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Before I could decide how to respond, yet another interruption intervened. The maître d’, his attention caught by the activity, bustled over and asked Martin to leave. I thought it was a perfectly polite and reasonable request. However, Martin responded with a fury that stunned me. He turned and shoved the small man with such force that he slammed into another table, overturning it. Before I could react, he turned back and slammed his fist into my chin. Reflex and muscle memory took over at that point. I closed on him with a flurry of counterstrikes, grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket and used a hip throw to slam him to the ground. His elbow slammed into the side of my head, narrowly missing my temple. I swept his arm in mine to pin it and knelt on his neck and then froze waiting for the submission tap. It didn’t come. Instead, he continued to fight against my hold. I glanced up at a shadow falling over us to see the man who had been sitting at the table the maître d’ had. I really was dead.By the time of my wake I had still not fully accepted the idea of being dead. The funeral home sent a car for mom and dad. I really didn't like the thought of being on display, but I was curious to see what they had done with me.A crowd had already gathered when we arrived. I followed my parents into the home, passing through the crowd unnoticed. The room where I lay was filled with flowers. My casket lay on a low table. It was glowing shining white with gold handles and trim. The lid was open.I hesitated once again. I knew that what I would see would only add to the weight of a reality I did not yet want to accept. I also knew I had to look. Slowly, I stepped up to the casket.I gazed at the dream-like scene before me. The other me, the me that lay in the casket, was dressed as for her wedding. Mom had promised me her bridal gown for my wedding. Instead, she had given it to me for my burial. A white veil covered my face like a fine mist. A large bouquet of calla.
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