what is real after death? after love? after life?
a real-time hyperfiction experiment
As we are brought back to life, once again, I find myself contemplating all I know about my life, my future plans, my past. I had dinner with my dad’s sister’s family. My uncle, is 101 years old, an Air Force Pilot. An excitable storyteller about things Air Force-related or family-related.
In a cosmic moment, my awareness said, “Pay attention.”
I was driving the route my sister would’ve taken on the way to Christmas dinner. I was passing over the same overpass she jumped from, leaving her Boston Terrier, Ruby, in the car. Over the edge she went. She never showed up at dinner. We waited. A phonecall two hours after she went missing, confirmed the result. Someone, needed to come identify the body tomorrow.
The room and the moment in time froze in the agony of loss. My older brother burst out in tears. My mom and I hugged. My sister, six years older than me, leaned in and we had a group hug. After a few minutes, my brother got up and joined our chorus of quiet pain. We stood in a group hug for a few minutes. Sobbed. My brother’s anguish began forming words.
These are not those words. The rest of the scene would never be clear in my broken-hearted mind. A fracture, a violation, an angry act, a destruction of a most beautiful person. Ground zero, Christmas 1993.
In my drive to my uncle’s house, I paid homage to my now-flightless sister. To the odd juxtaposition. The last time I saw my sister was at my aunt and uncle’s house, the one I was now headed to. Damn! We’d shared a Christmas family brunch. I was with the woman that I would regretfully marry six months later. I remember very little of her presence. She made an effort to introduce food to our cluster. She was an outsider. The sister who jumped, hated her.
Full stop.
As it so happens, I enjoyed my time with the cousins and uncles. Around 9 pm, I left the birthday celebration and was heading back home. Out of their driveway, however, I turned left on Westlake Drive, going a different way back to my house. Just a few blocks away, feeling full of feelings and spooling up more memories related to my sister and the last morning I saw her alive.
“Come with us,” I offered her. She was wearing the same flannel dress she had worn the night before, for Christmas Eve. My mom loved her holiday family gatherings. “No, it’s okay,” she replied. She was visibly upset. Later, I would learn that she had an emotionally difficult conversation with the oldest cousin, perhaps a tormentor from my sister’s earlier struggles. My sister was making plans to move back from Santa Fe, New Mexico, to Austin. She had put a contract on a house. The older and wiser coustin asked her about the roof trouble in her description of the fixer-upper near the greenbelt of Barton Creek. They had a disagreement. The cousin bullied her a bit. She likes to be right, even now, even at this party I had just attended. Her birthday was being celebrated. I felt awkward about being there for their adult birthday gift giving, the “Oh, I love it. Thank you so much.” The loving production was a bit thick.
I had a small bowl of the dessert, ice cream and cake. Thanked everyone, and left with one of the other groups, heading back home. Just a mile down the street, I passed the Westlake Pass turn. This is where I crashed my father’s old blue F-150. A lumber truck too big for the winding road spanned both lanes of the road. I was unable to stop. The front of my dad’s truck sank lazily under the bed of the truck and blasted steam and uneasy noise. Fuck.
I waited for the police. I was failing Spanish at prep school, so I only talk to the truck driver in simple terms. We had exchanged driver’s licenses and insurance by the time the police arrived. They gave me a ride up the hill to my dad’s house on Mt. Larsen. I had to call him.
“No problem,” he said. He was in his personal office in between patient visits. He was an allergist with his own clinic. 10 exam rooms, five nurses, and a chief of staff. Becky. She was the best. Rumors of their affair came out years later. She took care of me like one of her own. “You’ll have to learn how to drive stick, but you can take the old hunting Jeep.”
I was amazed. I had been ready for the crucifixion, my own. It never came.
Last night, I kept right and did not turn down the Westlake Pass. The memories and feelings flooded in. It was a loop of life. From my sister’s death, to the death of my father’s old pickup, to the demise of both my first and second marriages, and arriving at today.
There is no Winter in Texas, now. The coldest it has gotten so far in 2026 is 36. One morning, a few weeks ago. Today, April 6th, it was 50 when I woke up and looked at the thermometer. It is 72 now, and looks to be a cloudless and windless day. I liked the 50-degree morning. All of this town is talking about, “The cold is nice. I’d like a bit more of the cold.” And, “Man, this summer is going to be rough.”
All true.
Completing the circle of life, I pulled into my garage. The cats, always happy to see me, greeted me and guided me into the kitchen for a bonus snack. They always asked. I gave in and fed them another small packet of soft cat food “topper.”
The loop had taken four hours.
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