It's Called Tomorrow

eight

"Let Tomorrow be your second chance to prove that you are better than today and yesterday."

— Ritu Ghatourey

|| || ||

The first thing I do is grab him a glass of water.

I'm able to spot an old glass, that I must have drank out of a few nights ago, and fill it with the tap water from the sink in the corner of the room.

After filling the glass, I hand it to Bodhi who quickly guzzles the water down—trickles of water rolling down his chin—his gulps loud and clear.

I quietly observe him.

He then gazes down at the empty glass before glancing up at me.

"Uh... could you fix me another one, please?" he croaks, his voice sounding a little scratchy.

I silently oblige but once I have my hand on the surface of the glass. I'm not able to take the cup from him, cuz his hand touches mine.

I gasp.

"Am I dead?" he asks, his eyes stare back at me with an intensity that sends me back to a reality that I forgot existed.

That's when it hits me.

He's alive.

Bodhi Matthews is alive.

The guy that had been declared dead, just a few days ago, is alive right here in front of me, on my embalming table.

I feel myself starting to tremble. I forget about Bodhi's glass of water as I let go of the cup, and I hear it shatter to the ground.

Shatter!

"He's not alive," I tell myself this, my hands clutching the sides of my hair..

"He's not really alive, Grace." I keep telling myself this.

"He's not alive. He's not alive. He's not alive..."

I was never one to believe in those miracles you see on TV. You know, the ones where the guy who never thought he'd walk again, is finally able to after some sort of miracle is performed on him.

I thought that was just false-prophets trying to get their hands on desperate people's money.

But even now, when the boy who I thought to have been dead, is alive before me. I can't say for certain that I believe in them.

I believe if there's a will, then there's a way.

But a miracle?

"Hey, it's okay—" he attempts to sit up on the table, but he immediately cries out in pain.

I stop freaking out.

He has to be feeling a little disoriented.

He was out for a few days, without having had moved a muscle... since, ya' know, he was a goner then. And his body has to be a little weak.

I walk over to him.

I don't know what I should say.

He seems fine, even if he's clutching his side a bit. Like he needs to get his appendix removed or something. He seems perfectly fine to me.

He still looks pretty pale—his skin drab and the dark circles standing out under his eyes as his blue irises stare up expectantly at me.

Is he waiting for me to say something?

I flush.

"I should notify your parents." That's all I got. I should notify them, that'd be the right thing to do. I should've notified them sooner, but 10 minutes have already gone by, I'm sure of it.

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, I should've called them sooner."

I scan my eyes around the room for my phone. Where did I sit it? I then start patting myself.

"You shouldn't be apologizing," he says, quietly.

I stop and stare at him.

He's now sitting on the edge of the table. "If you want me to be honest, I wouldn't want you to call them."

I'm confused?

If somehow I came back alive, the first people I'd want to see would be my parents.

I don't get it.

"Why not?" Before I can even stop those words from leaving my mouth, they do.

Bodhi kind of laughs and glancing up at me. "You wouldn't mind getting me some pants and shirt," he asks, "I'm kind of cold."

If this were any normal situation, I probably would've been irritated at him changing the subject, but this isn't a normal situation. If he doesn't want to elaborate at what he'd just said, I can't force him to.

"Sure," I mumble, walking towards the door.

...

He's wearing my father's clothes.

The button up shirt and the brown corduroy pants that Dad always wore to church on Sundays.

I would've dressed him in the clothes his mom had picked out for his funeral, but she had said something about his suit being delivered tomorrow.

"So... was I dead?"

I shake my head. I hadn't realized I was staring at Bodhi for so long. It's just seeing him in my father's clothes...

"So, I wasn't dead?"

My eyes widen. I just shook my head, didn't I? "No!" I say quickly. "You were dead."

I flinch a little at my bluntness, but the self-contempt doesn't last long enough for me to be contemplating over, because the thing I still can't wrap my head around is Bodhi not wanting me to call his parents.

I feel bad just sitting here, when obviously something's big happened: their son coming back to life.

If Mom and Dad had miraculously been resurrected, I would've wanted Monet and I to be the first people to know. But at that thought, I feel my stomach drop; the sudden sadness and frustration coming back to me as if it never left.

I thought I had stopped feeling this way a long time ago. I thought I could finally cope with my parents deaths.

I know there would be reminders and those rare times just like a few days ago, when I had taken out my Dad's old camera recorder, where I would want to look back at happy times.

However, I thought this feeling in my stomach and the whole feelings of frustration had stopped.

I look at Bodhi who's quietly observing the room. I guess it's not everyday you find yourself in the room where you were going to be embalmed.

"Bodhi," I say, unsure how I should go at this. "I'm calling your parents."

When those words leave my mouth, I feel as if I'm a teacher threatening a student with punishment.

But I think Bodhi not wanting to me to notify his parents is what's bringing back all this familiar frustration. I won't try to think up any excuse to why he isn't wanting his parents to know. All I'm aware of is he still has parents and he ought of let them know for their own sake.

Ms Matthew's tear stained face and smeared mascara is what all comes to mind when I look at Bodhi.

He stares back at me, the curiosity he had for the room gone and now replaced with... I'm not close enough to see his eyes, so I can't decipher what he's feeling. But without even a warning, I grab my (now found) phone off a nearby table, and search up Ms Matthews in my contacts.

I turn around once I find her name, facing the wall.

I wait for Ms Matthews to pick up.