The Sportin' Life (33 page)

It had been so long since she had remembered this moment. She took the time to breathe in those old sensations, to draw them forward, deep into her breast once again, so she could relive the joy she had once felt.

But as soon as she resumed thought, Addie felt herself pulled from the scene, and she was back, standing next to her guides. Although she stood talking with her guides, various scenes from her life continued to play in the background, herself on the sidelines in conversation, until a very compelling moment was revealed and once again she was sucked back into the past, back into the self she once was, all that time ago.

“
Ohh,
”
she murmured,
“
Ohh.
”
But before she could say anything more, she was drawn forward again.

She sat in a chair beside a sunny window, Lissa and a book on her lap. Look at her hair, how it shone. Look at Lissa, three, inquisitive, so adorable. She turned the pages, reading the story about the frog, and Lissa, who had heard that story so often, remained enthralled. The child reached up, grasped some of Addie
’
s hair and gently tugged it.
“
Mommy,
”
she said,
“
You are my mommy. Good mommy!
”
Addie
’
s arms pulled Lissa closer, her cheek rubbed against the top of the child
’
s head, and they sat there in a timeless embrace, which had lasted but a second when it had happened, but Addie was unwilling now to let go. The good things had gone by too quickly, and she had not paid enough attention to them as they passed.

She remembered Mick and the time they
’
d spent together so recently. And then before her was the child Michael, seven years old, herself nearly thirty, and he sat tightly against her on her best friend
’
s couch. Joanie stood there smiling, watching Addie snuggle her son. There had never been a time when Addie wasn
’
t close to Joanie, and now she was there for a visit, and young Mick sat with her.
“
You
’
re my favorite Aunt, Addie, you
’
re my best friend,
”
he
’
d said and Joanie had laughed and said she was the only girl he could stand, other than his mother. Addie giggled and relaxed a little. It had been a terrible time, and she
’
d come there for a healing, and there she was, with her adopted family, this darling boy close to her side, loving her, snuggling her, when her own children ignored her. It was at that moment she
’
d begun to love Mick, she knew it, although then there was nothing romantic between her and this small child, just pure love.

Was there anything wrong with that? They were all so happy that day, a warm family, loving and supporting each other. It was life as it should be lived, something she had always known was possible. It was what she had always wanted. And she loved Mick and Joanie so much. Joanie wasn
’
t just her best friend, she was her sister, or so it always had felt.

A tinge of sorrow flowed over Addie, and she felt Long Feather
’
s hand on her back, Cerise
’
s hand in hers. The scene had disappeared. She stood again next to her guides, alone with them in that channel of light.

“
You don
’
t have to flow into the body,
”
said Cerise,
“
You can stand here and just watch.
”

“
Ohh,
”
said Addie,
“
I didn
’
t know what I was doing, I was just there.
”

“
It gets easier to control, you
’
ll see,
”
said Cerise.

Before Addie could ask what was the point of all these memories, she saw The Deuce, Arthur Bittman, striding into a conference room. She tried to remain an observer, standing beside her guides, but once again was transported into the self that she had been, so many years ago, and she flowed into and out of the scenes as they moved forward in time.

She sat, terrified and humble, in a chair, waiting to meet the famous attorney, and she prayed he would be her salvation. When Artie walked in, there was no doubt where in that room the power resided. Despite his lack of stature, he was the sort of man who could take charge and do what was necessary. He could make it all right….

“
Have you gained weight?
”
he asked, struggling to carry her over the threshold of his house, only a month after her divorce was final.
“
And you
—
Miss,
”
he said playfully to Lissa, hoisting her into his arms next,
“
Have you gained weight too?
”
Lissa squirmed and laughed and Artie tickled her as Addie watched…..

Artie sat in their den, his tiny twin sons on his lap, Lissa snuggled under his arm, and they all watched a cartoon on the television. Addie waved hastily to her family and Artie blew her a kiss as she raced out the door to one of her seminars.
“
No, Mommy,
”
yelled Lissa over the sound of the door slamming shut,
“
Don
’
t go!
”

Addie sighed, and felt herself pulled loose from the scene. But it didn
’
t disappear so quickly this time and she was able to stand and watch and try to make sense of things. What was it she hadn
’
t seen? What had she missed? Addie didn
’
t know. It was like a movie, the moments at first melded together and then becoming unhinged, moving forward in time, herself being sucked into one moment, then the next, and releasing just as quickly and then moving to the next frame.

Suddenly the scene transformed and she saw her father in his favorite chair, watching television, and herself walk into the room and climb into his lap, and she sat there, safe and happy, content to watch the basketball game with her dad. Was there something about Artie that reminded her of her dad? What? She couldn
’
t see that, not at all, and suddenly she tensed and removed herself from the scene.

She stood back, still looking at that snippet of her life, her child self frozen in time there on her dad
’
s lap. She had been safe that day. Nothing had been going on, nothing was wrong. It was a normal, happy moment and Addie could remember those emotions she
’
d felt of contentment, of being happy, being daddy
’
s girl. But she couldn
’
t watch that happy moment for long, couldn
’
t allow that happiness to remain, and she tensed again and again, and wished the images would disappear. She would not think about her dad, she absolutely refused.

Addie caught her breath, and she stood between her guides, in silence, in blankness, willing nothing to appear there before her, to have a moment, yes a moment of silence for her past, for herself, for all she had lived and would experience no more. It was a requiem she needed, not a mini series, no drama, not any longer.

“
What is the point of this?
”
she asked, in something of a whisper.

“
This is your life, your review,
”
said Cerise.

“
Yes I remember all this, but why am I seeing it?
”

“
It
’
s your review, you must review it all and make sense of it all, where you
’
ve been, what you
’
ve done, what it all meant, what it means now.
”

“
You mean like in school? You must be kidding. It
’
s over, don
’
t you see, no point in flagellating myself with the past. I did that too much when I was alive.
”

“
There is point,
”
said Long Feather,
“
Understanding, growth.
”
He sounded so much like a television Indian that Addie almost laughed.

“
Karma,
”
said Cerise.

“
Karma? You can
’
t be serious. I
’
m not some hippie.
”

“
You must see what you
’
ve done, what you owe, what is owed to you. What you
’
ve earned, and what you
’
ve lost. You can
’
t sum up if you don
’
t take the time to review.
”
Cerise was so serious, yet so calm. There was no question from the sound of her voice that she was absolute about everything she said. It would be done. There was no way not to do what she said.

Addie scowled at both her companions. They were clearly insane. She couldn
’
t possibly review every single moment of her life.
“
No,
”
she said,
“
Absolutely not. Post-death therapy? How utterly absurd.
”
And she glided away from them, moving forward in the channel of light, not knowing where she was going, or where she had been. She stood for a moment, then leaned down to sit, upon what, she couldn
’
t imagine, but there did seem to be something beneath her and she managed to arrange herself comfortably. Even though she had tried to distance herself, they remained always to be by her side.

There was no pain. She was content, sitting there on something that was invisible, herself now reduced to nothing but apparently a compendium of pointless memory. She closed her eyes and imagined herself dropping off to sleep, drifting into that pleasant state where her thoughts evaporated, and then Addie realized how exhausted she was. Sleep. She needed sleep. But nothing happened when her eyes were closed. She could see just as much as when they were open. Was it possible that there was no sleep after death? That it was a state of constant wakefulness, no respite, no temporary release? Addie cringed. That would make it worse than living.

“
In life you do not sleep,
”
said Cerise, answering her unstated question,
“
Only your body sleeps.
”

Addie held herself back, simply watching the scenes playing before her, thinking if she held tight, it would go faster and she could soon move on. She wondered how long this could possibly continue, how much minutia she must endure.

Before she could ask the question, Mrs. Kaplan, her last loyal client, sat before her, kitting on the couch in her office. She sat at the chair beside the couch.

“
I wonder if they
’
re planning anything big for me, you know for my seventy-fifth,
”
Mrs. Kaplan said, her voice lively and cheerful, the knitting needles clacking quietly as she spoke.

“
And how are things with your daughter-in-law?
”
asked Addie.

“
Oh, she
’
s a good girl, we worked it out. She was just afraid she couldn
’
t manage everything what with the new baby coming and all, but I told her I
’
d help, even every day if she needed me, and she calmed right down.
”

Mrs. Kaplan continued to talk about her family, the son who was having trouble with money, the middle-aged daughter who
’
d just landed her first part in a movie, the grandson who
’
d just made the little league team. If she hadn
’
t been knitting, she would no doubt have been flipping through a book of photos in her purse but Addie had so many times seen the photos of the Kaplan family, she could picture them all.

Addie had been working with this congenial old lady for five years, and at the beginning it was to help her deal with the death of her husband, beloved for fifty years and killed suddenly in an auto crash, but even after the most compelling grief had eventually passed, Mrs. Kaplan continued to see her, week after week. There were no crises, no challenges, just casual conversation and life
’
s day to day issues.

Addie had never asked Mrs. Kaplan why she continued her therapy, but now she decided to pose the question,
“
Why do
—
er did
—
you come week after week?
”
Addie asked, not knowing if a reply were possible.