How To Learn

A man gets into a brutal car crash in which he dies and gets reincarnated into his ex-girlfriend's cat.

I always thought we were pretty good together. Our friends used to say we were the perfect couple and my parents loved you. Even when we fought, we didn’t really fight, we just had our little disagreements, but we talked it out and everything ended up fine. You were the only girl I could imagine settling down and spending the rest of my life with. I wanted to marry you, father your children, grow old with you.                                    

So when you said that you felt like you were holding me back, and because you loved me, you were letting me go, you can imagine my shock. You can also imagine the crisis that followed. I started smoking, drinking a bit more, sleeping around with various women and men. All of this led to some pretty careless mistakes on my part. The biggest being speeding down the wrong lane on the freeway and crashing head on into a Shell semi truck.

It had been what I consider a normal Friday night at the bar. I didn’t get particularly wasted, nor did I hold back more than usual. It was nearing midnight, the time when my bar of choice closes on Fridays and Saturdays. I had a couple of bourbons, and was pleasantly numbed, so that thinking about you didn’t hurt as much as it usually does.. You always lectured me about drunk driving and how you had lost four friends to a drunk driving accident, and how you didn’t want that to happen to me. I figured you probably didn’t care anymore.

I said goodnight to everyone whose names I didn’t know, but whose faces were all too familiar to me, and left the bar. I hopped into my car and began driving home. There were a couple of residential streets I had to drive down before getting on the freeway. I figured there would be a lot more cars on a Friday night, but I was wrong. I swear I didn’t see a single car on my way down the residential areas. 

I was flipping through the songs on my playlist, having trouble picking one because they all made me think of you. Remember how I used to love the fact that we had the exact same taste in music? Don’t love it so much anymore. I was thinking that I really ought to make a playlist of songs that don’t make me think of you, when suddenly, something jumped in front of my car. I slammed the breaks, making the tires squeal. I looked up to see a cat standing in front of my head lights. No, it’s ears were a bit too long, and it had unusual spots on its front legs. A bobcat? No, it was too small to be a bobcat. Maybe a serval? No, it only had the spotted pattern on its legs, while it’s back was a dull brown. It’s eyes were blue, and they were looking straight into mine, no doubt about it. It’s eyes were not cat eyes with a narrow line of a pupil, but round black pupils surrounded by blue irises, the whites clear as day. It was like it stole those eyes from another human. Does that mean there’s someone walking around with this cat’s eyes?

We went on like that, eyes locked to each other, for maybe only a couple minutes, an hour, a day, a year, or maybe we never stopped. It did not move its mouth when speaking its next words, and I did not hear its voice, but its words came to me all the same like I was reading a book or a poem:

Under thine bare skin I see

Trials and triumphs that are no concern to me

Why He hath chosen you and not another

No doubt a mystery to thee

Don’t wait for a morning, young conquerer

One will not come to anyone who doth wander

And though thy wounds hurt in earnest now

Soon thou will see a different candor

So be on your way, man

Though it won’t be His plan

Go to that shiny road

And see what many can’t

I don’t remember if it walked away or simply vanished, but either way, it gave me its poem, and then it was gone. I stayed like that for a while, not moving, gripping the steering wheel. A wave of complete terror washed over me, freezing me to my seat, but I had no idea where it came from. I don’t know if it was the strange cat or the poem it gave me. Maybe it the way the cat disappeared or maybe how it appeared in the first place. I thought that maybe if I continued driving, I’d shake it off. That did nothing. I pulled over and switched off my engine. This did nothing either, for instead of relief, all I got was a silence so pure and deep, it was like sound never even existed. That silence didn’t distract me from my fear, but only heightened it, so I turned it back on and continue with the same terror. It didn’t subside until I reached the freeway.

When I got to the intersection that would lead to me the freeway, I decided I needed something to release me from this unexplainable terror. I had already tried had an idea. A very stupid, very reckless, very only-something-a-drunk-person-would-think-of thought. The light turned green. I shifted my wheel a tad to the left, and ended up in the southbound lane, and not the northbound where I should have been.

As far as I know, the penalty for driving on the wrong side of the road can range from $110 to $250. For this kind of thrill, maybe it was worth it. Because it was so empty, I only had to dodge a couple of honking cars, but that only added to the thrill. It felt great, doing something only a crazy person would do, knowing that I could die from doing something like this. The feeling was so wonderful that I couldn’t think of anything else. I didn’t think of you, or work, or the cat, or my friends, family, I was just living in that moment. Maybe I’d quit drinking for the rest of my life. Never touch another drop and just start doing this instead. Maybe I’d drive all the way across the country on the wrong side of the road.

With that final thought, when I had lost track of all time and place, the semi hit me.

I don’t remember much about what happened during the whole actually dying part. I didn’t see any bright light and my life didn’t flash before my eyes, but I remember it hurting a lot. I really felt that semi, I tell you. Of course, I didn’t suffer much, the whole thing just happened in a flash, but it still hurt. It was like every bone in my body broke all at once, and all of my skin broke open so that it couldn’t hold my intestines or my stomach anymore. I wasn’t thinking about my regrets or the fact that this was the end, all I could think of was the pain.

 

 

Next thing I know, I’m opening my eyes to see a giant’s face. I opened my mouth to scream as loud as I could, but a wave of exhaustion hit me, and I only let out a silent mewl. Everything was too bright, too cold, too loud. I shut my eyes again, in an attempt to go back to whatever sort of sleep I was in, but my surroundings were far too overwhelming. I heard the giant say in a gentle voice “Looks like this little guy’s the last one. Male, blue eyes, black coat, white belly and face.”

I could feel him putting me down on something soft. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. The next thing that appeared in my field of vision was little ball of grey fur, calmly breathing. It shifted a little, and I could see its little ears pop up. Behind this ball, I saw two green eyes open from a black head to look at me. The head moved towards and I tried to run, but my tiny limbs weren’t strong enough to lift my body, and soon the head reached me, sticking its tongue out and swiping it against my cheeks. I fell back from the force of the tongue, throwing my arms and legs up in the air. I caught a glimpse of my hands and froze, for they were not the standard, hairless hands with five fingers and hundreds of joints, but tiny black paws. I began to panic, tossing myself side to side, catching a glimpse of my thin tail, resembling more of a stick than anything else. I looked down to see the rest of my furry, black and white body, and though I had no way to see my reflection, I could imagine what my head looked like. I could picture tiny ears on the top of my head, a tiny pink nose with whispers on both sides of my face, and of course, cat eyes.

I allowed the green-eyed-head--who must’ve been my mother--to continue to lick me, as I suppose newborn kittens are supposed to do. I tried to speak, but all that came out were a string a pitiful whines, just as well I supposed, what would a newborn kitten need the English language for?

My mother moved onto the next kitten, allowing me to curl up into her stomach so I could try to piece together what was going on. I knew this was no dream, for my dreams were never this vivid. I retraced my steps to see if I could pinpoint the thing that put me into this situation, but all I could remember was the car crash. Did I die in that crash? It wouldn’t be that much of a shock, the pain had been so incredible, perhaps I had died from it. If that were the case? Was this the after life? Was this heaven or hell? What kind of heaven is this? What kind of hell is this?

Eventually, I adapted to my new life as a cat; what else could I do? The millions of questions I once had seemed to fade away like a memory from when you were young. However easy you think a cat’s life is I guarantee is five times easier if you were a human in your past life. All I did was eat when food was given to me, sleep when I got tired, pissed and s**t when I had to, and scampered around with my siblings when I was really bored, though I didn’t often feel so. I realized that the less I expected from this life, the less bored I got. Afterall, it’s not like anyone would think to give a cat a paperback. Of course some of the humans would try to play with me with cat toys, but I wouldn’t really engage for I found it a bit patronizing. I didn’t necessarily blame anybody for trying to get me to exercise a bit, I was just a little offended they would think I would want to. The nice thing about being a cat was that I could be lazy and not feel bad about it because I honestly didn’t care how long I lived or if I was physically attractive to other cats. I just wanted to f**k around and relax a bit; something I could rarely do as a human, but was now in abundance as a cat.

But I still missed you. That was the one thing that didn’t seem to change during all this. It’s not like I didn’t try to forget you, it’s just that you wouldn’t budge from my mind. Truth be told, neither dying in a car crash, turning into a cat, finding someone new, nor even retrograde amnesia could take you away from me.

 

I think I was less panicked about being taken away from my mother than my siblings because I knew it was destined to happen at some point. It’s not like my fate was a mystery to me: I knew I was destined to be a pet, to be domesticated, taken care of, to be dependent on another. I couldn’t help but feel pity for the rest of my siblings though because they didn’t know the drill. It truly was a cruel fate for them: to be suddenly taken from the only home they know after a week and put into the hands of some giant who may or may not know how to take care of them. And people wonder why some cats are a******s.

No, being taken away from my mother and siblings was not was jarred me; it was who took me away. What made me realize the reason behind this odd fate, this peculiar reincarnation. What made me realize that this was neither heaven nor hell, but a beautiful irony. You picked me up one day by my under arms and held me to look at you the way anyone would look at a week-old kitten: a wide smile and scrunched up nose like I was the cutest thing you had ever seen, and perhaps I was. You lowered me bit, perhaps to put me back, but then stopped and looked in my eyes again. This time, you didn’t have a delightful surprise on your face, but a more serious one. I stared back into your deep brown eyes while you stared into mine. I still wonder if you saw me under that whiskered face; that perhaps you knew it was me in there, and that’s what influenced your decision. I opened my mouth to say “It’s me! I died and came back! I miss you more than I can bare! Please take me back and we can figure this thing out. I have so many questions, but if you don’t want to answer them; if you just want to fall asleep in my arms and pretend nothing happened, I’d be fine with that.” But all that came out was a soft mewl of desperation that you smiled at.

You turned your head and spoke to someone I couldn’t see. “Yeah, I think it’s gonna be this one.”

A voice who’s speaker I couldn’t see said “Good choice. Any ideas for a name?”

“Is it a girl or a boy?”

“Boy.”

You looked back at me with a pondering look. Twisting your mouth in that way all too familiar to me, you said “Plato.”

I found it charming you decided to name me after the kid from Rebel Without a Cause, and I know you didn’t name me after the philosopher because you minored in film studies. Plato was a good name, one I could get used to, certainly better than the old one. I never liked human names on animals, but I didn’t like names like “Mr. Whiskers” or ''Oreo” either, and was glad you chose neither. For some reason, I thought for sure you going to name me after--well, me. I thought that that might’ve been the reason you chose me in the first place: I reminded you of someone close to your heart at one point, but no longer. Maybe that really is the reason you chose me, but you didn’t want to seem like you were still hung up on me, so you chose a different one, but one I’d still recognize just to tell me that you knew it was me.

We never talked about getting a cat or a dog and in hindsight, I don’t really know why. Neither of us were allergic and we certainly had the means to take care of one. Personally, I had a preference for dogs because I grew up with them and knew how to raise them. You told me that you grew up with dogs too, but you never told me if you preferred one or the other. Would a cat have saved our relationship? I want to say no because that answer seems too simple, but then again, sometimes painfully complex problems have painfully simple solutions.

 

 

You were fantastic at taking care of me. I was never hungry, never bored, never sick. You weren’t overbearing, but you gave me attention. You and your friends marveled out how well behaved and sociable I was. You joked that you could probably take me to work if your boss wasn’t allergic. I couldn’t tell how old I ever was because I could never get a proper grasp of time, but eventually, I started feeling around the same age I was when I died. Not so much a kitten, but a young, healthy adult cat.

And then he entered our lives. 

You met him on a dating app--since when did you use dating apps? You told me you hated the whole idea of them. You had lunch together. A week later, you had dinner together. That weekend, he took you to the museum you and I always visited, but you told him you’d never been. That night, you brought him home with you. He tried to pet me, but I backed away. “He’s shy” you lied. You talked for a bit, you kissed his cheek and said your farewells. You turned to me and said, “What’s the matter with you?”

Soon, he was coming over frequently, leaving his things around the apartment like I used to. He never officially moved in, but he lived with us like I did when I was alive. You kissed him like you kissed me, held him like you held me, fucked him like you fucked me. All those scars that had just finished healing had opened back up because when I looked at him, when he made you smile, it killed me that I wasn’t in his place and never could be again.

 

 

One day, he found a picture of the two of us together at that corn maze--God, remember that stupid f*****g corn maze? It was a stupid idea because neither of us had any sense of direction. I remember when you got to the end of it, melodramatically dropping to your knees and screaming “Finally!” You always pretended to really care about stuff like that, but you didn’t, and you were a great actress. When I told you I forgot to pick up hand soap from the grocery store, you would go on a rant about how we’re going to catch a disease from our asses that the doctors had never heard of and won’t know how to cure and we’re going to get green boils on our genitals and oh my God do you realize what you’ve done? You’d say it all while holding back a grin, and I’d laugh. We took our jokes so seriously.

He asked “Who’s this?”

You paused when he showed you, and I realized that you had never talked about me before, at least not while I was around. Why hadn’t you ever talked about me? You told him who I was, explaining that I had died about eight years ago--had it really been that long? I saw you choke back a bit of tears. “Sorry,” you said “I just don’t talk about him that much.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“Actually, can I? I haven’t really talked about it to anyone. I don’t want to dump all my grief on you, but--”

“You can tell me anything. Come on, let’s go to the living room.” He looked at me and smirked. “You too, Plato, you’re not immune to talk-about-your-feelings-time just because you hate my guts.”

Of course I joined you, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to hear someone talk about me while I wasn’t there, especially not when it was you. I curled up next to your thigh and rested my head on your lap while you stroked me. “Where do I even start?” you asked.

“Wherever you want,” he cooed.

You hesitated. “You know, after he died, it took a lot for me to start dating again. I didn’t see anyone else, didn’t f**k anyone else, not until I met you.” You chuckled. “Afterwards, all I could think was how much of my fault it all was. That maybe if I just checked in on him, left him a couple texts to let him know I still cared, maybe if I hadn’t ended things so abruptly, maybe if I didn’t end things at all, he’d still be here.”

Silence. “Did he kill himself?” he asked.

“No, a drunk driving accident, can you believe it? And yes, I nagged him about drinking and driving just as much as I do with you. Perhaps I’m cursed.” You paused, then punched him in the shoulder. “You better not go do anything like that, I’m dead serious!”

He rubbed his shoulder, giggling. Another pause. “How did you two break-up?”

Your face fell while my heart sank and my stomach knotted.

I knew your reason for breaking up with me was bullshit. Holding me back from what? I had no great plans or ambitions; all I wanted was to marry you, raise a family, retire at 60, and die in my 80s surrounded by you and our children. I was a simple man: I didn’t want to become a billionaire, I didn’t want my name in history books, I didn’t want to save the world, I wanted to save us. Did you want all those things? Was I holding you back? I was staring intently up at you, head no longer on your thigh. You were still stroking me as if I was just another piece of furniture that had no interest in this conversation.

“I broke up with him,” you started. “I--well, there were a couple reasons. Spiritual ones mostly, I just didn’t feel--” you sighed and closed your eyes. You always did that when you finally found the right words. “Have you ever known someone better than themselves? Like, really better than themselves, so much so that you felt like you were doing their self-reflection for them? And so you know exactly why they do the things that they do, but they can’t change because they don’t even know where to start!”

He clearly didn’t understand what you were talking about, but you didn’t care. “And you try really hard to make them see themselves and see what they’re doing wrong, but they just--they don’t f*****g get it, you know? They keep making the same goddamn mistakes over and over, and it drives you nuts because they never learn, and they’re so goddamn unaware of themselves. I swear, there were some days I wanted to grab him by the throat and say ‘Why can’t you ever f*****g learn? Maybe if you just slowed down for a second and thought about what you’re doing, you wouldn’t keep f*****g everything up!’ Of course, if I did that, he would think there was something wrong with me, that I’m going through something. He never took personal responsibility either. I mean, it’s not like he was completely clueless, he knew when he really fucked up, but when it came to big things in our relationship, you could tell he never stopped and asked himself ‘Well what about me? What am I doing wrong? How can I make this better?’ No, it was either I was going through a rough time or it was something that couldn’t be stopped. Because he never thought that anything was his fault, he didn’t think he could do anything to fix it, so he just let everything take its course without even trying to change it.”

You were crying now. You stopped stroking me and curled up to him. I imagined your tears soaking into his shirt. I knew that feeling. I know it very well. “I’ll bet if he survived the crash, he wouldn’t blame himself. Wouldn’t think that I was right. He would think that that was the way it goes.”

 

 

And so everything went alright for a couple of weeks, if anything better. You were happier, you had something finally taken off of your chest: me. You finally had closure, and you forgave me, but didn’t forget me. I had only seen you this happy and relaxed once before.

We were visiting your hometown for Thanksgiving. The moment we entered the airport, I saw a glint in your eyes. No, perhaps it wasn’t a glint, but a warmth. Your eyes were always warm, but this was a warmth I genuinely hadn’t seen before. One that was so pure, so welcoming, so beautiful. It was a side of you that I hadn’t seen before, but it wasn’t alien. It showed some of itself when you talked to your parents, your old friends, teachers; when you held my hand, pointed at something you remembered, and even when you were doing nothing at all, but the source was undoubtedly in your eyes. Here it was again, not at home, but here. Even when you fought with him or just had a bad day, it was still there. 

Yes, I do wish I was the cause of that unwavering happiness. Yes, it does hurt me a little bit inside that you didn’t find home in me, but I think I can live with it because I know that at least you did find a home. Though it may come at my expense, I’m truly glad that you’re happy.

But I wasn’t, and I never will be. And I can’t stay here.

You were right: I never learned. I never learned how to talk to you, how to not talk to you. Who I am, who I’m not. Who you are, who you’re not. Why some people cry watching sad movies, why a book can scare people, what the signs of a stroke were. When to say no, when to say yes. Why people are scared of clowns, why lights go out, why roads go on forever. How much was too much, why nothing could ever be enough. When to stop drinking. When to call a cab. When switch lanes. Why I chose you, why you let me go. Hell, I don’t think I ever learned how to learn. Maybe, by the end of the day, that’s what all this was: a lesson in learning.

You were opening the door to go to work, so I took my chance and dashed out the door. I bounded down the stairs, faster than I ever could on human legs. You screamed my name, telling me to come back, trying your best to chase after me, but you knew just as well as I did that there was no way you could catch me. This time, I would get away. You wouldn’t understand why I was doing this, why I was suddenly acting out and running away. You would walk around the neighborhood calling my name. Post and handout fliers with my face on it saying Missing Cat. But you would never find me. You would never see me  again, nor I you.

The exit was right in front of me. I dodged legs and feet and burst out the door onto the sidewalk, racing down with you far behind me.