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Chapter Five

The town was just as calm and serene as Jack left it.

Instead of hurrying around the small village like before, he stood momentarily on the edge of the creaky, wooden pier. Inhaling slowly, he let his vision sweep across the small beach as waves continued to hit the shoreline beneath the boardwalk. Completely empty of human life, the only occasional sounds that flittered through the warm air were periodic chirps from birds and less than frequent humming from buzzing insects. The vast ocean before him continuously expanded, glittering from the gleam of the midday sun hanging in the cloudless sky.

Jack had almost forgotten the overwhelming sense of tranquility this sleepy little town once consumed him with.

He spent many days on this same pier, legs dangled over the side with a fishing pole in hand and his sleepy dog laying aside of him that gnawed thoughtlessly on a red Frisbee. Sometimes Popuri would accompany him with homemade lunch and they'd flirt and laugh with each other until the sun eventually hit the horizon. At times, when Barley allowed it, May would sit with him and feed the fish leftovers of her earlier breakfast, too.

A small smile curled at the sides of his lips upon those fond thoughts, before he inwardly sighed to himself as he pivoted and began to walk off the pier.

It felt relatively strange to know this was the last person he was going to talk to for awhile and he wondered who possibly it could be. Admittedly, he assumed it might have been the girl he tried saving that resulted in this predicament but he soon realized she had absolutely no tie to this old town of his. He frowned at the conformation that the last person to teach him his final lesson was someone who once inhabited the village and his thoughts danced across to faces he hadn't seen in decades.

His insides turned upon a sudden realization. He didn't even know who was still alive or who was not.

As he trudged through the town, he hesitantly went to every house and business, trying to open the locked doors and became relieved as one after another refused to budge.

The last building he tried was the Poultry Farm, sighing with relief when this door, much like the others, remained locked and inaccessible to him. Selfishly, he worried that he'd have to face Rick or Lilia again. They had been extraordinarily wonderful and understanding of him even after the death of Popuri. They never once blamed him nor Kai for her ill-fated death, but he could see the light fade from their eyes from that moment on.

Even when Lilia spoke he could almost distinguish the faint hitch of breath caught in her throat. It was like the death of Popuri left her eternally breathless; the wind was completely knocked out of her, and she could never recover.

Rick busied himself with working so he rarely showed up to festivals or social outings. In return, the poultry farm thrived and grew, but the thin, straggly boy's presence had regressed. His wife, Karen, the town's absolute knock out and rather abrasive lush, barely managed to drag him out of the house for their wedding. She probably wouldn't have succeeded if it wasn't for the town's blacksmith, Gray, demanding Rick start moving and get ready for the ceremony or he would force some "other poor guy" to take Rick's place and marry Karen instead.

Jack shook his head, pushing his previous thoughts to the back of his mind, and began to walk toward his farmhouse. His own home, along with Gotz's cabin, were the only two buildings left that he hadn't visited yet since his last arrival to the town. The final person he must talk to on this journey either had to be at one of those two houses, or possibly somewhere in the forest, and that realization wasn't exactly comforting.

He didn't know what would happen after this and he was growing accustomed to the idea that he had someone to talk to. What if his eternity was being alone?

He could feel his breath become caught in the base of his throat as he stepped foot on his farm, his eyes immediately falling on a figure at the very end of his property. He furrowed his eyebrows together, unable to identify the back of the person, and hesitantly proceeded forward.

As he finally approached the figure, he realized the person was sitting down near the medium sized stream with two fishing poles cast aside of the figure. Admittedly, whoever this person was, Jack didn't initially recognize them at all.

The farmer bit his lip nervously, before cautiously greeting, "hello? Um, it's me, Jack, and…"

He trailed off, his words forming into an incoherent gasp as the figure turned to look at the brunet.

"Oh Jack, it's so wonderful to see you again, my boy. You've done absolutely marvelous with the farm."

"Mr. Peterson?" Jack croaked out. "I… you're the last person?"

The man in question was the original owner of the farm Jack had eventually taken over. The man that had kindly taken Jack in and distracted the young boy's otherwise boring stay in Mineral Town with rides from his gentle cows and harvesting his fresh strawberries as Jack's parents enjoyed the serenity of the quiet town. After their visit to this rather leisure, unknown community, Jack began to write to the man who perked his interest in farming and a simpler life than the consistently hectic one the city offered.

However one day the letters just stopped. And after a little coaxing from his parents and a six month delay of letters, Jack took it upon himself to visit the older man in hopes of some sort of explanation to the sudden decline of written communication. Only when he visited was he informed that Mr. Peterson had died, and in his deed, left his pride and joy in the form of property solely to Jack.

It was then when Jack's journey began, and ironically, where it seemed to end, as well.

The aforementioned elderly man smiled and retorted, "I see you're expecting someone else."

The brunet sharply flushed in embarrassment, shaking his head feverishly. "No, no!" he exclaimed, "I didn't mean it like that, I swear! I'm just… I just… I didn't think I left that much of an impact on your life is all, sir…"

"I left my farm to you, didn't I?" chuckled Mr. Peterson. He patted to the soft grass beside him, urging Jack to take a seat. The younger man obliged quickly, sitting down with the man that ultimately affected his entire life. Mr. Peterson glanced at the tense brunet, before smiling gingerly at Jack, and offered the young farmer one of the fishing poles residing on the other side of him. "Here, fishing calms my nerves."

Jack hesitantly took the offered pole, waiting until Mr. Peterson had cast his own fishing pole first, before following in the old farmer's motions. They remained silent for minutes that seemed to stretch into hours, sitting side by side, with their lines bobbing up and down in the relatively calm stream.

Finally, Jack spoke. "You waited fifty years for me…"

Mr. Peterson grinned at him. "You can imagine how many fish I caught in the meantime."

When the brunet frowned in response, the elderly man quickly pressed forward, "You don't really feel the concept of time where we are, Jack. Time, it's a funny thing. Sometimes you think you have too much of it, other times, not enough, but it never really speeds up or slows down, does it? It keeps ticking on, one second at a time, despite how quickly or how slowly you feel your own life is moving."

Jack nodded slowly, knitting his eyebrows together. "That's true, Mr. Peterson. But that doesn't make you waiting for me any more pleasant."

"No, my boy, I wouldn't really consider myself waiting for you here. I just happened to go fishing for quite awhile on this nice summer day until you showed up," the man laughed before shaking his head. "Excuse my words. I'm sure the others have said they waited for you, and technically, they have. But I hate the word; I hate the definition. Waiting correlates with wasting time, and you can never really waste time. You see, time is an immeasurable thing, Jack. It's something we created as humans to organize and control it, but time is really endless; it's infinite, and we have a grasp on it like we have a grasp on smoke: we don't. It simply slips through our fingers."

Jack scratched the nape of his neck in discomfort. "I'm not quite sure that I'm catching on, sir."

"With my mess of words, I can't blame you," the older farmer admitted sheepishly. "My lesson is about time, Jack, and the consequences of what we do with our time."

"Consequences? Sort of like the butterfly effect?"

"You can look at it like that, yes," nodded Mr. Peterson. "But I'm referring more about the actions of how you specifically spend your time and how little you think you've done for people, but in reality, how much you actually have affected others. For example, I asked you to write to me because it got a little lonely on the farm sometimes. I don't think you quite understand how you taking a little time out of your day to send me a letter helped me immensely through all the loneliness."

"Well, of course I'd write to you," Jack replied quietly, feeling his grip on his fishing pole become tighter as his stomach turned slightly. "You let me stay on your farm when I visited, cooked my family dinner; let me play around your property. That's the least that I could do in return for you."

"You always took time to speak with the villagers here, too. You brought them gifts on their birthdays or on days without any special occasion, and that counts for something, Jack," he reminded the young farmer. "Your small selfless acts of kindness and humanity affected the people who lived here. I think, as humans, we often forget how the little time we spare for others can actually create a monstrous wave of positive consequences."

He began to slowly reel in his fishing line, his eyes cast forward on the glistening stream in front of the pair.

"We think the little time we use smiling at strangers, maybe letting another person go in front of you in a long line because they have one item and you have a dozen, or opening the door for someone isn't very significant, maybe even a waste of time when we don't get a 'thank you' in return, but you can't think of life like that. You don't owe anyone anything, and time spent being kind to others is time not wasted."

He looked toward Jack again with a bright smile etched across his aged face. "And you, my boy, have never wasted a single moment during your stay here. If humanity as a whole was more like you, taking your time to speak with your neighbors and acquaintances; helping others when you're not asked but because you want to, well, who knows how wonderful this world could truly be."

Jack bit his bottom lip with slight embarrassment, his cheeks flushing at the unwanted praise. "But Mr. Peterson, I haven't exactly been the best person. I mean, with the whole Popuri and Kai thing… I only really made amends with Kai now when I'm dead. I hardly think humanity needs to follow in my grudge-holding footsteps."

"You're human, Jack," shrugged the old farmer. "You have flaws. That woman and man dying has nothing to do with you. You know that death––"

"Misses someone and takes another in their place, yeah," finished the brunet, a bitter taste spilling in his mouth as he thought of poor Mark dying on account of his own childish stupidity. "I know that there's really no true formula to death but…"

As he trailed off, his stomach clenching at the shift of subject, Mr. Peterson pried forward with his own words. "Your sole presence here has made this community thrive more than you'll ever know, my boy. People walk through life never assuming their existence truly affects others, but whether they want to believe it or not, they do. We are never insignificant; our actions are never worthless, nor is our time ever wasted."

The old farmer's last statement lingered amidst the air above them, slowly settling and sinking into Jack's head. The brunet then thought back to all the times he felt completely meaningless, the times where he almost couldn't find the light in his murky depression; the times where he doubted his existence really affected anyone else. It was only now, when he was dead, did he fully realize that his life was invaluable. His worth could never be weighed or estimated; it was infinite, such as the worth of all lives were.

He hazily noted the sun was beginning to set and he turned to Mr. Peterson, frowning. "This is it, huh? This is the end of my lessons, isn't it?" The elderly man gave him a gentle smile and Jack could feel his chest constrict at the impending loneliness that was certain to come.

"It's time for me to really go home," answered Mr. Peterson, standing slowly to his feet. He beckoned Jack to follow him, motioning for the young farmer to also stand upward.

Jack parroted his moves and began to fall into step with the older man as they walked away from the property's stream. "Do you think this is what my heaven's going to be like too? Or something close to it?" he asked his senior.

"Jack, this is just the mere beginning of it," Mr. Peterson answered. "When you first pass over, you learn what you couldn't while you were alive. Things that were once muddled and messy in the other world becomes a little more clear across the veil. When you learn your lessons that you couldn't decipher before, you must stay here until it's your turn for you to teach someone else a lesson."

"But what's the lesson I teach? How do I even know the person I'm waiting for?"

Mr. Peterson cracked him a wirily grin; the day's fading sunlight creating an orange glint that reflected against his glasses. "You'll know when it's time. You'll get a certain feeling." Their final walk came to a sudden halt when they reached the farmhouse he and Jack had once separately resided in. The older farmer unlocked the rickety building's door, letting it swing slowly open for them. "Now it's time for you to finally rest."

Jack inhaled a sharp breath before taking a step in the old farmhouse. It looked like it had the day he first came to Mineral Town nearly fifty years ago. It felt oddly like… home.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to the old farmer that gave him the best possible life he could ever ask for. The elderly man gave him a bright smile, squeezed his shoulder one last time before saying, "goodbye, my boy. It's been a pleasure."

"Thank you, Mr. Peterson," Jack said quietly. "Thank you so much."

The old farmer gave him a nod, his hand now resting on the house's brass doorknob. "Welcome home, Jack."

When the door shut behind Jack, he had a nagging desire to open it again in hopes of seeing Mr. Peterson. However, he knew that this was the last time he'd see the elderly man for a long, long time, if ever again. Instead he washed his face and cleaned himself up in the bathroom and slipped into the same familiar bed he slept on for decades.

As his eyes traced the flickering shadows on the room's ceiling, sleep slowly began pulling his conscious away from him; he could feel his eyelids begin to flutter shut. He didn't remember when he finally fell asleep, the sporadic chirps of crickets lulling him away, but when he eventually opened his eyes again, warm sunlight glowed in his room and a small smile spread across his lips, a feeling of certainty washing over him.

He vaguely wondered if Mr. Peterson was right about how contorted time was in the afterlife, although he surely didn't mind how long it was going to take for him to see the young girl who ultimately led him to his death.

The young girl who made him realize that all endings are also beginnings.

We just don't know it at the time.

Fin.

Author's last note: Alright guys, I'm proud to say this story is finally complete! Once again I want to thank Mitch Albom and his flawless writing for being the root inspiration of this story, and the last 'all endings…' quote is actually a direct line from his book, The Five People You Meet In Heaven. Also, yes, the young girl Jack decides to wait for and teach his own lesson to is Chelsea, the girl who subsequently leads him to his very own death in the prologue.

And for those who may have been wondering, water does play a significant role in this story. Most of the character's death revolve around it and, allthough the old farmer, Mr. Peterson's (not his real name) death is never disclosed, Jack first sees him near the farmland's stream that runs through it/where Jack can fish in the game. Water is often a symbol of growth and the unconscious, which Jack and the other characters in this story all encounter. They all 'grow' in death in terms of maturing and understanding the reason and necessity of death, and in turn, teach Jack what they've learned.

And lastly, this chapter is dedicated to a very special friend of mine who has been going through some terrible times right now and I would like to remind her, and you readers too, that your life is a beautiful, wonderful thing that is never ever wasted. You are never worthless nor are you ever really alone. Keep reaching for the sunlight; I promise you better days are always ahead.