I was dead for twenty-six years. My body was frozen and stored in a facility. I don’t remember anything. That’s a question I’m asked wherever I go. What’s being dead like? I don’t know. I don’t remember. Do you remember anything?No. People think if they ask me the same question in different ways I’ll remember something. Is it like being asleep? Were you in heaven? A cure for the cause of my death was discovered. They thawed my body. They administered the therapy. They re-started me. Connecting cables to a car battery and applying a little juice is an analogy that’s bandied about. It isn’t far from what actually happens. Watch a video. Why are you asking me? Ask a technician. I paid in advance for my berth in the facility. That’s the term they use—they tell you your berth will be yours exclusively for fifty years or a hundred years or forever or whichever package you buy. There’s a tongue-in-cheekiness to the operation, which was appealing to me. We’re venturing into uncharted waters. Maintenance fees were included. Costs associated with treatment weren’t included. I was on the hook for half a million dollars. Welcome back. Here’s a bill. What’s being alive like? That’s the question you ought to be asking yourselves.

Pete Riebling

Pete Riebling lives in Metuchen, New Jersey with his wife, daughter and son and their cat, Mrs. Kisses, and their dog, Opal.
%d bloggers like this: