Yellow

My head is splitting. I feel horrible. There are voices around me; they sound rushed. No, they are slurred. I think… I’m not sure. All I can feel is pain. A pain so great I want to vomit, but am immobilized. My sight is hazy at best. No, cloudy is a better description. Clouds like those that bring heavy rain right before the deep black clouds release the pent up hostility found in lightning and thunder. I am a fan of these storms and the rains, but I would prefer to watch them than to feel as if they are in my head. I close my eyes. I am cold. The pain is ceasing although the feeling of urgency is increasing. The lessening pain is better. It is comfortable. I am sure it is right and I nestle into it, letting go of all the stimuli bustling around me.

I’ve been sleeping. I feel heavy as if I am waking from a drug induced sleep. It is taking me a long time to twitch a finger, take a deep breath, and pull myself through the thickness of this sleep. It’s what I imagine swimming through quicksand would feel like. My movements are slow. I am afloat, but there is tragically little progress made from stroke to stroke. It is hard work and the reward is life if you can make it to the other side. I can’t open my eyes yet, but I feel a deep silence. I choose to lay and listen to it. I stop struggling and just listen. I don’t sink, but can feel the heaviness all around me. I do this for what feels like an eternity. The oppressive weight seems to dissipate from me slowly. Where there is room, it is replaced by a warmth, a calm, and a lightness I don’t think I have ever experienced before. I drift off to sleep, caught between a heaviness and a lightness.

I wake again. I am all light and warmth and calmness. I can breathe easily. I don’t want the sensation to end so I choose not to open my eyes. I don’t know how long I lay like this, waiting for a disruption, something that will force me to open my eyes and rejoin society. It is a long time and no disruption comes. As glorious as it feels to sit here, I am becoming bored with it. I am questioning if I forgot to turn my alarm on and if I have slept all day. No, it must still be early. My boss would have called if I was late for work.

Wait. Maybe it is Saturday. Yes, that’s it. It must be Saturday. I remember leaving the office party last night a little too inebriated, perhaps. And then I remember my splitting headache. The result of a serious, serious hangover. Oh God, I hope I didn’t make a fool out of myself! I can’t even remember how I got home. This is not a good sign. I open my eyes.

Everything is bright white. Bright is not the right term. It is blinding. More so than looking at the sun. I have never experienced anything like this. I blink in the bright light, trying to focus my eyes. Everything looks soft, fluffy, as if it all blurs together. It takes a while, but I am finally able to keep my eyes open without needing to shield them. I feel as though I should be alarmed as my vision still has not cleared. I am not. I still am filled with calm. I vow to never drink again, at least not as heavily.

I stand up slowly and find that I am still as light as a feather. I could get use to this. My feet are on something cool and I wonder what I have left on the floor. Whatever it is, it is extremely smooth. I step back a couple of steps and look down. I can’t make out the object, but I am relieved to see a color other than white and more white. Whatever it is looks yellow. I bend down to get a closer look. It is a yellow the color of gold. The gleam is startling amongst all the white. I touch it, running my hand over it. I can feel little grooves where it hooks to what looks like more little yellow bricks. I continue to inspect it and smile at myself. If I didn’t know better, I would say I was walking on the gold paved streets of heaven.

A sudden flash rushes through my mind. I’m waving good-bye to my co-workers. “Tata” I call, still waving the goofy yellow Easter kerchief giving by the company to all the men and women who attended. It’s no longer an image in my head. I am experiencing this moment again. “Tata” I call again as I step backwards. My heel feels like it has broken and I begin to tumble backwards. I see the hands of my co-workers reach for me from across the lawn. Their faces show fear. Some have averted their eyes. I am still falling. I look to my right and see the headlight of the car. I hear a deafening squeal of tires as they slam on the brakes.

And then I see white again. I see fluffiness. I feel the coolness beneath my feet and am staring at those little interlocking yellow bricks of pure gold. I cry and my tear drops glimmer off of the yellow road. I am dead. I don’t know how long I cry for. Time doesn’t matter here. I know this from Sunday school teachings. As I cry, I am flooded with memories of my life. I see how my choices have affected the people I love and hate. I am embarrassed by some things and proud of others. It is a slow emptying of my life on Earth. A slow realization of how I made a difference on the road.

When I stop crying I am filled with a peace and a pleasure at how much value I added in comparison to that I took from others. I am whole in a way I have never experienced. The yellow of that road speaks to me. It tells me that I have done what I can. I have a great longing to continue to grow from where I left off. And I know the only way I can do that is to follow this ribbon of yellow to my new home, where I will create a life for myself that I could never have imagined on Earth.