Had a dream last night that I died. Only dying wasn't part of the dream (at least that I remember) I was in the place that you go after death. Not heaven or hell, some sort of in-between place. There was folding tables and a continental breakfast and crafts for the kids (and for me). The room was warehouse-like; a large open space with dusty cement floors and high square windows that let in the sort of wavering watery light that shines over you when you let yourself sink to the bottom of the swimming pool. Lots of people were there, some I knew and some I didn't, and we'd sit at the folding tables and eat French toast and scrambled eggs from the breakfast buffet and make things out of popsicle sticks and sometimes they'd play a movie on the projector, but never any particularly good ones. I'd find old friends or make new ones and talk about alive-things like love and fresh strawberries and first snow and laughter. And eventually, they'd all move on. I don't know if they moved on to a new life or a different sort of place or to become one with the indestructible energy of the universe or to something else entirely. None of us knew what happened when you left the in-between place, but everyone knew it was temporary and eventually everyone left. Everyone except me. Even when the last of the friends I knew in life had died and spent many years (or what felt like it anyway, because time no longer passes in any real way when you're in the in-between) keeping me company I wasn't ready to give up my identity, I was too afraid to move on even if we went together. "I can't believe you're leaving. Everyone leaves me. I died!" I remember shouting at him. "So did I. Everyone does." He responded with so much kindness in his voice and waited a few moments to see if I'd change my mind before he finally left. In the end, I was the only soul there. And then I woke up.
