Hearing the Thinking
by Zoe LeaNext time I'm going back as a man. I've already told the angel, I said: "You can forget it if you think I'm being a woman again. No way." I've had it, the way women are, pulling everything apart like a stewed piece of meat.
When I was living, I thought it was me. I used to get things so they weren't real anymore. Making up a picture in my head so it was nothing like what really happened, and I then I couldn't remember what really had happened; it was all filled with cotton wool. Now, I see I wasn't so bad. Most do the same; but I've noticed it's mostly the women that can't let go.
Men, they think for a couple of seconds, and then it's gone. Women like to dissect. Take my daughter. Never really got on; but as it's her who thinks about me most now that I've passed, it's her who I listen to. Funny thing is, when I was living, I didn't. Thought she was a bit cold. She didn't talk like I did. I thought she was nothing like me, I remember saying to her: "Lucy, you're all your dad. There's not an ounce of me in that head." I didn't have a clue.
When she went through the divorce I told Betty I was worried about Lucy not worrying, so I took it over as my job. It didn't seem right saying goodbye to fifteen years of marriage and not to be bothered. Not a tear, not a sleepless night. Lucy was always like that, once she made up her mind. She didn't discuss things like I did. Now Michael, my husband, he wouldn't talk much. Mostly he just listened but that was enough, some kind of talking with somebody else. Not Lucy - she didn't need anyone to help her get through anything. So I thought. It's only now I'm finding out about her.
The other day I watched her for two hours at work go over something her ex-husband said. I saw the replay in her mind; him saying he never felt adequate. That was the reason why he started the affair. Said she better watch herself because when she fell, no one would catch her. She's had those words repeated as she's been typing on her keyboard. Looking as the screen fills up with little black numbers and thinking about his face.
She told me the divorce was a mutual decision, not that he'd had an affair. Now why'd she not tell me something like that?
I paid a visit to him, her ex, just to see what was going on. He was with a young blonde one. They were picking out wallpaper with cartoons on in lemon, all smiles and patting tummies, and then I had to go. Lucy doesn't know about that yet. Hope I'm sorted before she finds out, I expect she'll think a lot about me then and I don't really want to be around to hear it all.
I've asked for a decent heart next time. The angel says you can't pick your eye colour, or where you'll live or anything like that, but we'll see what we can do about a heart. It was said with one of those smiles that tell you nothing, so who knows? The angel asked me if I wanted to go sooner or later. I asked "What's the point of later?"
The angel said, "Michael?" and smiled. I told him sooner, definitely sooner.
I've had enough of Michael, love him though I did, I'll be glad to get on with something else. He didn't really do much, just read the paper chewing on his menthols and I don't want to be doing that here, so I'm on the list.
Lucy still sits with him; she talks as he sucks the mint between his teeth, rolling it around so it clatters against them. She asks him questions that she doesn't need to, how he is, what's he eating. No one cares. Lucy's thinking: Why don't I love my dad more? Why don't I spend more time with him? Should I put him in a home? And Michael's thinking: Will she be gone before Countdown? What time do they bring the meal? Should I ask if she wants to stay? And then she goes until a week passes. I didn't know, she was always off to the theatre, off to the cinema, off to the shops. Listening to me was a bore, I didn't know it was the only thing she did. The rest she did on her own.
I asked the angel, "Will I live longer next time?"
He smiled and said, "Box Turtles live over a hundred." And then he left. But I don't want to be a Box Turtle, and then I kicked myself because I never said that I wanted to be human, just to have a good heart and to be male. I'll say so next time the angel's around. I'll say it then.
Lucy had a turtle when she was little; it escaped out of the back garden. She said she wasn't bothered, "cold fish" I said to Michael, but leafing through her memories I find out that she looked for that turtle on and off for two years. It could still be alive now, depending. We never found the shell.
Lucy sits in most evenings and drinks wine. She says to herself: "I'll finish the bottle tomorrow." But mostly she finishes it, and another, that night. Then she thinks of me. She asks me things, she wants to know all kinds of stuff, but what do I know? She knows more about what'll happen to her than I will, she knows if she'll meet anyone or have kids. She knows.
The angel came round just before. I said: "Human, I want to be human." There was that smile, and then he asked me again: "Sooner or later?" And I said: "Sooner, I don't want to wait for Michael." The angel shook his head. "Lucy?" I asked, and I knew I was right.
She's been thinking about it for a while. Tried not to at first, but then more and more. Just like a woman, always going over the same ground, and you know Lucy - once she's made her decision. So now I'm waiting. Ready. And when I see her, I'll tell her. Next time, be a man.
Zoe Lea lives in the UK with three dogs, a young son, a patient husband and a PC permanently logged on. She has previously been published in Eclectica, Word Riot and Thirteen.