Frank died. Frank sat up.
“Where were you this time?” asked Charlie.
“My death” Frank sighed.
Charlie grunted. “Morbid.”
Frank shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
“Exactly. Why would you want to remember a thing like that?”
Frank took a minute to pin down the words. “I guess it was a time when I knew nothing about, well, anything. Do you remember what that feels like?”
“Sure don’t, and no desire to.” Charlie said, then “But if I were to, I certainly wouldn’t go back to my damn death. You had a whole life of being an ignoramus. Why not go to something a bit happier?” Charlie pointed a finger at Frank to queue him an “aha” moment. But, Frank continued to look as though his brain were trying dig a shred of a popcorn kernel from somewhere dry.
“It’s just…” Frank began.
“Just what? What we got now isn’t enough for you?” There was an offended lilt to his voice, as though he personally designed the universe.
“No, no. It’s just in that it was a moment when I truly knew nothing. I was so blank and meaningless in that moment. The rest of it, life, I always thought I had some clue, some little idea of what might be going on. I just wanted to feel that nothing again.” Frank finished, unsatisfied.
Charlie sighed at him. “You’re an odd guy Frank.”
“Oh I’m odd? I bet you were off reliving some extravagant night with some French or Spanish thing or what have you, huh?”
Charlie puffed out his cheeks. “How dare you! I was visiting my Mother before she got sick.”
Frank sunk back in his chair. “Ah. Sorry Charlie I didn’t…”
Charlie burst out laughing. “Nah I’m yanking your chain. She was Portuguese.”
“Nice, real nice.” Frank got up to go get something to eat. Charlie’s laughter sang him out of the room.