There was one fortuitous side effect of my stuporous state. With zero possibility of physical contact—save for his snot dripping over me—I finally lost my desire for Peter. Apparently, my “addiction” to him was triggered by my “chemical response to his body.” At least that’s how Dr. Dave explained it when I called in anonymously with a made-up story about my “co-worker.” He also said that the “anticipation of contact” kept me hooked. Now, in hindsight, I saw how naïve I’d been. Peter was years off from being able to commit to a mature relationship. He’d gone through a dozen girls since our breakup, all of them pining in his wake. Still, I wasn’t exactly pleased when Peter received a Daytime Emmy nomination for the fraught emotional performance he’d given over my comatose body.

Finally, my contract ended, and after three years of work at the only job I’d ever known, I was let go without so much as a fruit basket. Only Scotty and Katie, my sweet and loyal makeup person, joined me in the commissary for a farewell spinach salad.

And as often happens in the world of daytime television, the very next day, Amber miraculously woke up from her coma with another actress playing the role.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM

MORNING

SFX: CODE BLUE ALARM

DAY 45

And…action!

Bells and whistles, Jackie baby. Code red, white, and blue.

“Paging Dr. Foreman. We have a code blue on the sixth floor. Paging Dr. Foreman.”

“Oh my God,” says Pierre. “Her temperature’s rising.”

“Flatline!” says Dani.

Bag her, baby. She’s going down.

Take one. Jackie Gold in memoriam. Take two. I’m cold. Cannot breathe. I scream for a blanket. It’s not my voice. I am drowning. Passing out or coming to. I release myself and open my arms.

Let go let go let go…

And…CUT.

EXT. THE GATES OF HEAVEN

DAWN ETERNAL

I hover, weightless, expansive. Below, on the operating table, a body—smelly, ugly, a fleshly container far too small for my being—lies surrounded by doctors and nurses.

“We’re losing her,” someone says.

A blade slices the chest.

“Sponge!”

“Did you reach the father?”

“The boyfriend is in New York.”

“Jesus!”

“I can’t hold onto her.”

“Her heart rate is dropping.”

“Blood pressure?”

“Sixty over thirty.”

“Jesus.”

Vibration. Buzzing. Like hornets in my head. I am sucked down a tunnel, blasting through a dark tube. I move fast, faster than anything, faster than Space Mountain or a speeding bullet.

Slow. Stop. Hang. Suspended before a beam of light. It grows brighter and hot, inviting me forward. I laugh because it’s such a cliché. But then it rolls toward me, a burning white ball. Static electricity shoots up my arms and in my hair. Out from the light steps…Jesus?