I stood next to the extravagant nickel-cornered casket. A woman I vaguely recognized was attempting to say words that might reach me. “Everything is temporary. One morning you’ll wake up, and it will be different. You just need some time.” I nodded.

I turned to my left as someone cleared their throat. It was an older distinguished man wearing a dark suit. He was probably in his late sixties. A pair of forgotten reading glasses perched on top of his head. His face seemed familiar to me, but his voice was one I’d never heard before. It was a deep baritone.

“She’s right. Everything is temporary. This pain. The breakfast you ate. The tingle you feel when the right person touches you. Even your life. Temporary is a mindset.”

The woman I was talking to turned to him and asked who he was.

He just shook his head, dismissing her.

He nodded again and held his hand out. I didn’t even hesitate as my fingers reached his. He shook my hand briefly, and then his fingers circled my wrist. It didn’t surprise me. Déjà Vu doesn’t cover it. I was certain he’d done it before. When my eyes met his, I was struck by how much like blue skies they looked.

The surge of electricity that passed through him to me didn’t cause me to jerk. Instead, it caused paralysis. My eyes closed. For how long, I’m not certain. When I opened my eyes, the man no longer held my wrist. He now stood by the foot of the casket.

His voice resonated. “X, please help me with the viewing by lifting the other end?”

I moved to help without pausing to wonder about who the man was or why he asked me to help. Oddly, I couldn’t remember who lay inside the casket. The woman who had been talking to me no longer stood nearby.

We each lifted both ends of the coffin lid as the man nodded. Unlike most coffins, this one had no separation in the top. The coffin was empty.

The man watched my eyes. “He was cremated. The urn will come in a few minutes. For now, we’ll place his book here in the coffin. He said it was his only achievement. The man reached behind the coffin and retrieved a hardcover book from a small table behind the casket and held it up. “Time Is Short” was emblazoned on the cover as the title.

“Ironic title, don’t you think?” the man asked me, smiling.

“Yes. It sounds like something I’d say.” I laughed.

The man walked to the middle of the casket and placed the book face up inside the casket. I walked a few steps toward him and stood next to him, facing the room. It was a large, open room, filled with rows of pews and comfortable chairs. We were the only occupants.

“Let’s sit down for a moment so you can collect your thoughts.” The man wasn’t asking so I followed him to the front row pew, all the way to the right.

We sat on the cushioned pew. Oddly, my brain was absent of almost all thought.

“Do you have any questions, X? Ask me anything.”

“Whose funeral is this?”

He laughed. “Aren’t they all so similar? I don’t want to spoil it. Go up and turn the book over. The author’s picture is on the back.”

I stood up and walked over to the casket. While I know several writers, I was having difficulty remembering names and faces.

I looked at the picture behind the “Time Is Short” title running across the face of the book. It was a collage of colors, each coalescing across an auburn field and a solitary tree illuminated by a sunset. “Amen Tailor” was the author’s name. The name evoked an odd familiarity for me. Then I remembered that it was an anagram for “I am not real.” I smiled.

I turned the book over. My fingers went numb as I looked at the face on the back. It was me, but not quite a me that I recognized immediately. I realized it was the man seated behind me. I turned with the book held tightly in my hands. The man stood two feet away from me, staring intently at me with his piercing cloudy eyes.

“Interesting, isn’t it, that you, or we rather, had to use a pseudonym to get people to listen to us? It wasn’t enough to already have a new name.” He laughed, and I smiled.

“How much time is left? 10 years? 20?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. This is one possible outcome. Obviously, though, you have enough time to do that.” He pointed to the book in my hands. “When I jolted you, I gave you just enough push to do one thing you’d love to accomplish in life. Now, you get to choose what that might be.”

I extended my left hand to shake his, a habit only left-handers would understand. As his fingers touched mine, I felt a slight shock again.

“You’ll have to leave the book here with me before you go. You can exit out the side door next to the chapel service area behind you.”

I handed him the book, took a long look at the casket, and walked outside. No more than any other day in my life, I didn’t know what the awaiting sunshine might hold.