Chapter 10 The Damsel in Distress Trope
At a gas station in Pennsylvania, one of the big glossy ones with floodlights that played top forty hits from twenty years ago, I sat in the driver’s seat waiting for the tank to fill.
No one else was there, not even a clerk—just me and Heaven under the glaring lights.
They were probably supposed to make you feel safe, but they somehow made everything outside of the circle of light harder to see.
Anything could be lurking in the shadows, maybe something worse than me.
I pulled out my phone and typed who is Heaven into Google. The first result: “Heaven is a real place where the people of God”—oh no.
I tried again: who is Heaven Cole TikTok life coach.
Heaven’s first brush with death was recorded in one of her pinned videos on TikTok. I clicked on it, unable to tear myself away from the screen. The opening image was Heaven on a beach.
“It’s Thursday, and I’m taking all of y’all on a walk. I’m trying out this new selfie stick, which is attached to my belt.” She mugged for the camera, framing her face with her hands. “It’s like having my own cameraman.”
Heaven proceeded to serve looks (in a leopard-print bikini top) while promenading down the beach until someone (off camera) asked her about surfing.
“No, I’m not about to kill myself,” she began, before changing her tune.
You could see the gears turning in her head as she realized this was an opportunity for more content. “Actually, why not?”
The gas station music switched to Aerosmith. Stephen Tyler blared loudly into the emptiness while I watched in fascination and horror as Heaven paddled out to sea and managed to stand up on her board.
“I got this,” she said directly to the camera.
“Check me out—” Then the view went sideways.
Suddenly, the video was in and out of the surf; I could hear her cries for help and catch occasional glimpses of her gasping for air.
The rest of the footage was of her being rescued by a hot surfer—it was Gemma.
Of course. That was how they met. Onshore, Gemma performed CPR, and then the camera finally stopped filming.
According to Wikipedia, it was one of the most-viewed videos on TikTok in 2023 and had spawned thousands of “I got this” spoof videos that further propelled Heaven to viral-video stardom.
It looked like she’d become a life coach the day after dying. Her trade with me hadn’t been just about the parking spot. I was her daily encounter with a fate she had avoided.
How would she react to dying again? “Been there, done that” was probably too much to hope for.
I pulled onto the highway with my twice-dead companion.
I glanced at the coffin in the rearview mirror.
Completely silent. Vlad had said it would be twenty-four hours until Heaven woke up, if she woke up.
It had been a week of driving already, sometimes in the wrong direction, without a single peep.
Hopefully, it was just taking her longer.
Everyone develops at a different rate. I remember getting my first period when my neighbor already had two babies.
The 1700s: It could have been better.
Why was I so worried about Heaven? Vampires were supposed to kill people without remorse.
Meanwhile, here I was, still upset about my friend whose bones had turned to dust long ago.
When a vision of Heaven in her coffin, regular dead instead of undead, flashed across my mind, I knocked on the shiny wooden dashboard.
What some call superstition is nothing but common sense.
That’s something Heaven and I could agree on.
At least I was almost to Vermont. If everything went to plan, I was starting my final night of driving.
I’d never been so ready to reach my destination.
Illinois, Indiana, Ohio—no hate, but the Rust Belt wasn’t my scene.
I’d already lived through the Middle Ages, I didn’t need to spend time in Indiana.
“Next trip, you’re driving!” I shouted into the back. Please let there be a next time.
I had reached my limit for talking to a cat and a silent coffin. I turned down Beyoncé, who I’d been blasting at top volume, girl-powering my way through Amish country, and FaceTimed Vlad.
“Ah, Tiffenie!” he said, picking up immediately like he’d been waiting for me to call. With a contented sigh, he said, “How’s the drive?”
“It’s all right.”
“Are you sure you won’t tell me where you’re moving? I could drop by and see how things are going with your progeny.”
Here we go again. “Vlad, you know I can’t tell you.”
“Tiffenie, I’m not going to give you up to the parliament.” He sounded exasperated. “I just want to see you.”
“FaceTime is good enough, but thanks for the offer.”
He didn’t say anything for a beat, swallowing his disappointment. “So how’s the drive? Is your progeny behaving herself?”
“About that…” I glanced at the coffin.
Vlad sighed. “She didn’t wake up, did she?”
“Not yet. Does it take extra long sometimes?”
“Did you follow my directions?”
“Mostly.” Recipes are just suggestions.
“What did you do?”
“Well, I didn’t bury her. I just sort of…covered her up.” And I wasn’t about to tell him that I opened the coffin once or twice a day to unlock her phone with her Face ID so I could keep posting TikToks.
Vlad groaned. “Tiffenie, you have to follow instructions.”
“The point is to just cover them up, keep it dark. Right?”
“It’s about the soil,” he said. “You need the sacred soil of her homeland.”
“I don’t know, Vlad. Have you been to LA recently?” It didn’t feel very sacred or homeland-y, not to mention Instagram was more like Heaven’s homeland than the earth. “We’re not an agrarian society anymore. Maybe soil is less important.”
“You might be fine.” Vlad didn’t sound optimistic. “It’s a waiting game at this point.”
My stomach clenched. Please let him be wrong.
Please. I didn’t want to arrive in Valentine with a dead friend.
Not to mention, if she was dead I would definitely be arrested for murder.
You can’t kill someone and then spend the next four days posting on their social media accounts. Even I knew that much.
Cat meowed loudly, complaining from the floor of the passenger side. After a week in a car with Cat, I understood why people took dogs on road trips.
Something moved inside the coffin. I strained to hear more, anything to confirm it wasn’t my imagination.
“Vlad, quiet. I heard something.” More rustling and then a knock. “She’s awake!” If I could have, I would have yelled “Hallelujah!”
“Well, that’s good. How much longer till you arrive?”
I glanced at the map app. “Six hours.” We’d be there well before sunrise.
“Don’t let her out till you get there.”
“Six hours—you think she’ll be okay?” I didn’t want her to start her new life acting out a buried-alive nightmare.
“Just put on a podcast and keep going. You don’t have a choice. It should take her a while to gain full consciousness.”
Except for the podcast rec, he was right. I put my foot on the gas and turned up Beyoncé again. Upstate New York was only a hop and a skip from Vermont.
My excitement climbed with each mile we crept closer to Valentine. Heaven was waking up and we were almost home. Would I find a job? What would the townspeople be like? Where did Bernie Sanders live?
But I didn’t drive fast enough. We weren’t quite there when Heaven knocked from the inside of her coffin. “Let me out!”
“We’re almost there!” I called with forced cheerfulness, echoing parents of time immemorial.
“Help!”
“You know how you mentioned going with me to Vermont?” I called into the back seat.
“Let me out!”
“We’re almost there. You’re doing great!” I called. There was nothing for it. I stepped on the gas.
“Tiff, is that you? I’m going to kill you!”
“You’re going to love Vermont,” I answered. “The leaves, the hills, the…” Not murdering her girlfriend was the real highlight, but that was better left unsaid for the moment. The headlights were twin beams of soft yellow light illuminating gently falling snow. I was heading home.