THE NEXT LIFE

By Jack Freehoff

Hight up in the Catskills of New York State, an attractive couple in their early thirties strolled through the lobby of an exclusive mountain resort. Once they passed under the hotel’s opulent portico, they were greeted by the bright April sun. Walking hand-in-hand until they reached the parking lot, the pair lingered for a moment. Just as they were about to go their separate ways, they hugged each other. Before they parted, the woman stood on her tiptoes and leaned close to the man’s ear. After whispering something to him, she gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, then hurried away.

The man drew a deep breath as he watched her get into her two-year-old 1951 Ford. He was acutely aware that with her divorce now final, she would be off to Chicago, where a job with unlimited possibilities awaited her.

With a look of regret on his face he turned and solemnly approached his new 1953 Buick Roadmaster. For the next few hours, he would endure the solitary drive back to his home in Connecticut where, with any luck, he’d repair his broken marriage.

After unlocking his two-toned Buick’s door, he looked up and gazed at her Ford as it kicked up a trail of dust before pulling onto the highway.

As he slid into the brocaded front seat, he tried to see her car one last time, but it had vanished over a hill. Now that he was alone, he lowered his head and sighed, “I hope she’s right about maybe we’ll meet in the next life.”

##

The midtown tavern was jammed to overflowing on Friday night. The entire sports bar section was lined with dozens of holographs and monitors displaying AI-enhanced game-day highlights. With the economic turmoil of the 2030s behind them, the cities after-work crowds were back in full force.

A group of four friends, all in their mid-thirties, sat at a table a mere five feet from a wide circular bar dominating the center of the room. One of the men grinned as three of his colleagues debated sports-related topics and complained about their jobs.

As he sipped his beer, he surveyed the constant commotion swirling all around him. While his companions argued over some trivial point in one of the games, he took a moment to lean back and eavesdrop on snippets of conversations at the bar. He always found them amusing, and the pickup lines some of his contemporaries used were never boring.

Less than a minute later, he almost fell out of his chair when a woman sitting on a barstool behind him exclaimed, “Not in this, or the next life!” With that statement, she slid off her stool, determined to get away from an overbearing admirer.

The young man at the table set his beer down and stood up. Something about her words had struck a chord deep within him. The instant she brushed past him, he said, “Excuse me, miss. Could you repeat what you just said?”

When the woman realized she had pushed someone aside, she glanced over her shoulder and offered a brisk, “Sorry.”

Without thinking he moved closer to her and repeated his question. “What I meant was, what did you say as you left the bar a second ago?”

Irritated, she griped, “I offered you an apology. Isn’t that enough?”

“No, not that. What did you tell that guy just now?

The woman stepped back as she rolled her eyes. “Look, Buster, I am not in the mood for any of this. So, go try your luck with some of the other girls. Okay?”

“Hey, I’m not hitting on you. I only want to hear that phrase you used?”

The frustration in the woman’s voice was palpable as she looked down and replied, “I forget exactly what I said. But it was probably something like, not in this or the next life.”

The sound of that simple expression triggered a hazy primal memory in the man. I should know this, he thought. I remember fragments, but I can’t quite grasp their meaning.

As he searched for answers, he moved a little closer to her. The constant chatter from the other patrons in the barroom was almost deafening, but as his heart pounded, he spoke the following words in not much more than a whisper. “But what if this is the next life?”

With slow, deliberate movements, the woman raised her head and shifted her gaze up toward his. As their eyes met, she announced, “Nice try, fella!” Then she spun around and made a beeline for the bar’s exit.

As she rushed away from him, he couldn’t understand why he had said something so out of character. For the next few seconds, he stood motionless as the woman pushed her way through the crowd and escaped out the front door.

After taking a few moments to gather himself he decided to rejoin his friends. But as he stepped toward his empty chair, he felt a tug on his shirtsleeve. When he glanced down to see what he had snagged himself on, he discovered there was a woman standing beside him with her hand on his sleeve.

Now that she had his attention, she released his shirt. Then, with a tone of amusement in her voice, she said, “I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation you had with that lady.”

Before he could utter a word, the woman’s face lit up with a knowing smile. “You know, I’ve heard it’s lovely in the Catskills this time of year.”

In that instant the room seemed to vanish, and for a few seconds, the couple felt as if they were the only two people in the universe.

It took a while for the man’s companions to stop arguing about sports and realize he was no longer sitting with them. When they did, all three of his friends were astonished when they saw him walking out the door hand-in-hand with a woman he had only met moments before.

THE END?