As She Lay Dying
By Dan Stein

         They say when a person dies their life flashes before their eyes. What they don’t mention is that it’s the whole thing. And sometimes, just because you’re dying doesn’t mean it’s inevitable that you’re going to die. I found this out many years ago, at the steering wheel of the twisted wreckage of my Pontiac.

         The specifics of the accident aren’t important. How my Pontiac got wrapped around the tree, how I got both my wrists broken, and how I somehow remained conscious through the entire thing; not important. What is important is what I saw as I watched my wife slowly dying in the passenger’s seat.

          “Angela,” I said then, as I surveyed her broken back and fractured skull. My fear grew as I watched the blood pouring from her wounds, marring the stunning features I loved and depended on. My wife was surely dying, and in the haze of my own head injury I wasn’t sure that I was any better off. My body was numb, but my mind felt elevated somehow. Almost like the shock of my own injuries had heightened my senses.

          “Angie,” I said her name again, hoping for some response. Only the very shallow rising of her chest made me realize she was still alive. I reached for her then, and that was when I realized my wrists were broken. I looked in astonishment at my limply swinging hand as it hung in between me and her. “Angela,” I said numbly. “We can’t. Not yet.”

         If I had to venture a guess on what happened next, I suppose I’d say something heard me say that, because that was when our life flashed before my eyes. I say our, because it was mine and Angie’s together. Not mine, not hers, ours.

         The first flash was the moment we met. All at once I was back in the restaurant she worked in through college. I sawed at an overcooked steak, grumbling to myself. My waitress had come by a few minutes earlier and told me that she was going on break, and another server named Angela would check on me.

         I was becoming more and more frustrated with the steak. If there’s one food I’ve always loved, it’s a well cooked steak. And if there’s one thing I’ve always despised, it’s a poorly cooked one. That was it, I decided, I was sending this back.

          “Everything okay?” someone spoke from above me. My mind stopped at the sound of it. I had been so focused on the damn steak that I hadn’t even noticed her walk up. That voice took me completely off guard. It wasn’t something I was accustomed to. I had always appreciated a good voice. It was a quality I looked for in a woman. This one was like no other I had ever heard, and at that moment all I wanted was to hear that voice sing. Just to hear it sing one note; one note that would encompass all the passion, sadness, love, and heartbreak that it could express.

         I looked up, needing to see who could produce a sound like that. There was Angela. Messenger of God, that’s what her name means. I didn’t know that then, but I felt it somehow. Seeing her was like a confirmation that He was up there, and that He was making up for all that was wrong in this world.

         I took in her features then. Her perfectly straight brown hair, running midway down her sculpted back. Her hazel eyes flashing at one moment blue, at another green, always displaying the woman inside. Her nose, just slightly too long, but thin at the end, balanced exquisitely by a wide, open mouth with thin, unpainted lips. And just as I thought that face couldn’t get any more beautiful, she smiled.

         The best way I can describe the feeling I got when I saw Angela’s smile for the first time is like what a baby must feel the first time it sees another person, amazed that such a thing could exist. Then, that baby finds that there are more things like that one, and each one gets more and more beautiful, more astonishing, until that baby sees the face of its mother. That’s when the baby understands that none of the others really mattered like this one. That’s what her smile made me feel.

          “Do you need anything?” she repeated. The smile faltered slightly, growing uncertain because of my dropped jaw expression. I think that was what finally snapped me out of it. I couldn’t bear that I was causing that smile to fade.

          “Uh, fine,” I said, completely forgetting my steak troubles. All I could think about then was whether or not she was going to speak again. Please God, I begged, let her talk, let her smile.

         She did both. “Well, if you need anything, let me know. My name is Angela.”

          “My name’s Wes,” I introduced myself out of habit. Instantly, I realized how stupid that must have sounded.

         Fortunately, she didn’t seem to think so. Angela laughed. If I tried to describe that sound, I do believe I would spend the rest of eternity trying to find the right combination of words to do it justice. I think it may have been that moment when I actually fell in love with her. “Good to meet you, Wes,” she said.

         Briefly, I was back in the car seeing Angela’s lifeblood slowly leaving her. Then, the next flash came and I was in the parking lot where she and I shared our first kiss. It was at that same restaurant, several months later. I had finally worked up the guts to ask her out after going into that restaurant at least three times a week in hopes of talking to her. I was honestly astonished when she said yes to my stumbling proposal. She had told me to come back when she got off shift at nine. I had waited outside, trying to quell my nervousness.

          “Hey, cutie,” she said as she walked out the front door and saw me. “I made out like a bandit tonight. Where are you going to take me to blow all these tips?”

          “I was thinking about that club uptown, Killian’s,” I answered, although I had no intention of letting her spend any money. “Sound good?” I think now that I did an admirable job of keeping my voice from quavering.

          “Sounds great. I’ve just gotta make a quick stop back at my dorm to change. Meet you up there in an hour?” She walked up and ran her hand up my arm. I shivered despite myself at her touch.

          “Alright,” I said. I figured I should add something, so I decided to flirt a bit. “What are you going to wear?” I said, using my best sly devil voice.

         She laughed and said, “Something sleek, sexy. Maybe red to bring out my lips.”

          “And what lovely lips they are,” I said, trying to be smooth, but feeling my color rising anyway. Goddam, I was nervous then. Then she did something that dispersed my nervousness completely.

         Angela kissed me. It was just a peck, but it was the best kiss I had ever received. Her lips were soft, and while they touched mine I was lost completely to them. She broke contact and put her hand on my chest, her eyes holding mine. “And what do you think of them now?”

         For a second I couldn’t answer. Finally, all I could say was, “Incredible.”

          “Yours aren’t half bad either, sugar,” she said.

         Again, I was shot back into the reality of my ruined Pontiac. I had half a moment to wonder if Angela had spoken the last sentence aloud from beside me in the car. Then, I was shot into the next memory.

          “I want you, Wes,” Angela said, sitting next to me on the couch I had in my old apartment. This was a few months after our first kiss. We had just broken contact from another kiss. A kiss that was infinitely more passionate than our first. One that I would enjoy for years. One that never grew uninteresting, and never released its hold on my mind.

          “I need you, Wes,” she said as her hand slipped up my thigh. “Please. Please, now.” Her voice was breathy, desperate. It was the same voice that had stunned me months earlier. It did the same to me then. The desire in it fueled my own, made it unbearable. I couldn’t say no, it was impossible. It was a moment I had fantasized about, and no matter how elaborate those fantasies had gotten, the real thing left them all wanting.

         I kissed her again, hard. Her hand went to my fly as I began lifting off her blouse. Our lips broke contact as I pulled the blouse up over her head. She stared at me with an expression so naked that I could barely contain myself. Angela pushed me down on the couch and pulled my pants off. She then sat up, straddling my legs, and reached behind her to unfasten her bra. Although I’d had sex before, I had never known ecstasy like I did when she removed her bra and exposed her small, perky breasts. Could it get any better? I wondered, knowing full well that it could and would. I pulled off my own shirt as she undid her jeans and slipped them deftly off her well curved hips.

         Before I could stop myself, I said, “I love you, Angie.” I cursed myself for picking that exact moment to say it, although I was completely sincere. I had come to know her well. I knew her flaws and her strengths, and I’d found nothing about the combination that I would have changed. For all that she was I accepted her; I loved her. Once again, Angie dispersed my doubt. She smiled seductively and stretched up over me until we were face to face. She put her hand on my face, stroking it gently.

          “I love you, Wes,” she said, and her expressive eyes told me she meant it.

          “Love,” Angela mumbled in the ruined Pontiac. This time I knew I had heard her say it. I looked over, and saw her eyes were closed, that she was apparently unconscious. Could she have been experiencing the same thing? I had no time to dwell on it. The next flash came.

         I was dressed in the finest rental tuxedo I could find. I stood in front of the altar and awaited Angela. My best man, my brother Luke, stood next to me. He met my gaze and smiled widely at me. Luke had always doubted I would ever get married, considering how shy I was. I think he may have been more excited about that day than I was, but not by much, and for completely different reasons.

         I was marrying the woman whom I had come to think of as part of me. In marriage they say man and woman become one flesh. I think Angie and I had done that well before I asked her to be my bride.

         I wasn’t nervous, for once in my life. Most grooms say that their wedding day is the most nerve wracking day of their lives. Somehow, I have to question their decisions to get married in the first place. I knew what I was doing was right. I knew what I was giving up, but what I was gaining far outweighed it. Frankly, I didn’t care too much about what I was missing anyway. So I didn’t get to go to the strip clubs and bars as much. I would have traded all the times I’d spent in those places for just a word in passing from Angela. No, I wasn’t nervous about this. I was thankful.

         The organ player began the bridal march and I turned, unable to contain my anticipation any longer. I had dreamed of what Angie would look like in her bridal gown. As her father led her down the aisle, I felt light headed, amazed at how radiant she looked.

         Her father smiled and nodded at me. He was practically beaming with pride. He and I had met a year before, and had become fast friends. Another rarity in a marriage I suppose, but I wasn’t about to start second guessing my blessings at that point.

         Angela walked and stood next to me. She raised her lace gloved hand and removed her veil. I looked into her face, and her eyes told me that no, she wasn’t nervous either. She knew this was right as much as I did. The minister began his ‘dearly beloved’ speech. I didn’t pay any attention to it; she alone held that attention. She would relinquish none of it, and I would relinquish none of hers.

         It was almost funny when the minister had to prompt me again with the vows. I was so lost in her then that I hadn’t even realized he was talking to me. “I do,” I said, ignoring the repetition of the vows completely.

         Seconds later, Angela said, “I do.”

         And the kiss we shared outdid all that had come before it.

         I didn’t return to the car this time. Instead, I was shoved directly into another flash. I was surprised to find that I had no recollection of this one. I took me a minute to realize that I didn’t remember this because it hadn’t happened yet.

         It was morning, and Angela and I were sitting at the dinner table in our home. We were older, in our thirties. I sat, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. The date on it was ten years after the night of the crash. I don’t remember any of the headlines. They weren’t important anyway. What was important was the little boy that came running in from the backyard.

          “Dad!” my son Scottie yelled. He was eight then; somehow I knew that. “Mark’s playing in the mud! I told him not to.”

         I glanced over at Angie and she met me with a bemused smirk. “I think Mark can be your son for the moment,” she said. “I’ve got dibs on Scottie.”

          “Oh sure,” I said, a smile coming to my face. “I get the boy that’s covered in mud.” I rose from my chair and went outside as Angie playfully stuck out her tongue at me.

         Two boys! We had two boys, just like we’d talked about.

         The next flash came right on that one’s heels. Again, Angie and I were older, this time in our forties. Her hair was beginning to gray, and I was feeling a distinct draft on my own head. The lines on her face showed all the smiles she’d shared with me over the years, all the laughter we had caused each other. After all the years, she was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

         We were waiting in the living room. “Well,” I said. “This is it. Scottie’s going off to college.”

          “I know,” her eyes betrayed her sadness. “He’s gonna do okay.”

          “Yeah,” I responded. “I think he is.” I hugged her close. We pulled apart just enough so that I could look into her eyes.

          “Now we just have to make sure Mark lives till he goes off too,” she joked.

          “I’m ready, dad,” Scottie said as he ran down the stairs. Mark was hot on his heels. Scottie’s bags were sitting on the living room floor awaiting him. “Let’s go.”

          “I can’t believe you’re really gonna leave,” Mark said despondently. “High school’s gonna be weird without you there.”

          “You’ll be fine,” Scottie told his brother.

          “We’ll all be fine,” Angela whispered in my ear.

         Then the final flash came. I was in a hospital room, holding Angela’s hand as she lay in bed, dying. Scott and Mark were there, all grown up. They had wives of their own. My brother Luke and his wife were there too.

         Angela looked pale and too thin in the hospital bed. Her white hair was stringy and sickly looking. I knew that it was cancer that was taking her. The tears rolled down my face as I held her hand and she gazed around the room through pain dulled eyes. Those same eyes that had always revealed so much about her still demonstrated that ability. This time they revealed profound happiness through the exterior pain.

          “I love you all,” she said. “I love you, Wes.” And all at once, without warning those defining eyes closed a final time.

         Suddenly, I was back in the Pontiac. The pain that I had been so detached from came at me full force. I screamed then. After the initial shock of the pain I noticed Angie was awake. I gathered my will and spoke to her. “Angie, did you..?”

         I didn’t need to finish that sentence. Her eyes told me she had experienced it too. In a voice just above a whisper she said, “I’m staying. I won’t miss this.”

         I smiled at her, ignoring the pain. She smiled back, her teeth amazingly free of blood, dazzling.

         Minutes later, the EMTs pried the doors open and saved us.

         Now, years later, I look back on that incident where our life flashed before both of our eyes, that moment when a miracle occurred that brought Angela back to me. I don’t know how or why it happened. I don’t care. We saw what was in store, and we weren’t going to miss it.

         Now, I am sitting in a hospital room, holding my wife’s hand as she lay dying. Our sons and their wives are there. My brother and his wife are too. “I love you all,” Angela says. “I love you, Wes.” And her defining eyes close for the final time. And as they close I see peace, love, lack of regret. I see the times we had, not as vividly as the night of the crash, but just as sweet. And I see one final revelation.

         I say goodbye, not feeling too sad. After all, we knew it was coming, but we weren’t going to miss this. We were staying. Besides, I know something else is coming soon. I saw it just now, the final image in her eyes.

         I’ll see you soon, Angela.