white noise

He was dead less than a minute, confirmed by Dr. Higgenbottom, it was in all the papers, and his reawakening has spilled over into a bubbling wellspring of books, one crackpot heralded thesis titled Death On His Lunch Break, Holmesian monograms scribbled on brittle yellow paper, bearded white-coat lectures in grand marble halls throughout Europe, an unfinished clay bust sculpted by a permanently deceased arthritic octogenarian, late afternoon talk shows culminating in finger pointing, chair throwing and stitches, repeated requests for interviews, all predicated in the salient fact of what he witnessed:
He saw a white light.
He'd given his statement. It was just the one sentence.
'It was like I was hovering and was blinded by a white light and that's all I can tell you.'
That's it.

He's to arrive within the hour. The scorched silver pot of coffee has just started to perk. We both cherish coffee. That was my bait. A clear glass vase of fresh yellow and violet flowers should be the first thing he sees upon entering. Two steps into the hallway he will have an unobstructed view of the firm oranges and red delicious apples in the miniature picnic basket on the scarlet-clothed kitchen table. Gave 75 cents for that quaint rufous basket from a somber, pale woman at a yard sale. I don't know if she was ever dead. I was strangely attracted to her. Wheat hair in wisps of gray, unwinking eyes. As though maybe she was my wife before we both died. It was her idea to make it a fruit basket. Was thinking of adding grapes for full prism effect. Don't know what I'll ask him beyond cream and sugar.