Scared to death.

"You can't tell me that you've never thought about dying, Jack."

"No, I really haven't."

"Seriously? I mean, I'll even admit..."

"Alright fine. I have, O.K.? And I'm fucking scared of it. It scares me to death. Well, I mean, you know. Not literally. I can't help not thinking about it. When I'm lying in bed at night, all alone, lying there in the dark after closing my eyes, I wonder if I'll wake up the next day. I wonder if people would miss me, or how they'd find me. Do you think I'd look happy or sad? I think I'd look terrified. Can you imagine, not waking up?"

After he said that, we called it a night. He opened the door of my car, exiting into the dim lit street, as he slammed the door, leaving me in the dark, cold, confines of my car.

I rolled down the windows as I raced home. The wind beat against my face as my hair tried desperately to stay in my ponytail.

I had to admit that I didn't think he'd open up like that. At least not on the third date. Aren't those things usually reserved for a later time? The darkness of his words attracted me to him though. He wasn't afraid to be deep and inquisitive. I needed someone like that compared to the pansies I had been dating up until then. Not one of them would ever really confront a question. You know? They'd dance around it and then just peep out a, "Lets change the subject, O.K.?"

But it wasn't O.K. I didn't want to change the subject. My entire life, I've never been afraid to ask questions, and yet, I can't help but think it's a major flaw with me. How can I get to know someone, know someone REALLY, if I am too scared to ask those kinds of things?

I guess the difference between me and a lot of people is that I don't find those kind of questions to be intrusive. I guess I should because death can be very personal to some. The way I see it though, is that death will be a new beginning.

I do believe in some sort of afterlife, considering my father has told me stories about people he's known while working in hospitals who have had near death experiences.

Every one of them say that it starts out with a bright light that comes toward them. A feeling of pure comfort and warmth succumbs them and then, someone speaks. "It's not your time. Turn back and wake up. Wake up now."

One time, I asked dad when I was very young if any of those people experienced something that wasn't as kind. If any of them didn't see a bright light, but rather flames and darkness. Perhaps, just maybe, alluding to hell?

He told me, "No," and to not think about it.

Thinking back, I know he was lying. He had to have been.

I called my father the other day because that question that ate at me when I was six years old came back. It haunted me in my sleep.

"What about the people who don't go to a good place? What about hell?"

My dad picked up on the third ring.

"Dad? Remember when I was little and you used to tell me those stories of people who had near death experiences?"

"Yes, Claire. I do."

"Well, there is something you never quite answered for me. Were there ever any people who experienced something terrifying?"

He paused for a long time. Almost two minutes of silence.

"Yes, Claire. There were people who did not see nice things. It was not a good place that they had entered in. They were uncomfortable and very hot. They were scared. But you can bet your ass that when they woke up, and got a second chance at it all, they changed completely."

No one spoke, until he asked, "Is that all?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Dad." I hung up the phone.

I was shaking, even though that had been the answer I was expecting.

I guess some questions, even though you know the answers, are better left unsaid.