs again. On Earth, she was good at math, science, and swimming (she had even gotten her scuba certification last summer), but she didn't exactly love any of those activities.

"Anything, anything at all?"

"Animals. Maybe something with animals or dogs," Liz says finally, thinking of her prized pug, Lucy, back on Earth.

"Marvelous!" crows Aldous. "I'm sure I could find you something fabulous to do with dogs!"

"I'll have to think about it," Liz says. "It's a lot to take in."

Aldous asks Liz a bit about her life on Earth. To Liz, her old life has already begun to seem like a story she is telling about someone else entirely. Once upon a time, a girl named Elizabeth lived in Medford, Massachusetts.

"Were you happy?" asks Aldous.

Liz thinks about Aldous's question. "Why do you want to know?"

"Don't worry. It's not a test. It's just something I like to ask all my advisees."

In truth, she hadn't put much thought into whether she was happy before. She supposes that since she never thought about it, she must have been happy. People who are happy don't really need to ask themselves if they are happy or not, do they? They just are happy, she thinks.

"I suppose I must have been happy," Liz says. And as soon as she says it, she knows it's true.

One silly little errant teardrop runs out of the corner of her eye. Liz quickly brushes it away. A second tear follows, and then a third, and it isn't long before she finds she is crying.

"Oh dear me, oh dear me!" exclaims Aldous. "I'm sorry if my question upset you." He excavates a box of tissues from underneath one of the towers of paperwork. He considers handing her one tissue and then decides on the entire box.

Liz looks at the tissue box, which is decorated with drawings of snowmen engaged in various holiday activities. One of the snowmen is happily placing a smiling rack of gingerbread men in an oven. Baking gingerbread men, or any cooking for that matter, is probably close to suicide for a snowman, Liz thinks. Why would a snowman voluntarily engage in an activity that would in all likelihood melt him? Can snowmen even eat? Liz glares at the box.

Aldous pulls out a tissue and holds it up to Liz's nose as if she were five years old. "Blow," he orders her.

Liz obeys. "I seem to cry a lot lately."

"Perfectly natural."

Liz had been happy. How remarkable, she thinks. The whole time she had been on Earth she hadn't considered herself a particularly happy person. Like many people her age, she had been moody and miserable for what she now sees as totally foolish reasons: she had not been the most popular person in school, she didn't have a boyfriend, her brother could be annoying, and she had freckles. In many ways, she had felt that she had been waiting for all the good things to happen: living alone, going to college, driving a car. Now Liz finally sees the truth. She had been happy. Happy, happy, happy. Her parents had loved her; her best friend had been the most sympathetic, wonderful girl in the world; school had been easy; her brother hadn't been all that bad; her pug had liked to sleep next to her in bed; and, yes, she had even been considered pretty. Until a week ago, Liz realizes, her life had been entirely without obstacle. It had been a happy, simple existence, and now it was over.

"Are you all right?" Aldous asks, his voice filled with concern.

Liz nods, even though she does not feel all right. "I miss my dog, Lucy." She wonders whose bed Lucy is sharing now.

Aldous smiles. "Luckily, dog lives are much shorter than human lives. You may get to see her again someday."

Aldous clears his throat. "I meant to mention this before. People who die as young as you, that is to say, sixteen and under, can be sent back to Earth early."

"What do you mean?" asks Liz.

"Young people sometimes find the process of adjusting to life in Elsewhere quite difficult and their acclimations ultimately fail. So, if you choose, you can go back to Earth early. As long as you declare your intentions within your first year of residence. It's called the Sneaker Clause."

"Would I go back to my old life?"

Aldous laughs. "Oh no, no, no! You would start all over again as a baby. Of course, you might run into people you used to know, but they wouldn't know you, and in all likelihood, you wouldn't recognize them."