[ WP ] It turns out that when you die , your soul is launched back in time , effectively becoming your own guardian angel .

The snow swirled around them, with their hair just a big ole bag of disaster and their clothes soon to be sopping wet. Their smiles were bright, still visible beyond the white curtains hanging all over their perfect moment, those flakes cold yet comforting and the ground untouched by the morning plows and pedal steps. They were happy, for sure. This was the happiest moment of his life. This was the happiest moment I could ever remember. 
 
 He slipped slightly on the hidden ice, laughing as she braced him and helped regain his balance. They were standing before the what I so graciously deemed the mausoleum of modern taste, or more commonly known, the Eiffel Tower. It was corny, yes, and such a cliche, sure, but it was undoubtedly special. She was there. He was there. They were ecstatic, young, perfect for each other. 
 
 After a stellar yet underwhelming dinner and a stroll through the more touristy parts of the city, they had arrived at the obelisk so forever associated with romance. Their vacation would only last but a week, because they were broke, so broke, too broke to be doing this. But it was worth it. To see the look on her face. To see the sparkle in her eyes and the clasp of her hands over that gorgeous smile, it was worth it. 
 
 They were tipsy, maybe a little more than tipsy, but not tipsy enough for him to mess things up. He dropped down to one knee and took her hand. It was happening, his decision to finally grow up. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a tiny red box. Its velvet shook mightily as he deftly tugged at the golden string bow and flicked open the lid. 
 
 This was his moment, her moment, their perfect little moment. It would last forever in their minds, in their hearts. It would be the start of something really special. 
 
 But not before I had a say in the matter. 
 
 See, he was dumb. Really, really dumb. He could n't do anything right, not ever, so I always had to help him out. I would fix his mistakes when they were too big not to notice, pick him up when he was too down to stand, set him straight when he was too jagged not to break. This is my job. This is what I do. He was dumb, he would mess up, so I had to fix things. That night in Paris was no exception. 
 
 In turn with his luck and obvious to any scholarly observers, he dropped the ring about 35 minutes prior to proposing. It fell out somehow. I do n't know how, how it was even possible given its confinement, but it happened. So I picked it up. And I held onto it, following them, waiting for the opportunity to set things straight. 
 
 So in that moment, with the snow hovering motionless in the air, his fingers just barely forming a crack in the special present's box, with time stopped completely, I gently slid it back into place. He would n't mess this up. Not on my watch. 
 
 Before stepping away, I turned to her. She had n't yet pulled her hands to her face, her shock still prominently shown with her eyes as wide as an ocean. She looked genuinely surprised, genuinely beautiful. I missed this, this closeness and this warmth. It felt... sobering. It felt as if I could start it all over again, as if me, this silent observer, could live. 
 
 But I could n't. This was his moment. So I turned around, starting things back up again and giving him his privacy. My time had come. My time had gone. 
 
 This was his moment. 
 
 This was his life, his memories. He would live them by himself, with only himself lucky enough to witness. 
 
 This was his moment. 
 
 `` Barry?'' 
 
 I snapped around. 
 
 `` Barry, is that you?'' 
 
 And this was my moment. Standing beside her, as he slid that ring so delicately onto her finger, was another woman. Was a different woman. Was my woman. 
 
 I smiled. 
 
 `` Yeah, it's me. You're here too?'' 
 
 `` I'm here too.'' 
 
 We laughed, chuckling at first, then a giggle, then full blown convulsions. After the funnies died down, I walked slowly to greet her, pausing time again just as those two kids started touching lips. She was here. I was here. We were together again. 
 
 We embraced. 
 
 `` We're dead, Barry.'' 
 
 `` Yeah.'' 
 
 She pulled me away, grasping my head with her mittened hands and staring deeply into my eyes. 
 
 `` Do you feel dead?'' she asked. 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 I grinned a knowing grin. 
 
 `` Not anymore. No, I do n't.'' 
 
 *** 
 
 I added the second part after feeling a little bit, you know, happy. 
 
 Check out my website, [ casualhuman.com ] ( http: //casualhuman.com ), for more of my short stories.
