The Miracle of Life

© Giovanna Lagana

The hope of tomorrow forges our path of today. But what happens when that hope is shattered and our concrete foundation of certainty and order is obliterated? What happens when it's transformed into turmoil of chaos where we forget who we are and what we stand for? Our world will change then for the better...or for the worse.

Turmoil of chaos has paid me a visit more than once in my existence. And each time it has humbled me, constricting my body, my mind, my soul , my life until I couldn't breathe anymore and forgot who I am. Only when I accepted its forceful intentions and changes did it let me break free, wounded and frightened to rebuild my new foundation.

But the last time I was struck by this enigmatic chaos nine months ago, something miraculous happened, something that drastically changed my world for the better, not for the worse. One could say it was the first step to my new life. And I do mean that in the literal sense.  

I was transported from a bleak, mundane place to one full of promise and wonder.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning of my glorious journey, so you can understand this blessed miracle…  

Nine months earlier  

It happened on a chilly autumn morning the type of morning where lying under the warmth of a comforter outweighed getting up and freezing my butt off. I lay snug in my cot, deep in catatonic slumber, when I was abruptly awakened by a sonorous bell's chime. Its vibrations shook me up to attention. How I hated that shrilling sound whenever I heard it. Its abrasiveness made my skin crawl. If it were up to me, I'd have gotten rid of that annoying bell long ago when I first came to that place. But unfortunately, it was part of protocol. I couldn't do a damn thing about its maddening clamour but just get out of bed, get dressed, and proceed to my station outside.  

When I got outside, my fellow roommates already stood in formation looking anxious, awaiting our supervisor's instructions. I reluctantly followed their lead and got at the end of the line. The cold temperature made my exhaling breath turn into a fine midst, while its dryness made my mouth sour. The scent of smoke from the soot-filled chimney laced the enveloping air and made me cough involuntarily.  

Patrick O'Malley, our guard, walked over to us, embalmed in an aura of resolve. His teeth were clenched in tenseness and he sternly stared at us with his piercing blue eyes. At 6 feet 4 inches, he stood well above us all as the giant stood tall in front of David. He had a buzz cut and stuck out ears. At first glance, one knew he was a man not to reckon with.  

Since my inauguration into that hellhole, O'Malley had been my guard. I met him seven years ago when I was in isolation recovering from the transition . He came waltzing into my cell with an enormous chip on his shoulders—the size of a four-ton boulder. He stood there and, with no introduction, rudely stated his warning. “Johnson, you'd better take me and this place seriously. Life here isn't going to be all roses as it had been for you in the other place. You'll have to earn your stay.”  

To accentuate his forewarning, he sauntered over to me and stared me down with those haunting blue eyes. I felt he was going to zap me into obliteration. He continued, “Don't think you'll be getting out of here anytime soon. No, Johnson, you're here for a long haul. And I'm going to keep my eyes on you. Any wrong move and you're back to square one. Do I make myself clear?”  

Perfectly, I thought.  

Boy, those weren't idle threats he shouted at me. O'Malley really meant every word. The days, weeks, and months that passed, he never let me out of his sight. He was my very own watchdog—an ugly, mean old watchdog, with sharp. pointy fangs that would bite me if I made the wrong move. I kept my guard up constantly. I didn't want O'Malley taking a bite out of me. No, sir.  

I abided by the rules. So much so that within five months I was taken out of isolation and brought to a regular cell. They appointed O'Malley to break the splendid news to me. He wasn't thrilled with the notion.  

As he escorted me to my new quarters, he grunted barely audible curses to himself. I could make out only one phrase, “Just five months, that's all they gave him.”  

Given his temperament, I didn't dare to question his opinion on my early release.  

The new cell he brought me to resembled a heaven. Because of its roominess and cheerful sunlight that seeped through the barred window, it made my isolation room from before seem like a torture chamber. O'Malley grunted in annoyance as he pushed me into the room and then locked the door behind me.  

I looked around admiring the vast openness. My soon-to-be-chummy roommate sat on one of two beds at the far end of the room. He resembled a warped version of James Dean. His dark brown hair was slicked back and he wore a tight undershirt that not only revealed his muscles, but also his bulging belly. He glanced up at me and with a metallic smile said, “Hi, I'm Conrad. What's your name?”  

A chill crawled up my spine when his two front, silver teeth clanged together. “I'm Steven,” I answered.  

“Hi, Steven, so you just came from isolation. How long were you there for?”  

“Five months.”  

“Five months? That's not a long time. You must have had a light record? What are you in here for?”  

I peered down at the clean floor ashamed of what I was going to say. “Murder.”  

One of Conrad's thick, brown eyebrows cocked in amazement. “Murder? And you only got five months in isolation? That doesn't make any sense.”  

To defend my status, I said, “It was in self-defence. A two-bit crook broke into my house and pulled a gun on me. I fought with him. The gun went off twice. The rest is history.”  

He stared up at the ceiling as if he had just solved the mystery of time travel and laughed. “So that's it! That's why O'Malley had a long face when he brought you in here.”  

I looked at him in bewilderment. “What do you mean by that?”  

Conrad acknowledged my questioning stare and sat comfortably back on his bed. He appeared to have a lot to explain to me. “O'Malley isn't one of them, you know.”  

“He isn't?” I asked.  

“No, he's one of us. Well, almost one of us. He was convicted for several murders. Did you ever hear of Captain O'Malley?”  

“Yeah, he's the guy who killed his fellow officers twenty years ago.”  

“That's him. That's our O'Malley.”  

I sat down on the other bed and bent forward because I didn't want to miss out on the gossip. I found the conversation quite intriguing and inquired, “If he killed all those men in cold blood, what is he doing here? Why isn't he in ‘that place'?"  

He chuckled. “O'Malley was lucky, I guess. Because he was acting on his general's orders to get rid of the men for treason, he was sent here instead of you know where.” Conrad uttered those last words as if it was blasphemy to say them.  

People feared ‘that place' more than anything else. Everybody knew if they didn't follow the rules or if they did something bad, there was always a chance they could be sent to ‘that place'.  

He continued, “But unlike you or me, he's stuck here forever. No matter how good his conduct is, he'll never leave here.”  

“Now you confused me. How did he become a guard then?”  

“For good behaviour.”  

Finally, I was beginning to understand the enigma of O'Malley and his impenetrable shell. He resented me because even though I too had committed murder, I had a chance of leaving here, but he was here for life.  

As time passed, O'Malley relentlessly hounded and drilled me. But I never lost my control. I followed his orders and obeyed the rules. I think it was my unfathomable calmness and restraint that made him resent my attitude and me even more.  

Many times, he stared daringly into my eyes trying to invoke intimidation. Luckily, his confrontations didn't work on me. I stood my ground and never uttered a word or phrase of rebuttal.  

What I saw in his eyes each time he stared me down was pure guilt, regret, and despair. I had pity for O'Malley because I understood his feelings of remorse and helplessness for his sins and his demise. I wished I could somehow clean his slate and let him start a new life free of his oppressive sentence. But unfortunately, his fate wasn't in my hands. All I could do was try to console him.  

Proud O'Malley never accepted my pity. No, he denied his miserable emotions and camouflaged them with a poignant aura of coldness and despise.  

And so our obtuse battle raged for several years. He tried to break my barrier of calmness and restraint, and I, in turn, attempted to breach his wall of ice and hatred.  

Neither of us was winning in our battle until that morning nine months ago, when our routinely dull world came crashing down. Our concrete foundation of certainty and order crumbled and morphed into that mysterious and dreadful turmoil of chaos.  

That day when everything changed, O'Malley stood tensely before his men and me. He abruptly started to vocalize what was obviously a memorized speech. “A massive massacre has befallen the civilized world. Hundreds of people are reported dead.”  

His vast, cold, and hateful wall of defence he kept up for so long unexpectedly came crashing down with those final words. His eyes began to water and his voice quivered as he added, “The diabolical murderers and their evil leader, who coerced together to hijack and bomb various trains, are being tracked down at this very moment. Those responsible for the mass destruction will soon be persecuted. This unimaginable catastrophe means that many people will be coming over here. To make room for them, many will have to leave.”  

With tears trickling down his cheek, O'Malley turned to look at me as he continued to address the whole group. “You are all being sent back to the civilized world, starting right now. Please clear out your lockers and prepare yourselves for the passage. I wish you well in your new lives.”  

Everyone disbursed with his closing statement. They all looked like they didn't know whether they should rejoice over the second chance they were being given, or if they should cry over the tragedy that had befallen mankind.  

I stayed behind and walked over to O'Malley. He was staring down at the ground and kicking dirt with the tip of his boot. He glanced up at me. “Are you happy, Johnson, that you're starting over?”  

What could I say? The proper words escaped my mind at that moment. I turned away momentarily, feeling guilty for my selfish thoughts of freedom, and then I honestly answered, “In one way, I guess. But I feel a real deep pain in my heart for all those victims.”  

Shockingly, he slumped toward me and leaned on the shoulder of the man he most despised. He broke down upon hearing my words. “Why did it have to happen?” he asked me.  

I waited a few seconds in silence not knowing what to answer. I think if I had waited a million years, I still wouldn't have come up with an explanation for such a catastrophe. No one could. Except God, I think.  

To cheer him up, I said, “Look on the bright side. I won't be around to bug you.”  

O'Malley tried to laugh as he asked, “What makes you so sure that I'm staying?”  

I glared at him in confusion. “But Conrad told me you were staying here forever?”  

“That was before hundreds of people lost their lives. Now, there isn't any room for me here, either.”  

Without any intermission, I asked impulsively, “Then why are you so sad? I thought all you ever wanted was to get out of here.”  

O'Malley frowned at me with disappointment and hurt. I was astonished at his sensitivity. “Not in exchange for children suddenly and needlessly losing their mothers and fathers, or wives and husbands losing their spouses, or for mothers and fathers losing their children. No, Johnson, I didn't want this!”  

Apologetically, I hugged O'Malley to comfort him and waited until he calmed down.  

Once he regained his composure, he said,” I guess there's nothing we can do now but make room for the others and get ready for our new lives.”  

A kindle of hope rose in my heart. “I can't wait to go back!” I said.  

O'Malley smiled. “I hope you're going to use your stubbornness and persistence to better the world, not disable it.”  

I retaliated, “Are you sure you're not talking about yourself?”  

I briefly paused to think and then continued, “I wonder who I'm going to be when I leave Purgatory ?”  

O'Malley put his huge, strong arm over my puny shoulders. “I got a chance to see God's plans for the both of us.”

He smirked slyly as a magician did when he had a trick up his sleeve. “Life can be so ironic.”  

I stared at him in curiousness and yet confusion. “Why do you say that? What has God planned for the both of us?”  

O'Malley looked around to make sure no one could listen and then leaned over, whispering into my ear, “Guess who is going to be my fraternal twin in this next life.”  

I glared at him more bewildered than ever and shrugged.  

He pointed his finger at me and laughed hysterically. “You, Johnson. You are going to be my fraternal twin.”  

Shock and disbelief overwhelmed me. I stared at him and then we started laughing together. That turmoil of chaos really blew us away. Never had we expected such an outcome.  

* * *  

That was nine months ago. Since then O'Malley and I have been conceived and growing in our new mother's womb. We're getting ready to be delivered. He is still huge and a pain. He's taking up all the space in here and keeps nudging me for more room. I can hear Mom complaining about her boys' stretching. I hope she won't blame me when she goes into painful labor.  

I know we're going to forget about our past lives when we're born, but I hope there's one thing I will never forget. And that is that life is short and precious.  

I plan on making the most out of every day and living life to the fullest, because who knows when my new, concrete foundation of certainty and order will be destroyed and I will sink into the turmoil of chaos once more. Maybe next time, it'll be for the worse.