Good Memories
by Wayne Scheer
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As Sammy Schlagle prepared for bed Fred, one of God's messenger's, informed him he had one week to live.
"That's a helluva thing to tell a man," Sammy said. "Now how am I going to get any sleep?"
"What? I should have told you during the day? Maybe over your morning cereal? That would have been better?"
"Maybe not, but at least I would have had all day to tire myself out. Maybe I'd go jogging or something."
"You have one week to live and you're going jogging? Maybe you want me to make a call now? You don't need a whole week."
"Wait. Wait. It's just that this is happening so fast. I mean you bust into my bedroom and…"
"I didn't bust in." Fred took offense. "Anybody can bust in. I
materialized. You think it's easy to materialize? I had to take a special
course."
Sammy stared at Fred, a short, bald man wearing a cape. A black cape. "Are you sure I only have a week? Maybe there's been a mistake?"
"Mistake? God doesn't make mistakes, boychic." Fred opened his cape and flapped it like he was airing a dirty sheet.
"No, I wasn't suggesting God…I mean…Perhaps you misread a date or the spelling of my last name?"
"Me? You think I…Look, I told God to give me a better body. At least make me taller, I said. A short man has no authority. But no. He thought it would be funny having me deliver news like this looking like Mel Brooks."
"At least He has a sense of humor."
"Of course He has sense of humor. Who do you think made Ringo Starr and Yasser Arafat look alike? You think it was an accident that Mandy Potemkin sings like that?
"OK, OK. But why me?" Sammy asked. "I don't smoke. I watch my diet. I'm only forty-eight years old, for crying out loud."
Fred became agitated and spun around the room looking like Bela Lagosi on speed. "Why me? Why me? If I had a dollar for every time I get asked that one. Why you? Because it's your turn, that's why. You think you can maybe change your place in the divine order by not eating fried chicken?"
"But I thought…"
"Look, you want to think? Think about how you gonna spend the next week."
Sammy sat down at the edge of his bed and rubbed his head. "One week, huh? Just one week?"
"That's it, my friend. Those are the cards you're dealt. Now how you gonna play your hand?"
"That's some question," Sammy said. "I never really thought about it like that before."
"Why not? You think you were gonna live forever?" Fred began pacing up and back across the room. Pacing and flapping his cape. "Look, I'm a busy man. You think you're the only person on my list tonight? But God told me, He said, Fred, you gotta wait until they understand. Until it sinks in."
"It's just that…I mean, one week? Who'd a thought?"
Fred stopped pacing and turned to Sammy. "It coulda been one day or one minute." Fred was shouting now. "What? You didn't know that?"
"Of course I knew. It's just that…"
"Oh, that's right. You thought you were gonna live forever because your cholesterol count is 189 and you don't smoke."
Suddenly, Sammy stopped thinking about himself.
"My wife, my kids. How are they going to manage?" Tears filled Sammy's eyes.
"They'll manage." Fred sat down on the bed beside Sammy and his voice changed, suddenly sounding like Robert Young in Father Knows Best. "Look, it's not going to be easy for them. But you know what makes it tolerable? Having good memories."
Suddenly Fred jumped off the bed and flapped his cape again. "So, dummkopf, stop whining. You have one week to create good memories for the people you love."
With that, Fred waved his cape like he was signaling an airplane to land, and disappeared.
Sammy continued sitting on the edge of the bed as his wife, finished in the bathroom, entered the room.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said. "Anything wrong?" She sat down next to him and began applying lotion to her feet.
"Anything wrong? Oh boy," Sammy answered, wondering how he could possibly explain to her what just happened. "Here. Let me do that for you."
