Briscoe Cicci distinctly remembered hearing the slow, rhythmic beeps of the electrocardiogram machine, followed by a sustained hum. And he recalled seeing the doctor and nurses hovering over him, although they were out of focus.
Then again, most everything was out of focus; his eyeglasses were on a tray next to a plate of unappetizing – and uneaten – hospital food.
What he couldn’t remember, however, was how he wound up in an emerald green room adorned in only an open-backed, loosely tied white gown, tan saddle oxfords, and his black, horn-rimmed specs. And why was his banjo on the floor next to him?
“Hello,” he said, looking around at what appeared to be an endless sea of green. “Is anybody there?”
Indeed, someone was.
“Mr. Cicci, welcome,” said a slight, olive-skinned man dressed in a blue, polyester running suit. “I’m your attendant. If you could turn in your pass, we can go ahead and get started.”
Before Briscoe could ask, “What pass?” he found himself holding a laminated card. As he looked at both the front and back, he noticed there were several passport-style stamps on it.
“That’s it,” said the attendant. “If you’ll just hand it to me …
Briscoe pulled the pass to his chest.
“Look, I didn’t know until a second ago I even had a pass, and have no idea what it even is. So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate you explaining that to me and why I’m supposed to give it to you.”
The attendant smiled.
“Perfectly understandable, Mr. Cicci. What you’re holding is your life pass. Every human gets one, and they use it all throughout their time on earth. Think of it as something of a train ticket. It can take you everywhere you need to go and sometimes where you want to go. It’s up to each person how they choose to use it. Sometimes they just let it sit there; other times it seems like they’re on a different train every day. You made the most of your ride, sir. You were a teacher and musician, so you had a positive impact on more people than you realize. You made everyone you met feel important. Apart from that, you made great friends, you made great music … there were no wasted minutes.
“But that adventure has ended and now a new one begins.”
Briscoe was starting to understand.
“Right, right,” he said. “I’m dead, this was my ticket to ride, and now that the ride’s over, I have to turn it in. I don’t have a problem with that, but I still have a few more questions.”
“Ask anything you like,” said the attendant.
“Why am I dressed this way? I understand the gown – I was in the hospital – but saddle oxfords? I have a nice suit to go with these. And I don’t recall ever having played my banjo while wearing a gown. Seems if you have to cross over, you should be dressed for the occasion. Not a criticism, but I guess I thought the transition would be more stylish.”
The attendant winced.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “We have some new people in wardrobe, and they’re still trying to figure things out. We have a lot of turnover this time of year.”
Briscoe eyed the attendant’s outfit.
“Do you get hot in that?” he asked. “I never could wear polyester. Never wanted to wear polyester, to be honest. It just seems uncomfortable. Looks good on you, though. You really pull it off, and I mean that sincerely.”
The attendant grinned.
“Thank you, sir. Well, if there’s nothing more …”
“Actually,” Briscoe interjected, “I had a lot more things I wanted to do on earth … a lot more things I wanted to say and a lot more music I wanted to play. Why did things have to end so soon?”
“That I don’t know, Mr. Cicci. I’m just an attendant. Someone higher up the chain will be able to tell you. I’m sure you’ll get an answer to that once you start your new phase.”
“Sounds good. And hey – never say your ‘just’ an attendant,” Briscoe added. “You have a big job and I imagine it can be tough. You’ve been nothing but helpful since I got here. You have every reason to take pride in your job.”
Briscoe handed over his pass and sighed.
“Well, I guess that’s it, then. I’m gonna miss talking to people. And I’d love to play the banjo one more time. To be honest, I’m kinda bummed that my story has to end.”
The attendant stamped the pass.
“Oh, your story doesn’t end, Mr. Cicci,” he said. “You’re just starting a new chapter. Now, grab your banjo and follow me because there’s someone who wants to meet you. Are you familiar with Johnny St. Cyr, by any chance?”
