Stephen Dies

I did not know how it happened, but from the tranquil music I heard floating about me I only knew that it was over. I had gone to sleep the previous night with an upset stomach, and sometime during the night my life stole away from me. I was dead

There was the light at the end of the tunnel, beckoning me with whispers of a glorious afterlife, conjuring up images in my mind of tranquility and peace for all time.

I approached the light, shielding myself from the dazzling glow, and when it subsided I was standing on a marble platform engrained beneath my feet with images of angels around the glorious visage of God. Beyond the platform two enormous pillars stood, of the whitest pearl, supporting two vast golden gates that sparkled with unearthly beauty. And elderly man, old and worn, with a long white beard and eyes that still sparkled with the light and power of youth appeared before this threshold to the Glory Land.

“Come forth, child of the Lord,” he said in a deep voice that resonated with a strength that belied his crooked back and elder countenance. “Thus begins your final Trial. Thus will your fate be determine; be it the sanguine eternity of Heaven or the wretched hellfire of the Furnace.”

He reached inside his robes and pulled out a laptop. He fell backwards, and a chair and desk appeared to catch him as he sat.

“Now, just wait a bit while this thing boots up…” He flipped open a panel on one of the pillars and plugged in his computer. “Ever since we upgraded to Windows XP Office this thing has been slow as molasses.”

“So…” I said, “you must be St. Peter?”

“Yes, it is I,” the man said, drawing himself up to his full height. For an instant his elderly face melted away to reveal youthfulness and purity. “I, who have been chosen by the Almighty to judge the fates of People.”

“People?”

He sighed, and became an old man once more. “I know, it doesn’t have the same ‘ring’ to it as ‘fates of Men,’ does it?” he sighed. “Too many women have been making a fuss about this whole sexism in the workplace thing, which doesn’t make much sense when you consider that they soon become angels, which are sexless beings anyway.”

“Must be tough,” I interjected.

“Aha.” He returned to his computer. “Come over here and take a seat, Stephen.” A chair appeared near his desk.

“Listen St. Pete – can I call you St. Pete?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Listen St. Peter, I was kinda wonderin’…how did I die?”

“Let me just bring up your record here and…” St. Peter typed at the keyboard. “Here you are. Stephen Burke Hentchel, b. 3/28/1983, d. 4/16/2002. Cause: food poisoning.” He looked up at me. “You’ve been eating food in WMU’s cafeteria again, haven’t you?”

“Yes sir,” I said, looking shamed.

“Well, this time it cost you. You could have had a long, fruitful life before you if you hadn’t opted to try their roast beef. Well, anyway” – he waved his hand to dismiss it – “let’s bring up your records and quickly review your life. Hmm…” he scrolled carefully through my file. “Well, that’s odd.”

“What?” I asked.

“Well, according to this your ratio of good to evil is 1:1. For every bad thing you’ve done you have something pure to neutralize it.”

“Okay,” I said uncertainly. “So, what does that mean? Purgatory?”

“Ha ha ha!” St. Peter shook his head. “That was a good one! ‘Purgatory’.” He chuckled. “Those nutty Catholics.”

“So then what’s going to happen to me?” I asked.

“Well, this has never happened before,” St. Peter said. “Let me review your record and see if everything’s in shape.” His eyes skimmed the listings. “Yep, everything seems good so far.” He continued reading. “Uh huh…you’ve even got the –500 for being atheist…”

“Actually, I’m only agnostic,” I said, glad to have something to put me over the top. “You ought to change that.”

“Well, that does make things different, doesn’t it?” St. Peter asked. “I’ll just delete the –500 and…–1,000 marks. That does it, you’re destined for hell.”

“Hey!” I shouted. “What do you mean, –1,000?! I’m agnostic! That means I’m not sure there’s a God, not that I don’t believe in one!”

“You’re right,” St. Peter said. “And that’s much worse than being atheist in His eyes. Atheists at least take a stance. You guys don’t have the confidence to make a decision, so you hover in the middle to wait and see.”

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Wait, hold on a minute,” St. Peter continued, still going over my records. “There could be other things listed incorrectly. Aha! Right here.” St. Peter twisted the laptop around so I could see the screen. “God’s got you credited –500 points for shooting someone in the head during a bank robbery. That actually belongs to an Andrew Kalchik. I can just delete the record, and you break even again.”

“Wait a minute. He entered the data incorrectly?” I asked.

“It would appear so,” St. Peter answered.

“So…God made a mistake?”

“Shh!” St. Peter hissed, glancing over to where a few other applicants had just arrived, and were watching us. “Not so loud!” He read for a few more minutes, then leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “I’m not sure what to do,” he said finally. “You break even. The odds of that happening are astronomical. I guess the best thing to do is have you wait here until the end of the day, and we can go ask Him directly. There are a few others awaiting final Judgement by His choice; you can sit with them.”

“Others, huh?” I asked. “Who are they?”

“One of them’s a multi-billionaire whose software company has systematically crushed all competition in the computer business, and has recently crossed over into the video game console market to destroy those companies too. Problem is he’s also given more money to charity than any other man – excuse me, person – in history. His name’s Bill something-or-other.

“As for the second girl, Susan, she’s just a bad apple. Goes to parties and winds up in bed with the first, second, third, and fourth guy she talks to. Sometimes all at the same time.”

“Indeed…?” I asked slyly. “What’s she look like. Hot?”

“She’s cute,” St. Peter answered. “But I’m warning you, she died of an STD.”

“So?” I said. “I mean, she’s already dead though, so it’s not like she can really have it anymore, right?”

St. Peter sighed. “Look, you’re right on the line here. I suggest you try to behave yourself, and not do anything foolish until I go take you to see God.”

“Fine,” I said, sitting down and pouting.

The rest of the day (can it be called a day? I wondered) passed so wretchedly slowly I would have opted for Hell just as a change of pace. A bunch of Hindus and Muslims came in and finally discovered that Christianity was in fact the one true faith and had to be shuttled, crying and praying for mercy, down to the fiery depths of Hell to endure eternal damnation for not believing in the proper God. Still others, who had otherwise led a decent and civilized life; donating regularly to charity, working at soup kitchens, helping out the poor and elderly and the like, suffered similar fates when it was discovered that they worshipped no God at all. They had foolishly thought that their actions and personal morals would determine their fate. Their screams of anguish could still be heard as they vanished in a wall of fire.

Finally, finally St. Peter pulled out a punch-card and clocked out. “Come on,” he said, calling me over to the gates, “let’s go talk to God.”

He pulled out a wrinkled and smudged slip of paper with the combination scribbled on it and unfastened the lock. He stepped aside to let me enter, and it was for the first time that I got my first look at Heaven.

No words can ever describe the sights, smells, and indeed aura of the Blessed Land. I can only describe the angels, floating around in blissful euphoria. They were engaged in all their favorite activities, from hopscotch and dolls (for the little girls and gay boys) to reading classic works of literature and discussing great theories.

St. Peter strolled through this Bliss with a contented look on his face. “Here people know nothing but happiness.” He pointed. “See, there’s Beethoven, working on symphony #14. He’s the greatest rock & roll composer there ever was.”

“I thought he did classical,” I said.

“Well, he was trying to do rock & roll, but since he couldn’t hear the music he didn’t know what it sounded like. And look!” St. Peter pointed to two men engaged in a heated argument. “Jesus of Nazareth and Charles Darwin are at it again.” He laughed. “Their debates have been raging for generations.”

At long last we came to the edges of Heaven, where a grand staircase of the purest white I’d ever seen seemed to stretch upwards indefinitely. Two other people were waiting there; one a tall, nerdy man with glasses; the other a short, sinfully hot girl.

“Bill, Susan, I’d like you to meet Stephen.”

“Hey, Stephen,” Susan said, looking me up and down. “After the Judgement, you want to get out of here for a little bit? I’ll bet I can show you how to have a good time.”

“Not now,” St. Peter said, rolling his eyes. “Good Lord, Susan, you’re in front of the, um…good Lord. Try to refrain yourself for just a little while. I’d hate to think what you and Bill have been doing.”

“We haven’t been doing anything,” Bill said, wounded.

“Look, even I have my standards,” Susan explained.

“Silence!” All of a sudden an inhuman voice cut through the bickering, and everyone turned to see the Almighty appear before us. “You come before me to receive your Final Trial.” There was a pause, then: “It shall be in the form of an oral exam; one question. You will have two minutes to think about it before you answer. Any questions?”

There were none, so God began. “Here is your question, Susan. Do you believe in me?”

“Of course I do,” Susan said.

“Very well. You may enter Heaven and be at peace.”

“Sweet!” Susan cried. “Now where’s your Son? I wanted to get to know him better…” She wandered off and disappeared into the clouds.

“Wait,” I whispered to St. Peter, “that was it? What about the lifestyle she’s led?”

“Hey, she believes in God. That’s the only major requirement for Heaven.”

 It was Bill’s turn. “William. It’s 3:00 AM on a Monday night in your techno-palace, and someone outside is blaring their horn and screeching their tires. How do you react?”

“I’d think of that guy’s mother, and wonder where the hell were the back-alley abortionists when we really needed them.” In an instant flames sprung up around Bill and consumed his body. Soon his screams of pain died away and there was nothing more.

“And you.” He turned to me. “Your question is, how do you view human life?”

Glancing over to the charred marble where Bill’s body had stood moments before, I instantly answered, “I think human life is the single most sacred thing in the world.”

“Good answer,” God said. “I can’t stand abortion. I used to not have a problem with it so much, but it finally just got out of hand. Too many promiscuous women” – here he glared after Susan – “going back and forth from man to clinic to man all over again. Besides, and don’t tell anyone this, but my real beef with abortion has something to do with the fact that, in all honesty, the second coming of Christ was due to arrive two years ago.”

“Oh my, um…oh my You!” I cried. “What happened?”

God shrugged. “Well, first of all it’s harder than hell to find a decent woman who was Immaculately Conceived. Then, when I finally did…”

“Go on,” I urged. “It helps to get things off your chest.”

“Well, let’s just say that nowadays, when women don’t know who the father of their child is – even if it’s the Father – they think that it’s better to, you know, play it safe.”

“Oh,” I said. Then my eyes widened. “Oh…”

“Yeah,” God said, “tell me about it.”

We were silent for a moment, God, St. Peter, and me. St. Peter had a look of reverence for the Almighty Being standing before us, and I was feeling the aftereffects of all that roast beef down in my gut, and wondering if Heavenly commodes came with the seat pre-warmed so we didn’t freeze our asses off when we sat down.

“Well,” I finally said, to speed things up. “I guess that’s that, then? I get to go to Heaven?”

“Not actually,” God answered. “See, I’ve decided to do something different with you. If you’d answered wrong, you’d be sent to Hell, no question. You were on the line, and were either going to be hell-bent or Saved.”

“We are going to send you back,” St. Peter explained. “Let you have a few more years, then we’ll try this again to see which way your path leads.”

“Truth is, a lot of people need you,” God said. “Your pal Aaron Heinen (whom I’ve already reserved a place for; I knew the minute he was conceived he was going to be a sure bet) would go insane if your casual attitude toward life and work didn’t keep him from being too stressed. And you’re too valuable to your parents, who have already lost a child before you were born.”

“Brett,” I said, nodding. “How’s my older brother doing?”

“He’s a blessing up here,” St. Peter said. “One of the best angels we’ve got. He’s always keeping an eye on you and your sister.” Suddenly he grinned. “Although, remember when you missed the net on that shootout during state finals in ice hockey?”

“Yeah…” I said sourly.

“It was a little prank of his. He’s certainly got your sense of humor.”

“I cried for months!” I cried angrily.

“Nah, you were stronger for it,” God said. “But now it’s time for you to return to your mortal life. I myself must be off. A couple of members of the Catholic League are picketing outside J. K. Rowling’s house because her Harry Potter books are supposed to be wicked.” God chuckled. “I just gotta watch those people make fools of themselves.”

In a blinding flash He was gone. St. Peter and I started back for the Pearly Gates. “So I guess this means I’ve been given a second chance, huh?” I asked.

“Count your blessings,” St. Peter said. “God doesn’t do this too often. Thing is…try to be a little more pure from now on, okay? Hell’s not too fun. Just ask Satan.”

“Satan?” I asked.

“Yeah,” St. Peter said, shrugging. “I mean, you see him once or twice a week in your English 266 class, disguised as one of the girls.”

I narrowed my eyes. It all made sense now. “Amy…”

St. Peter nodded.

I looked down, suddenly feeling awkward. “Hey, I’m gonna miss you, St. Peter. You were pretty cool.”

“No problem,” St. Peter said. “Just remember, you’ve got a guardian angel who’s always looking over you.” He paused, then added, “Except when that cute girl who lives down the hall from you is showering. But usually he’s looking over you.”

“Thanks.” I shook his hand, and all of a sudden he began to glow a white light that enveloped my view...

And I was gone.