Liz pulls herself out from under the bed. "I suppose I'd go back to my old life, right?"
The Captain shakes his head. "No. You wouldn't have a body to go back to. You'd be a ghost."
"Well, maybe that wouldn't be so bad."
"Trust me. I know people who've tried, and it's no kind of life. You end up crazy, and everyone you love ends up crazy, too. Take a piece of advice: get off the boat."
Liz's eyes are welling up with tears again. Dying certainly makes a person weepy, she thinks as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.
The Captain pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to her. The handkerchief is made from the softest, thinnest cotton, more like paper than cloth, and is embroidered with the words The Captain. Liz blows her nose in it. Her father carries handkerchiefs. And the memory necessitates another nose blow.
"Don't cry. It's not so bad here," the Captain says.
Liz shakes her head. "It's the dust from under the bed. It's getting in my eyes." She returns the handkerchief to the Captain.
"Keep it," says the Captain. "You'll probably need it again." He stands with the perfect posture of a career military man, but his head only comes up to Liz's chest. "I trust you'll be leaving in the next five minutes," he says. "You don't want to stay." And with that, he quietly closes the cabin door behind him.
Liz considers what the strange little boy has said. As much as she longs to be with her family and her friends, she doesn't want to be a ghost. She certainly doesn't want to cause more pain to the people she loves. She knows there is only one thing to do.
Liz looks out the porthole one last time. The sun has almost set, and she passingly wonders if it is the same sun they have at home.
The only person on the dock is Betty Bloom. Although Liz has never seen Betty before, something about the woman reminds Liz of her own mother. Betty waves to Liz and begins walking toward her with purposeful, even strides.
"Welcome, Elizabeth! I've been waiting such a long time to meet you." The woman pulls Liz into a tight embrace that Liz attempts to wiggle out of. "How like Olivia."
"How do you know my mother?" Liz demands.
"I'm her mother, your Grandma Betty, but you never met me. I died before you were born."
Grandma Betty embraces Liz again. "You were named for me; my full name's Elizabeth, too, but I've always been Betty."
"But how is that possible? How can you be my grandmother when you look the same age as my mother?" Liz asks.
"Welcome to Elsewhere." Grandma Betty laughs, pointing matter-of-factly to the large banner that hangs over the pier.
"I don't understand."
"Here, no one gets older, everyone gets younger. But don't worry, they'll explain all of that at your acclimation appointment."
"I'm getting younger? But it took me so long to get to fifteen!"
"Don't worry, darling, it all works out in the end. You're going to love it here."
Understandably, Liz isn't so sure.
A Long Drive Home
In Grandma Betty's red convertible, Liz just stares out the window and lets her grandmother do all the talking.
"Do you like architecture?" Grandma Betty asks.
Liz shrugs. In all honesty, she has never put much thought into the subject.
"Out my window, you'll see a library built by Frank Lloyd Wright. People who know these things say it's better than any of the buildings he built on Earth. And Elizabeth, it's not just buildings.
You'll find new works here by many of your favorite artists. Books, paintings, music, whatever you're into! I just went to an exhibit of new paintings by Picasso, if you can believe it!" Liz thinks Grandma Betty's enthusiasm seems forced, as if she's trying to convince a reluctant child to eat broccoli.
"I met Curtis Jest on the boat," Liz says quietly.
"Who's he?"
"He's the lead singer of Machine."
"I don't think I've ever heard of them. But then, I died a while ago, so that's no surprise. Maybe he'll record something new here?"
Liz shrugs again.
"Of course, some artists don't continue here," Grandma Betty goes on. "I suppose just one life of art can be quite enough. Artists are never the happiest folks, are they? Do you know the film star Marilyn Monroe? Well, she's a psychiatrist. Or rather she was, until she got too young to practice.
My neighbor Phyllis used to go to her. Oh, Elizabeth, and straight ahead? The funny, tall building? That's the Registry. That's where you'll have your acclimation appointment tomorrow."
Liz looks out the car window. So this is Elsewhere, she thinks. Liz sees a place that looks like almost any other place on Earth. She thinks it is cruel how ordinary it is, how much it resembles real life. There are buildings, houses, stores, roads, cars, bridges, people, trees, flowers, grass, lakes, rivers, beaches, air, stars, and skies. How entirely unremarkable, she thinks. Elsewhere could have been a walk to the next town or an hour's ride in the car or an overnight plane trip. As they continue to drive, Liz notices that all the roads are curved and that even when it seems like they're driving straight, they're actually going in a sort of circle.
After a while, Grandma Betty realizes that Liz isn't keeping up her end of the conversation. "Am I talking too much? I know I have a tendency to "
Liz interrupts. "What did you mean when you said I was getting younger?"
Grandma Betty looks at Liz. "Are you sure you want to know now?"
Liz nods.
"Everyone here ages backward from the day they died. When I got here, I was fifty. I've been here for just over sixteen years, so now I'm thirty-four. For most older people, Lizzie, this is a good thing. I imagine it isn't quite as appealing when one is your age."
Liz takes a moment to absorb Grandma Betty's words. I will never turn sixteen, she thinks. "What happens when I get to zero?" Liz asks.
"Well, you become a baby again. And when you're seven days old, you and all the other babies are sent down the River, back to Earth to be born anew. It's called the Release."
"So I'll only be here fifteen years, and then I go back to Earth to start all over again?"
"You'll be here almost sixteen years," Grandma Betty corrects her, "but basically, yes."
Liz can't believe how unfair this is. If it isn't bad enough that she died before getting to do anything fun, now she will have to repeat her whole life in reverse until she becomes a stupid, sniveling baby again.
"So I'll never be an adult?" Liz asks.
"I wouldn't look at it that way, Liz. Your mind still acquires experience and memories even while your body "
Liz explodes, "I'LL NEVER GO TO COLLEGE OR GET MARRIED OR GET BIG BOOBS OR
LIVE ON MY OWN OR FALL IN LOVE OR GET MY DRIVER'S LICENSE OR ANYTHING? I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!"
Grandma Betty pulls the car to the side of the road. "You'll see," she says, patting Liz on the hand. "It isn't all that bad."
"Not all that bad? How the hell could it get any worse? I'm fifteen, and I'm dead. Dead!" For a minute, no one speaks.