their hands. There were bright lights everywhere, and there seemed to be a lot of blood. They were fixing something in his head. His eyes were closed, and there was a long tube coming out of his mouth.
How strange that he felt nothing, that his body was being worked on, and he wasn't in it anymore. Was he dead? Where was his mom? Where was Christopher? A feeling of intense sadness filled him. What if he never saw them again?
Danny looked around. He wanted to move his arms, to fly like a bird, but he couldn't see his arms. The only thing he saw was the light.
It beckoned him in a new way. He could hear singing, soft, lovely voices. He wondered if the voices belonged to the angels in heaven. He wondered if that's where he was going now.
Because he was moving. Without any conscious thought, without hitting walls or doors, he left the hospital. Now, he was surrounded by whiteness, by puffy clouds that bounced beneath him like a trampoline. He couldn't resist trying to jump. He went up high, then down low. He tried a somersault in midair. He twirled around. Then a voice spoke, deep, dark, and stern.
Danny whirled around. There was a man sitting on what appeared to be a chair made out of a cloud. He was an old guy, at least fifty. His hair was black and white, his beard rough and tinged with gray. In the center of his face was a huge, red nose.
As Danny stared, the man reached up and touched his nose. "What? You think I asked for this big kazoo?"
"No. No, sir," Danny stammered. "Who -- who are you?"
The man moved his hand down and pointed at his clothes. Danny suddenly realized that the man was wearing an old baseball uniform, the kind that Babe Ruth had worn.
"Don't you know?" the man asked.
"Babe Ruth?"
The man laughed, long and hard. He grabbed his side as if the laughter had given him a cramp. "My name's Jacob. And I was a great ballplayer. But not the Babe."
Danny eyed him doubtfully. "Then how come I never heard of you before?"
"Cause I died on my way to tryouts. I was so impatient, I ran in front of a bus. Didn't even see the damn thing. Smashed me flat as a penny, I tell you. I think there were tire tracks on my back."
"That's too bad," Danny said, unsure of how he was supposed to respond. He looked around him, but it was just him and Jacob sitting on a cloud. "Am I dead?"
"Not officially."
"What does that mean?"
"They're still working on you down there. 'Course, they don't know what the Big Guy has in store for you."
"The Big Guy?"
"Yeah, you know the Big Kahuna, the Big Buckarooney, the Big Boy upstairs."
"You mean God?"
"Some people call Him that."
"Am I going to meet Him?"
"That depends on you, Danny boy." Jacob shook his head. "You know, I thought that mother of yours should have called you Jake. Much better name than Danny. But she wouldn't listen to me."
"You know my mom?"
" 'Course I do."
"Are you -- are you an angel?"
"I sure ain't the devil. He's a mean son of a bitch." Jacob crossed his legs and picked at what looked like dirt on his spike shoes.
Danny crossed his arms in front of his chest. For some reason his body seemed to be with him again, right down to the blue jeans, sweatshirt, and baseball cap he'd been wearing when he was hit by the car. "You don't look like an angel. I thought angels were supposed to be blond and pretty."
"What? I'm not good-looking enough for you?" Jacob asked, patting down his wild, fly-away hair. "You're a choosy boy, ain't you?"
Danny shrugged. "What happens now?"
"Now? Well, that's kind of up to you. See, that car took me by surprise. I was watching an old replay of the '89 series between the Giants and Cubs, and I missed you by just a split second. The Big Guy isn't too happy."
"You mean I'm not supposed to be dead? You're my guardian angel, and you blew it?"
The old man straightened up, a look of indignation on his face. "You ain't dead. You just ain't quite alive. We've got some work to do, boy."
"What kind of work?"
"First off, we gotta see
How strange that he felt nothing, that his body was being worked on, and he wasn't in it anymore. Was he dead? Where was his mom? Where was Christopher? A feeling of intense sadness filled him. What if he never saw them again?
Danny looked around. He wanted to move his arms, to fly like a bird, but he couldn't see his arms. The only thing he saw was the light.
It beckoned him in a new way. He could hear singing, soft, lovely voices. He wondered if the voices belonged to the angels in heaven. He wondered if that's where he was going now.
Because he was moving. Without any conscious thought, without hitting walls or doors, he left the hospital. Now, he was surrounded by whiteness, by puffy clouds that bounced beneath him like a trampoline. He couldn't resist trying to jump. He went up high, then down low. He tried a somersault in midair. He twirled around. Then a voice spoke, deep, dark, and stern.
Danny whirled around. There was a man sitting on what appeared to be a chair made out of a cloud. He was an old guy, at least fifty. His hair was black and white, his beard rough and tinged with gray. In the center of his face was a huge, red nose.
As Danny stared, the man reached up and touched his nose. "What? You think I asked for this big kazoo?"
"No. No, sir," Danny stammered. "Who -- who are you?"
The man moved his hand down and pointed at his clothes. Danny suddenly realized that the man was wearing an old baseball uniform, the kind that Babe Ruth had worn.
"Don't you know?" the man asked.
"Babe Ruth?"
The man laughed, long and hard. He grabbed his side as if the laughter had given him a cramp. "My name's Jacob. And I was a great ballplayer. But not the Babe."
Danny eyed him doubtfully. "Then how come I never heard of you before?"
"Cause I died on my way to tryouts. I was so impatient, I ran in front of a bus. Didn't even see the damn thing. Smashed me flat as a penny, I tell you. I think there were tire tracks on my back."
"That's too bad," Danny said, unsure of how he was supposed to respond. He looked around him, but it was just him and Jacob sitting on a cloud. "Am I dead?"
"Not officially."
"What does that mean?"
"They're still working on you down there. 'Course, they don't know what the Big Guy has in store for you."
"The Big Guy?"
"Yeah, you know the Big Kahuna, the Big Buckarooney, the Big Boy upstairs."
"You mean God?"
"Some people call Him that."
"Am I going to meet Him?"
"That depends on you, Danny boy." Jacob shook his head. "You know, I thought that mother of yours should have called you Jake. Much better name than Danny. But she wouldn't listen to me."
"You know my mom?"
" 'Course I do."
"Are you -- are you an angel?"
"I sure ain't the devil. He's a mean son of a bitch." Jacob crossed his legs and picked at what looked like dirt on his spike shoes.
Danny crossed his arms in front of his chest. For some reason his body seemed to be with him again, right down to the blue jeans, sweatshirt, and baseball cap he'd been wearing when he was hit by the car. "You don't look like an angel. I thought angels were supposed to be blond and pretty."
"What? I'm not good-looking enough for you?" Jacob asked, patting down his wild, fly-away hair. "You're a choosy boy, ain't you?"
Danny shrugged. "What happens now?"
"Now? Well, that's kind of up to you. See, that car took me by surprise. I was watching an old replay of the '89 series between the Giants and Cubs, and I missed you by just a split second. The Big Guy isn't too happy."
"You mean I'm not supposed to be dead? You're my guardian angel, and you blew it?"
The old man straightened up, a look of indignation on his face. "You ain't dead. You just ain't quite alive. We've got some work to do, boy."
"What kind of work?"
"First off, we gotta see
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