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The Gift Richard's Intro, Part 1 copyright comidacomida 2018

Can you remember anything about your birth? I can't. What I can remember is the time I died. I know that sounds like a strange way to start a story rather than finish it, but I suppose you could say that everything about my death was strange, or the fact that I'm around to talk about it. I guess to fully explain it I should go back to the beginning... or at least far enough so it doesn't sound so... awkward.

Ever since I could remember I hated living in the little town where I grew up. My grandmother, who lived in Prineville, a long drive north of us was my escape; my folks were always busy so every time I had vacation from school they shipped me off to live with her. Prineville still doesn't even have 10,000 people there, but it was barely over 9,000 back then, but it was way more than the tiny place I lived. Just after my twelfth birthday my grandmother went into the hospital and, since I was with her at the time, I went with until my aunt could come pick me up; it was the first time I had ever really been to a hospital and I guess I did a good job of distracting myself from worrying by watching everything going on around me. From that point on I knew I had to get into the healthcare industry.

I spent most of my high school years doing research on the best colleges to go to for a medical degree. I had learned that doctors spent almost all of their time dealing with paperwork and very little actual face time with people. Personally, I liked the idea of people more than paperwork. I toyed with the idea of becoming a Physician's Assistant for awhile, but by the time my Junior year had rolled around I realized just how expensive that would be so that idea went right out the window. Ultimately I settled on a nursing degree, and spent all senior year being laughed at by the other students. I really didn't care-- whatever percentage of them ended up graduating with me I'd never see again once I moved.

After I graduated high school I had enough money saved up from summer jobs and gifts to move to Cherry City. I figured that living in a small eastern Oregon city limited my options and eighteen years of 'not a lot' needed to come to an end. Cherry City also had a choice of colleges, and I liked the idea of going to Willamette Community College, which would get me a lot of the required classes out of the way before I transferred to a more expensive four year; credit hours at WCC were barely half the price. The one thing I didn't consider was how expensive things would be in a big city-- I just figured it'd all be dirt cheap because how much less shipping would be involved for stores along a major interstate. It was one of a lot of lessons I ended up learning.

The summer I moved out was full of a lot of 'adult lessons' and my head was spinning with just how quickly the bills added up. I had a good amount of money set aside but it was going to have to last so I wanted to be careful with it. I needed to find a place to live; I wanted to get a job so I could be self-sufficient; I wanted to get settled, start my life, start school, and start making progress toward my goals. Since the motel I selected was way too expensive to be a long-term solution my first step was getting a place to live, and after three days of searching I found one in my price range... unfortunately it sucked.

Granted, it was a free standing two-bedroom-one-bathroom house, but it was in south Cherry City and it was a dump. There were some pros to moving in there at least; I was able to handle the security deposit and several months of rent without having to worry about a roommate. The house was within walking distance of the mall, tons of fast food places, and some decent hangouts; there was even a gym nearby. It came with a fridge and microwave and oven, and they all worked. The landlord gave me a little extra leeway too since I was a college student-- apparently most of the people who'd lived there in the past weren't as 'upstanding'. His words, not mine.

On the downside, the place was a dump. There are a number of laws in Oregon regarding the status of a rental property and I think the landlord must have been in violation of at least a dozen, but I realized that I wasn't going to find a better deal so I sucked it up and made due. Some of the lightbulbs had burned out, but those were an easy fix; more difficult ones included the lack of power going to some light sockets, a heater that only worked half the time, and hot water only a quarter of the time. No, it didn't have AC either, but I grew up in the desert, so some 90 degree weather was nothing.

Still, the fact was that it was MY house; it wasn't my parents' place; it wasn't an apartment; it was a house, and I didn't have to listen to anyone-- other than my landlord but he didn't live there with me so he may as well not have existed. It was MY place, and I was riding high on the surge of success that came with having my own place. I picked up the absolute bare necessities when it came to furniture; the mattress that served as my bed came from craigslist and didn't need a box spring or a frame, and, rather than spending $40-something on linens a sleeping bag I brought with me was perfectly fine. I also grabbed a small table and three chairs for free from someone who was moving out down the block; the table was made for four but apparently one of them had broken but I was only one guy so I didn't need it.

A college student a few streets over was back home after finishing her associates degree so I got a great deal on a simple set of pots and pans and she was nice enough to throw in some plates, bowls, and silverware for free. All in all I think my parents gave me twelve hundred as a gift to help me get started in my place but I didn't even need $200. Talk about a good deal, huh? Yeah... I was off to a great start but, as I got settled in, I started thinking about... well... everything, and how much work there was to do.

The one downside of moving half way across the state was that I didn't have any friends, but the prospect didn't intimidate me much; I'm not exactly what you'd call an extrovert, but I never had trouble meeting people so I wasn't worried. What the downside to that was that I had to move everything myself, and that meant I had to rent a moving truck. Do you know that they don't like renting vehicles to eighteen year olds? So, short summary of THAT experience: everything I went to pick up had to be moved by tying it to the top or throwing it in the back of the station wagon my parents let me borrow.

Even though it was a double the mattress was as bulky as it was heavy, and yes, it took me plenty of time to wriggle it through the front door, down the hall, and into my bedroom. Following that was the table, which wasn't a whole lot easier, but at least it didn't wriggle and fold. From there it was much simpler to move the boxes of kitchen gear. Following that long chore I was sticky and smelly, so the obvious thing on my mind was a shower.

I hadn't gotten around to buying a shower curtain so the result was going to be getting water everywhere; I cursed my luck and resolved to check around some of the local stores to find one that wasn't too expensive. I had single bath towel and it was clean, so, acknowledging that I'd be making a mess, I was still good to go on getting clean... but I didn't foresee a lethal wiring problem.

A short in the wires running in the wall combined with the electrical not being up to code turned the puddle on the floor into a lethal trap, and who do you think was around to set it off? Can you imagine letting out a relaxing sigh as you finish up a nice hot shower only to set your foot on the linoleum floor of the bathroom and get a strong enough jolt to stop your heart? I wouldn't recommend it.

You know, when media discusses death they talk about a white light, or about a peaceful blackness, a celestial choir singing, and any other number of peaceful-sounding scenes, but, personally, that wasn't my experience. I remember feeling a sudden jolt, surprisingly similar to what I always envisioned being kicked by a horse would feel, and then confusion, followed by a strong sense of pain in my chest and a complete helplessness. I remember wanting to breathe but not being able to; I wanted to struggle and scream but there was no body for me to do any of that. I wanted to see what was going on, but it was just blackness. I couldn't see, I couldn't scream, and I couldn't breathe... until a breath filled me on its own.

Have you ever been somewhere that the air you breathe had a taste? Maybe some deep forest that had an earthy flavor or the back-of-the-throat salty tang of the sea. I'm not talking about a scent-- I mean something so much a part of where you are that every bit of it is infused with something so incredibly primal that you can't help but feel it with all your senses. That was the kind of breath that filled me; it tasted like a campfire and a spring brook-- like mushrooms and the ocean-- it tasted like a field of grain and the mist in a green valley-- more than anything else, it tasted like life.

I sat up, coughing and shivering, naked on the floor of the bathroom, vision blurred as I stared up at the golden-brown-colored ceiling. It took a few seconds for me to blink away the haze from my eyes and, as I did so, I strongly recalled that the ceiling was supposed to be that cheap white popcorn textured stuff. A moment later the distinct rumble of a deep voice with a rich British accent spoke quietly "Death does not come for thee today, child."

I raised a hand and held it to my brow; out of nowhere a pulsing headache pushed its way through the numbness I felt, and the only response I could muster up was "Huh? I'm not a kid. I'm eighteen."

An almost feral rumble jolted me from my spot on the floor; it sounded like the snort of a horse caught off guard by a sudden move, only far more... predatory. It took a second, but as I managed to blink away the last vestiges of blurriness from my vision things became clearer-- and suddenly much more confusing. Staring down at me was the largest eagle I'd ever seen, its amber eyes focused wholly on me with a sense of surprise and confusion. The eagle's feathers ended at its neck, which was connected to the broad shoulders and tawny fur of what I could only describe as the body of a man combined with that of a lion.

Even stranger was that the body was covered in what looked like a shirt made out of small chain links. During my attempt to make sense out of what I was looking at the creature-- the Gryphon drew back, the feathers on his neck puffing out as he pulled away, talon-like hands clenching and unclenching in the air before his beak parted, moving delicately and with purpose as he formed the words. "Richard... you... hear me? You can SEE me?"

He rose up as he pulled back, standing on leonine hind legs like a person would, and I saw that he had leather pants-- not the normal kind, but the ones you'd expect to see in some Camelot movie. With a sword at his hip and large, partially unfurled eagle wings, he made quite an impression, and I couldn't help but think that I was hallucinating. Regardless, taking in a steadying breath, I--