Believe: A Short Story

The first time it happened, Robert Goodis thought it was a sick joke from someone. Most likely Larry Simon, a co-worker with a wicked sense of humor, and always willing to show it off. When confronted, Larry denied it, of course. He swore up and down it was not him. Whoever it was, he vowed no involvement. Robert believed him. But if it wasn’t Larry, who the hell else would play such a sick, despicable joke on him? When the first two calls came, Robert hung up quickly. It couldn’t be her, and he would not give the person on the phone the satisfaction of going on with it. The strange thing about it is, Robert thought, the voice on the phone did sound exactly like Karen’s.

The third time the phone rang, like the first two calls it was exactly at ten p.m. Robert swore he would not pick it up. If he didn’t answer, the jokester would soon get bored and stop calling. However, the phone continued ringing, and he finally picked it up.

“Look, whoever this is, it’s not funny and you’re one sick…”

“Robert, it’s me,” the delicate, sweet voice said. “It really is me.”

“You expect me to believe this crap. You and whoever put you up to this are sick individuals. Just stop, you’re driving me nuts.”

“Robert, you need to believe it’s really me. Do not hang up. Listen to me, I want you to calm down and take a deep, deep breath.”

That was the first clue. Whenever Robert got upset about anything and went on a rant, Karen, always in her soothing voice, would say, “Calm down and take a deep, deep breath.”

“It can’t be… How do you know that’s what…” he said.

“Because it is me. How can I convince you? Oh, I know. Remember, on our

first date, we went to that French Restaurant on Seventy-First Street. We sat in a cozy booth all evening long after we finished dinner. Slightly before closing, with the place almost empty, we went to the restroom area, and snuck into the ladies’ room where we kissed and for the first time, I let you feel me up.”

“How do you know that?”

“How do you think?”

Robert was silent and confused. It couldn’t be Karen. She’s dead, but no one ever knew about our little adventure in the ladies’ room. We swore never to tell anyone. Hell, it would be too embarrassing. That story was just for us.

“Karen, it doesn’t make sense.”

“You believe it’s me, don’t you?”

The words slipped out, but Robert had to admit, the voice sounded exactly like Karen. No one else knew about that story in the French Restaurant, and nobody else ever told him to take a deep, deep breath.

“Yes,” he hesitantly admitted. “But how? Where are you?”

“In your heart.”

“In my heart? Are you telling me I’m dreaming all this? No, I’m wide awake, and you’re on the phone talking to me.”

“Robert, I am in your heart and your soul. Spiritually, I am with you. I am always with you. You need to believe.”

“Believe? Karen, after the accident, I saw you in a coma for two days, connected to more tubes than I could imagine. Then, that third day, I arrived at the hospital, I headed straight to your room, and you weren’t there. I found Doctor Genco in the hall, and he told me you were gone. Reality hit me in the gut. You were dead.”

Karen was killed one rainy night after work as she walked home from the Lexington Avenue Subway to her apartment. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit Karen, sending her flying into the air.

“The bastard who hit and killed you got away. They still haven’t found him. Now, I’m alone. That’s what I believe.”

“Robert, you’ll never be alone. I will always be with you.”

“No, no. no, this isn’t real. This is some kind of hoax. Karen’s dead, I saw her, she’s dead.”

Robert hung up. He went into the kitchen, grabbed the half empty bottle of scotch. A half-hour later, he lay passed out on the couch. The bottle of booze empty.

~~~~~

“Rough night, Rob,” asked Larry Simon the next morning.

Robert had just walked into the office toward his desk. He was late, though no one other than good ole Larry seemed to notice. Robert sat down at his desk, opened the top side draw, and pulled out a bottle of aspirins. He tossed two in his mouth dry and swallowed.

“You look terrible by the way.”

“Thanks,” Robert replied. “Then I look the way I feel.”

“Why don’t you go to the men’s room and straighten yourself out a little. You know, comb your hair. We’re doing a presentation at eleven. You want to look good.”

Robert rose from his chair, gave Larry an annoyed look, and turned toward the men’s room. He stopped short and turned back toward Larry.

“Do you believe in an afterlife?”

“What?”

“Do you believe there is life after death?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, I’m dead serious.”

Larry contemplated the thought for a moment. He looked at Robert. “Nope! Once you’re dead, man, you’re dead. Old Grandma will not come back knocking on your door.” He realized he was being flippant about death while poor Rob recently and tragically lost his wife.

“Hey, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to sound so…”

“No, no problem, Larry. I just get to thinking sometimes. Like you said, once you’re dead, you’re dead. It’s not like you going to be receiving a phone call from good old Grandma.”

They both laughed.

~~~~

That evening, Robert’s telephone rang once again at exactly ten o’clock.

“You always were the one to be on time,” Robert said, speaking into the phone.

“So, you believe it’s me.”

“I don’t know what to believe. More than anything, I believe I am cracking up.”

“You know what I miss?” Karen asked.

“What’s that?”

“The weekly Saturday evening dinners at Champ’s, our favorite restaurant. We’d have a nice dinner and a good bottle of wine. Afterward, we would walk slowly arm in arm, pick up the Sunday edition of the New York Times and head home. We’d get into bed with the newspaper spread out all over it. Loved it, especially on those cold winter nights.”

“Sometimes, we’d do more than just read the Times in bed.”

“Well, baby, it was cold outside. We had to keep warm,” she laughed.

“I miss you,” Robert said.

“I miss you too, baby.”

“Why did you have to die? I cursed that bastard for killing you. If only I could get my hands around his neck.”

“Hey, lover. It’s over. What’s done is done.”

“We had some good times, didn’t we?”

“A lot of good times. Robert, you have told no one about our little conversations, have you?”

“Who would believe me? I still somehow think this is all a fantasy and I’m going to crash back down to reality, and I’ll never talk to you again.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way, Robert. We could be together whenever we want. We can be together, all the time.”

“How?”

“You just have to believe…”

~~~~

A few days later, Larry Simon was devastated when he heard the news that morning after arriving at work. It was the talk of the office. Robert Goodis was dead. Killed last night after work as he walked home from the Lexington Avenue Subway to his apartment. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit Robert, sending him flying into the air. By the time the paramedics arrived, Robert Goodis was lifeless. For the two paramedics, it was another typical tragic auto accident, one they have seen too many times before. However, there was one difference, though. They both would swear the dead man had a smile on his face.