The Pearly Gates

Chapter 1: Count 'em, ten.

 If you're looking for a romantic tale about two people who fall in love easily and end up over coming all odds, please, put down this story. This is not the book for you. This is not the standard recipe for romance that you typically see lining the shelves of grocery stores or the everyday Wal-mart. There are no handsome men gracing the cover, or swooning damsels in distress. This is not a heart warming tale of love conquering all. Be warned. Turn back now, if you're not prepared.

This is the story of my life.

Well, actually, my death.

See, at twenty eight years old, you don't really think about death. It is a far off idea that barely registers on the mind with any sort of regularity. Unless you're in a profession that is surrounded by it: cop, doctor, mortician, funeral direction, eulogy writer, I am sure the list goes on. Or if you have already faced your mortality, even at such a young age. I didn't fit into either group. I was an under payed HR rep for an average sized company specializing in organic health foods. Whose last doctor visit was quite awhile ago, but I was given a clear bill of health, so, there is that.

The last time I thought about dying, was January 3rd of last year, on my flight back to San Francisco from visiting my family for the holidays. I don't like planes. Flying. Crowds. Crying babies. Recycled oxygen. Or flight attendants. I do like tequila. And so, on that day, after spending a hellishly long time with the family answer painful questions about potential matrimony and fertility and why I wasted my life, I took a shot of poor quality but highly expensive tequila from a Delta plastic cup and thought about how dying on this plane was far better than being in my childhood bedroom hiding from mother and her two sisters. But, even in jest, and drunkenness, and a mild case of terror I didn't actually think I would die. How could I?

And, I didn't. Not that day, anyways. The plane landed, I stumbled out as soon as possible to get away from the crush of the overly touchy, grossly sweaty, man from behind me and the elderly women with a cane who walked like she was swimming through molasses in front of me. Though, after that experience, part of me wished for a shot to the head, instead of the shot from the cup.

So, when over a year goes by since I last thought of death, and I stood staring at the Pearly Gates, I rightfully thought: what the hell?

That didn't go over so well, because in response to my inner thoughts, I got: "If you're looking for hell, it is down the hall. The hot and smoldering room to the left."

The fuck? See, at that moment I realized several things.

Firstly, there were literal pearly gates in heaven. Or, I assumed this was heaven since "hell was down the hall". And by gates, I mean several sets. As in three. Three shiny, sculpted and arching masterpieces of metal work in a large and completely white room.

Secondly, by white I mean all white. Everything white. As in, you could barely see the lines of demarcation of the walls and ceiling. But they were there. I was standing on a floor. Marble it looked like.

Which leads us to number three, Heaven is a classy place.

Four involved the instructional voice who informed me I might be lost. It belonged to a short and slender... man? Angel? Person. Who stood over at, guess what, an all white podium with a telecom headset and a droll stare. There was nothing extraordinary about his appearance beside the amount of sass radiating from his expression.

Number five on this list of "oh really?" is about the fact that I had been staring at the sets of white gates for this entire lengthy monolog like oaf.

Six was the realization that I was barefoot on the fancy marble. Granted, not to strange for me when I was alive. Since I held the paradox of many women with a love of shoes. That being I spent too much money on them, possessed more pairs then I could ever wear, but also hated wearing them for more than the five minutes it took to fall in love in the store. But, if you'd seen my legs in them, you'd understand. So, the bare feet wasn't so shocking as the rest of it.

Because, seven is the real doozy.

Seven, I was naked.

Yep. Completely bare. And kind of cold frankly. Who knew, even in death I was temperaturely intolerant. I was so cold, I was making up words to describe it.

It was all kind of poetic in its symmetry, though. You come into the world naked as a jay bird, so, I suppose you have to leave it just the same. And what is even more shocking then seven? Eight.

I was fine with it. Besides the cold, that is. Granted, when I was living, nakedness was fun. But this was different. Now my nakedness didn't feel exciting or risky, but natural.

Nine, nine involved the fact that though my skin was bare it was not unmarked. Across my arms, stomach, thighs and shins were words. Descriptions of myself, characteristics, learned habits, sins, mistakes, achievements all tattooed on my skin. The lines were thin, so thin they ink almost seems light instead the harsh lines of reality that made up my life. Every inch of me was covered in them. In some spaces, more neatly and tightly packed, like my hands and wrists and forearms. My lower belly, above my womb, was the most empty, just like it had been my whole life.

Number ten was the realization that I was crying. Crying as I read the words and then made eye contact with the sass monster behind the podium who was waiting for me.

Waiting for me to choose.

So, when you die, I guess you get a choice. There were three sets of gates, three paths to the after life. It is a much more clear system than that of the living, which in retrospect was just as messy as it had been when I was the midst of it.

Sass Monster cleared his throat and put a delicate hand over the mouth piece of his headset, leaning in to whisper, "Darling, any day now. I have hundreds of appointments after you." With an encouraging yet condensing nod, "You're holding up the line."

Swinging my eyes back, toward the towering Gates, then down to my naked toes, I didn't know what to do. See, when you die no one handed you a stack of paperwork to sign or a manual of instruction. Kind of like life, you just wake up and your there. You're driving the car towards goals, and life experience and it just happens. Now, I was being forced into a decision without any warning. I hand't expected to be here. I wasn't prepared. I didn't know what was behind those masterpieces of steel work. I thought: Maybe Sass Monster is right, and down the hall would be better. They might have an orientation period.

From the "harhmph" I heard to my left, I take it that the department down the hall was just as unwelcoming to the new comers.

So, in the same fashion as I did when making tough decisions when I was living, I inn-y minnie mine-y moe-d it. I replaced the age old "my mother" line with "the sass monster" and my pointed finger landed on the gate farthest to the left.

And, within seconds of the childhood rhyme, with a twist, ending the majestic gates swooshed open silently. Not only was Heaven fancy, but it was well kept and oiled. No squeaky hinges for these guys. As if to confirm, Sass Monster agreed by saying: "We like to keep things nicely here."