Babb Field; Baltimore Maryland, Friday February 23, 2024…

“Nice play on that grounder in the hole. Mick!” The boy turned to see his girlfriend standing behind the dugout.

“Woulda been nicer if we turned two,” Michael Bisceglia said as he walked off the field. He tossed his glove up in the air and caught it; a playful move that belied the disappointment of the loss. Like always; he felt he had let the team down.

"Stop beating yourself up. That’s my job.” Jenn, who played competetive softball herself, was notorious for thinking every loss was her fault as well. Mickey knew exactly what she meant.

“My therapist says that every time we get down on ourselves we should just go ahead and take some blame out of petty cash,” he said with a laugh.

Mickey’s mother Kate passed the day before he graduated high school. A long, drawn out if rewarding graduation of her own, so to speak, since she got to say just how proud she was of him.

“Listen," he said. “I’m going to swing by the cemetery and see Mommy.”

Jenn shook her head. “‘No can do, babe. The team bus leaves for Newark in an hour. We can catch up when I get back, ‘kay?”

Mickey nodded reluctantly.

“Tell your mom thanks for having such a sweet boy, ‘kay?"Jenn said.

"Love you…Gotta go.’ She waved and quickly walked to the exit ramp and out.”

“I…I love you, too.” Mickey sighed. It was like pulling teeth, as the saying goes, for him to speak his mind. Speak his heart, rather. Thoughts and ideas usually came freely, but his ability to express his feelings had been destroyed by living almost twenty years in the same house with a man who shut down anything remotely resembling the kind person his mother had been.

“Fuck!” he shook his head. He had promised himself that it was very much alright to be angry, unless it was the only emotion he could bring himself to express. He took a deep breath, unnecessary shame giving way to soulful tears as he repeated himself.

“I love you… Jennifer Picone.”

---

---

Heading on the Highway toward Most Holy Redeemer Cemetery...

It was a bit overcast by the time he had changed. Even at only a little after three, the traffic was heavy for a Friday afternoon. He turned on the defroster as heavy wet snow began to fall.

“This is more than annoying. Oh well.” He pulled off to the side of the highway as his defroster began to lose the battle and the windshield fogged up. He grabbed a CD sitting on the passenger seat. Because he was driving his Mom’s Camry, the CD was his Mom’s favorite. It was almost embarrassing, since his voice was much closer to an alto than a tenor.

Even miles away from home, he still heard his father’s angry reproach

“Hey, Mick,” his father would say,

“for Christ’s sake, sing like guy!” His father thought that teasing was just the way to correct him, to break him of the “bad habits” reinforced by an over-indulgent mother.

Just the thought of Kate’s death had brought out only a bit of the anger Mickey felt; but too generously painfully mixed with sadness.

“Fuck…” he said. He shoved the CD into the slot and hit play.

One I love, two she loves
Three she's true to me
All of my friends fell out with me
Because I kept your company
But let them say whatever they will
I love my love with a free good will

Mickey only lapsed a teeny bit into smug; he knew that his Irish half did a fair approximation of the woman’s voice. He did, however, get so lost in the song that he was late seeing the Semi barreling toward his car after breezing through the intersection across from him.

He hadn’t shut off the car, and was just putting it into gear when everything went black…

---

The tallish woman was gesticulating as she talked and they both walked down a wide sidewalk.

“Try to keep up, Michael. I already explained that we’re late.”

“Late for what?” Mickey turned his head from side to side. It reminded him of a park, except there were no signs or markers…or any other people.

“We have to get you processed,” the woman said as she spoke without turning around. It seemed all at once that they had been walking for almost an hour, yet he wasn’t tired.

“Ah…here we are!” the woman said as she gestured to point ahead. Parked in a spot in what now had become a wide roadway was a Double Decker Bus much like the tour busses Mickey has seen in DC.

“Here we are,” she repeated, but her attention was focused on a kindly looking woman standing at the back of the bus; deep in conversation with a young lady holding an I-Pad.

“Flynn. Thomas.” The young lady spoke in a loud voice. An older man stepped forward.

“Go ahead, Mr. Flynn. Welcome aboard.” The young lady did not wait for a reply.

“Martinez, Inez?” At her words, a woman of about fifty or so stepped forward.

“Hello, Ms. Martinez. Go ahead and welcome aboard.” The woman nodded eagerly and stepped onto the steps and into the bus.

“That’s all for now, Mrs. Jordan,” the young lady said to her older companion as she looked up from the I-Pad.

The tall woman who had accompanied Mickey shook her head.

“There must be some mistake.” Her expression mixed confusion with embarrassment.

“There has to be a Bisceglia! Michael Bisceglia!”

The young woman checked her I-Pad again. ”Sorry, but there’s no Bisceglia on the list.”

Mickey couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “What’s going on?”

“Like I explained, young man,” The escort replied. “You’re dead!”

“What? That’s crazy. I feel fine.”

“Sorry, but that’s how it works.” Mickey shook his head, but turned his attention to the older woman. “Mrs. Jordan, the younger woman had called her.

“You don’t… C’mon… This is crazy. You don’t think I’m dead…” The woman breathed out slowly and spole in a calm voice.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you. Michael, but she’s right.” Turning her attention ro the woman who had brought Mickey to the bus, she glanced at the woman’s nametag.

“Gunderson….You’re new.”

“Yes, Mrs. Jordan. First day.”

“You have to fix this. I can’t be dead… I…” Mickey began to cry, but only just a bit.

“Miss Chang?’ Mrs. Jordan stepped up to the driver’s window. “Iris? Please call Central and inquire about a Michael Bisceglia?”

The woman nodded and touched her headset. A few moments later, she leaned out the window.

“We have a Michael Phillip Bisceglia. According to the file, Michael’s mother Katherine is looking forward to their happy reunion… October 17th, 2079….” She blew out a frustrated breath as everybody present but Mickey knew what that meant.

“What…what’s going on?” His expression pleaded for an answer. Mrs. Jordan shook her head; already knowing the answer to everyone’s question.

“Ms.Gunderson? Did you extract him before the accident?”

“I…I wanted to spare him the pain… “ her voice trailed off.

‘What? I’m not dead?” Mickey balled his fists; not in anger so much as fear and frustration.

“You have to take him back. Reinsert him into the body.” Mrs. Jordan spoke calmly; her hand reaching over to gently pat Mickey’s arm while suppressing a glare at Ms. Gunderson.

“This is all new, but I assure you we will make everything alright,’ Ms.Gunderson said, but added, “We can make this right, can’t we, Mrs. Jordan?"

You will indeed. Quickly!” She used both hands to shoo Ms. Gunderson and Mickey along.

---

---

A moment later, the two stood on the side of the highway. Across the road, a man was sitting up in the back entrance of an ambulance as an EMT attended to a gash on the man’s arm.

Two other EMTs stood back as firefighters hosed down what was left of the 2014 Camry. Both women turned to each other and shook their heads before walking over to the second ambulance. One closed the door slowly while the other nodded;

“I’ll call it in…Fuck!” she said as she climbed into the driver’s side and shut the door.

---

---

In an instant, Mickey and Ms. Gunderson were once again standing in front of Mrs. Jordan.

“You have to fix this,” Mickey said. It’s… it’s…” he reached into his pocket; forgetting that everything had now changed. The treasure was gone and his pocket was empty.

“I was…tomorrow…after Jenn’s game… I was….”

Mrs. Jordan shook her head. “I am truly sorry, Michael. Whatever was going to be no longer is…in the manner you intended.”

“But…but my body. You have to do something… You just have to…” It was all too much. Mickey had been through enough heartache and trials to last a lifetime. But that day…tomorrow… was supposed to be the best day of his life.

“We cannot remake what has been unmade. But…” Mrs. Jordan paused.

Gunderson interjected.

‘Another body?”

Mrs. Jordan pursed her lips in frustration, but spoke again.

“Any body you choose. We will find one just right for you. I promise.”

“Any body?” He hadn’t meant to be distracted, but the thought of never playing baseball again tugged at him.

"Can you really make things right?"

“The body will be perfect for you, Michael. I guarantee it!” Mrs. Jordan said; her face beaming with confidence mixed with hope. Everything began to fade…

---

---

Delaware University Softball Stadium, Saturday morning, February 24th, 2024…

It was a perfectly normal February day in Delaware; warm enough to play softball, but still too cold to stay sharp. Bottom of the seventh with two outs and the tying run at second.

“You got this, Caryn!” Jenn called from behind third.

“Just one more and we got it!” She pounded her glove before settling into her stance.

“Yeah, Caryn…”

“C’mon, O’ Connor!”

“You got this.”

Caryn O’ Connor took a deep breath, reared back and slung the ball to the plate. The Delaware girl swung and sent a blistering line drive up the middle. Perhaps destined to get through, the ball instead caromed off Caryn’s forehead and bounced into the waiting glove of Niecy Rodriguez, who stepped on first to end the game.

“Hey, O’ Connor…Nice stop!” Jenn teased until she realized Caryn was on the ground. Sudden terror overwhelmed her and she ran over to her best friend’s prostrate form and knelt down. And three things happened all at once.

First, two ethereal looking women walked over and helped Caryn O’ Connor to her feet… her translucent body almost aglow and a broadening smile graced her face as the women escorted her off the field and… aloft

Second, a kindly looking mature woman guided a figure over to the prostrate form of Caryn O’Connor.

“Go ahead…It will be just fine….”

“But…but you promised…you…you promised. You said it would be right.” Michael Phillip Bisceglia said as he spoke for the very last time.

“I promised everything would be perfect for you, and it will. You’ll see,” Mrs. Jordan said before disappearing.

And third? Jennifer Picone knelt over and stared at the lifeless form of Caryn O’ Connor…

“C’mon, Caryn… “Wake up…Wake up!” Jenn put her head down; offering a silent prayer.

“Owww!” the girl’s hand slowly lifted and fought the glare of sunlight beaming from behind Jenn’s head; like the halo of an angel. Jenn and Niecy lifted her to her feet and helped her off the field.

“Holy Jeez, O’Connor.” Coach Klimek grabbed an icepack and handed it to the girl. She shook her head and continued.

“Quite a scare. There’s an ambulance on the way. Let’s get you checked out, ’kay?” The three walked Caryn over to the dugout bench where their teammates welcomed them. Caryn sat down.

One of the other coaches approached Coach Klimek and pulled her aside and spoke in hushed tones.

“Dear God in Heaven, Marie! Are you serious?” Linda Klimek stifled a sob; she had known both Jenn and Mickey since they were in high school.

“Yeah, I know it’s a lot to take in… Jenn’s mom is here. We can…Let’s wait until Caryn gets settled in at the hospital.

And almost by herself in the midst of a caring crowd sat the girl; confused and scared as she tried to absorb the reality that she - she was now a nineteen-year-old girl from Conshohocken, Pennsylvania.

“J…Jenn…Jenn?" she called but Jenn had relaxed enough to at least enjoy the win.

Caryn began to cry; Caryn Elizabeth O’Connor; the former Michael Phillip Bisceglia of Baltimore, Maryland.

She glanced over at Jenn again.

It slowly dawned on her. Tomorrow wouldn’t be the best day of her life, and she would have to watch Jenn try to deal with the news of the terrible accident. Should she tell her the truth? Would it be better to remain silent?

But in the midst of her hurt and her confusion, the anguish that she felt for the death of the girl whose name she would now carry, Caryn felt something else. Something new, that she had never before experienced.

She felt right.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkTLNUslJmA

based on the 1938 play, Heaven Can Wait (originally titled It Was Like This), written by Harry Seagal

One I Love
Words and Music by
Jean Ritchie
as performed by
Meav Ni Mhaolchatha.