A Walk Through The Garden

Victor awoke with a terrified gasp, barely holding back a scream. He snapped up to a sitting position immediately, fueled by fear and adrenaline, then cradles his woozy, swimming head in his hands right after. In hindsight, sitting up so fast was not a smart idea. With a groan, he pivoted around and set his feet on the floor, bending over until his head was between his knees. It felt like his brain had been put in a blender on frappe; his stomach was doing flip-flops under his ribs, and his ears were filled with a shrill, high-pitched whine that refused to go away. By the time he got his breath back and the world stopped spinning like a Tilt-O-Whirl, he realized that whine was not a whine.

There were birds, singing all around. What were songbirds doing in his bedroom?

As Victor slowly opened his eyes again, he was puzzled to see cobblestones under his bare feet instead of the carpet he expected. He must have been severely dazed still, because the yellow-brown pavers seemed to sparkle like gold in the light. Victor shook his head and rubbed his eyes as he sat up, thinking it was a trick of the light. Wherever he was, there was plenty of it. Everything was so bright, it was hard to make out his surroundings at first. After a few minutes and lots of blinking, he managed to force his eyes to adjust. What he saw, however, didn't make a lick of sense.

He was sitting on a low, white marble bench, in the heart of an immense garden. Walls of hedges stood all around him higher than he was tall, each covered in a spray of blossoms. There was every kind of flower he could imagine - and some that defied imagination - all glittering like precious jewels in the sunlight in every color on the spectrum. Some, like the tiny, delicate blossoms on the hedges, were dipped in gold and silver, making Victor doubt that they were real. Instinctively, he reached out and cupped a rose with gilded petals, shocked by its warmth and velvety softness.

Overhead, several towering trees shaded the stone path running through the garden. The air was thick with the tantalizing aromas of the fruit they bore, but Victor couldn't quite put his finger on what variety it was. The scent seemed to change every minute, starting as apple before morphing to lemon, orange, pomegranate, or plum. Victor's eye was drawn to the tree above him, shocked to see its branches bowed almost to the breaking point it was so heavily laden with fruit. Although he was tempted to reach up and pluck one off, Victor resisted the urge. For one thing, he was afraid he'd chip a tooth on the strange fruit's glittering, diamond-like flesh. For another, it was rude to pick fruit off a tree that didn't belong to him without asking the owner's permission first.

This garden put every other garden he'd seen to shame - not that there had been many - but something about it deeply unsettled Victor. As hard as he tried to, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten to such a strange, beautiful place. His memories were all jumbled up like three jigsaw puzzles in one box. And the few things he could make out in the landscape of his memory were defintely not pleasant.

A dark, rainy street... a bright flash of light... Pain, worse than any he'd ever felt... Someone was crying... for him, maybe? He wasn't sure.

The more Victor tried to remember what happened, the more anxious he became. He wasn't supposed to be in this place. There was someone waiting for him back where he was. Someone he loved very much. Victor got to his feet, determined to find the garden's owner. Maybe they could tell him where he was, and help him find his way back home. He was so tired and woozy, though, he had to sit back down immediately. With a wince, his hand moved to his sternum, as a very small twinge pulled at his heart. He didn't have time to figure out what it was, though, before someone shuffled down the path toward him.

It was an old man, with a beard so long he could've been a back-up singer for ZZ Top. The faded silver coveralls and matching baseball cap he had on made Victor think he was a groundskeeper. That would explain the worn leather toolbelt around his waist, the muddy work boots on his feet, and the gloves sticking out of his hip pocket. The old man's whiskery lips curved upwards in a warm, friendly grin as he made his way over to Victor.

"Mornin'," the stranger greeted, wiping his hand on his coverall leg before offering it amicably, "you must be Victor Perkins. Glad to meetcha."

Victor's eyes darted from the old man's calloused, leathery hand to his sparkling brown eyes, too shocked to accept the handshake. "H-How do you know my name?" he asked. "Who are you... and... what is this place? I-I can't remember anything!"

"Now, just settle down thar," the old man murmured, patting Victor on the shoulder and giving it a firm knead. "Take a deep breath, Son; it's all gonna be okay. You're in a good place, I promise." He sat down next to Victor after a moment with a loud, old-man sigh, then offered his hand again. "Friends call me Pete," he said, "You probably got a whole lotta questions for me. I promise to answer as many as I can... but we don't have much time here."

Victor rubbed his chest again, as that small ache he'd felt before persisted. "We don't?" he frowned. "Why? Where am I, Pete? Can you help me get back home? Someone... S-Someone needs me, and-"

"Monica," Pete interrupted, nodding sadly, "She's real worried about you for sure. Don't you worry, Victor; we'll get you back to her just as soon as we can."

Victor blinked, as that name immediately struck a chord in his soul. Suddenly, he remembered the face that belonged to it as clear as a bell: her soft brown skin, just a shade lighter than his own; her thick mane of raven curls that always smelled like coconut; her laughing hazel eyes; how her full lips curved when she gave him that certain smile, saved just for him. Victor loved Monica, more than life itself. A second later, he remembered another, incredibly important detail about her.

"Monica... she's going to have a baby," he recalled, "my baby. Are they okay?! Please, Pete, I need to know!"

"Just hold yer horses," Pete said, clapping a firm hand on Victor's shoulder again, "Monica and your soon-to-be-born son are doin' just fine... thanks to you. What you did was very brave, Victor. Not very smart, mind you, but courageous nonetheless. That's why you're here, 'stead of the Other Place."

Victor winced and massaged his chest again, as that nagging little ache was starting to get worse. "Other Place?" he echoed. "I... I don't understand."

"You don't need to," Pete assured him, "not yet, anyway. All you need to know is that it ain't your time, which is why we hafta give you the boot for now. First, however, we need to have a little talk."

Victor was still very confused, but he didn't argue. There was something about Pete that immediately put him at ease. Although he didn't know the old man from Adam, Victor found he trusted Pete implicitly.

"Okay," he conceded, "I'm listening. What's so important that I was taken away from Monica... and what, exactly, did I do to warrant it?"

Pete pursed his lips, sighing deeply through his nose, then took off his cap and scratched his bald, liver-spotted scalp. "Well, to tell you the truth, Vick, you were shot," he said. "You were willing to give your life to save the woman you love and your unborn child. That kind of selflessness is rare these days... but I'm afraid that one act is not enough to earn you a permanent pass."

Victor lowered his gaze to the glittering cobblestones again, as a hazy snippet of memory surfaced. He saw that dark, rainy street more clearly... the corner of Broadway and West 135th street, four blocks away from their Harlem apartment, and the dark, hooded figure who came out of nowhere. It had all happened so quickly; being forced to hand over his wallet... watching Monica struggle with her engagement ring... the mugger's .22 flashing in the dark, when she couldn't work it off her finger fast enough. Victor's body had reacted quicker than the mugger's itchy trigger finger, diving between Monica and the gun before it had the chance to go off.

Her scream still echoed in Victor's ears as he nodded, returning his gaze to Pete. "I... I remember," he said, "sort of... but I'm still not a hundred percent sure what's going on." Pausing to take a breath of that sweet, flowery and fruity air, Victor took in the stunningly beautiful garden again. It was so perfect... so serene... practically a paradise.

"Am I... dead?" he asked nervously.

Pete leaned back until his spine rested against the tree trunk behind the bench, watching the light filter through the jewel-like fruit hanging from it. "Technically, yes," he said bluntly, "...but you won't be for much longer."

After a moment, Pete sat up straight again, hopping to his feet. Victor followed him without hesitation, although he wasn't sure exactly where they were going. Although he'd never admit it, he was too scared to be alone right now, and Pete seemed to have all the answers he needed. With a quick wave of his hand, Pete suddenly pulled a photo album out of thin air, opening it right away. A chuckle rippled through the old man as he flipped through the first few pages, which were filled with pictures of a baby boy. A baby that looked an awful lot like Victor.

"Cute little feller, weren't you?" Pete observed. "Just lookit those big green eyes; so full of wonder and innocence. Big things were planned for you from day one, I know." Pete's wise brown eyes cut Victor to the bone as they flicked over to him. "Where do you think you veered away from that plan, Vick? Any guesses?"

Victor stared at the pages Pete flipped through as he tried to keep up, which were turning almost too fast for him to perceive. In ten seconds he saw his entire childhood played out in pictures, from the minute he was born to his early teens. Pete's flipping and his pace finally slowed when he reached a photo of young Victor standing on the steps of a small, white building; his grandmama's old church, in rural North Carolina. She was with him in the picture, smiling proudly with her arms hugging his thirteen-year-old shoulders from behind. That was the first picture in the album so far where Victor wasn't smiling. He remembered that summer very well, even though he'd tried so hard to forget.

"That's not fair," Victor growled. "What happened back then wasn't my fault! I was just a kid, Pete!"

"I never said it was," Pete argued calmly. "I'm sorry, Son; some people just fall out of love quicker than they fall in it. That summer wasn't all bad though, was it? You got to spend time with your grandmama before she passed. She did all she could for you, too, with what little she had."

Victor rubbed his aching chest with a frustrated growl. "They shipped me off like cargo," he snapped. "Neither one of my parents really cared about me... they just wanted me out of the way, so they could duke it out with their divorce lawyers in peace!"

"You blamed God," Pete said, and he wasn't wrong. "Your unhappiness was a direct result of your parents' unhappiness... but you still had love, Victor. Your grandmama loved you with all her heart - she still does - and so did the Lord. HE loved you from the moment you were born. You know that, don't you?"

Victor didn't dignify Pete's question with an answer. Frankly, he knew Pete was right, but he was too proud to say so. That, and the mild pain behind his sternum was getting harder to ignore, directing his focus away from their conversation momentarily.

As Pete picked up the pace again, the pages of the album flipped faster without him needing to touch them at all. The images upon them were all snapshots of Victor's young life from his teens to his early twenties. They showed a young man full of anger and pride, rebelling against his mother every chance he had: sneaking out late at night and not coming back until dawn; cutting class to smoke weed on his school's roof; shoplifting snacks and cans of beer from the bodega down the street; taking petty cash from his mom's purse, then lying to her face when she asked him about it later. Victor knew he hadn't been a saint, but seeing every bad deed he'd done lain out so plainly was overwhelming to say the least.

"Quite an interesting youth you've had," Pete observed, shaking his head as a few more pages flipped by. "So far, it looks like you've managed to break almost every Commandment... but it ain't too late for you yet."

Victor rolled his eyes and walked a few steps ahead of Pete, unable to bear looking at the pictures any longer. "I was young... and stupid," he groaned, pressing his palm flat to his chest. The ache was much worse now, making it hard to breathe. "I've changed... since then!"

"Yes," Pete agreed, turning the next few pages slowly. "You cleaned up your act quite a bit after you met Monica. She helped you get a job in her uncle's auto-body shop; kept you motivated and on track while you took your night classes; cheered the loudest when you finally walked across the stage to claim your degree. She's done a whole lot for you... but somethin's still missin', I'm afraid."

"What?!" Victor snapped, turning on his heel to face Pete sharply. He'd had about enough of this trip down memory lane. Victor was quickly losing patience with the old man, and the ever-growing pain in his chest wasn't helping anything. "Just tell me what I need to do, so I can go home!"

Pete slowly closed the album, tucking it under his arm solemnly. "The problem, Son, is that you're not livin' the life God has designed for you. Like I said, HE's got big plans for you. You got so much potential, Victor, an' you're lettin' it all go to waste."

Victor took another stumbling step back, grabbing onto a low-hanging tree branch to steady himself. "What do you know about my 'potential'?" he muttered darkly. "You don't know anything about me, Pete!"

"I know more than you think," Pete murmured. "I've seen your struggles... your loneliness... your pain. Life for you has been harder than most, but that hardship doesn't have to define you. Even in your hardest, darkest moments, The Lord and HIS angels have been right by your side, waiting for you to notice them. All you need to do is stop, listen, and let them help."

Pete's words hung heavily in the air, weighing Victor down. Until now, he'd never met anyone who really gave a damn about him. Except his dearly departed grandmother, and Monica of course. He thought back to all those times Monica invited him to come with her to church, which he declined without fail. God seemed to stop caring about him long ago, so Victor always thought it was a waste of time. Frankly, he wasn't even sure there was a God. He still wasn't sure. Nor was he convinced that everything around him wasn't a shock-induced hallucination.

"Why should I believe you?" Victor grumbled. "What proof do I have that you - or any of this - is even real?!"

"If it's proof you want, I have none to offer," Pete murmured. "You'll just have to take my word for it. That's why they call it 'faith'. Whether or not you choose to heed my words and start livin' right is up to you... just keep in mind that if you don't, the next conversation we have won't be here."

A fresh jolt of white-hot pain radiated across Victor's chest suddenly. It was so strong and jarring, he doubled over with a deep gasp, clutching his sternum with both hands. His vision blurred. He couldn't get any air whatsoever, his breathing was so stilted and ragged.

"Pete... Wh-What's... h-happening to me?!" he gasped. "W-Why... does it hurt... s-so much?!"

Pete's hand was suddenly on his elbow, leading him along the gilded path. "Don't be scared," he said, "that just means our time here is at an end... for now. Just lean on me. I'll walk you out."

With every step he took, Victor's pain got steadily worse. It was so bad, he could barely think. Before he knew it, the garden was gone; he was walking in a pure white void. He couldn't see Pete beside him anymore, but he could still feel the old man's fingers gripping his bicep. Then, suddenly, they let go.

"No," Victor begged, "please... d-don't leave me!"

"You'll be okay, Victor," Pete's warm, distant voice assured him, "just keep walkin'... and don't look back!"

Victor was scared beyond words, but he did as Pete said. Suddenly, there was one last jolt, so sharp and agonizing that it knocked him flat onto his back. In an instant, the void was gone... and an EMT was leaning over him, holding a pair of defibrillator paddles.

"I have a pulse! Sir, if you can hear me, you're going to be okay! We'll be at the hospital in two minutes!"