The Things I did at Camp

1960's Story

The Gates

By Jeri 

“Where am I?”

These are the first words Carolyn utters after arriving at The Pearly Gates Train Station. Her last words, or word on Earth was, “Coming!” Neither one was great or memorable, but people have had far worse. Many have a long string of curse words as one of them. One girl had the same word for both last and first. Unfortunately, that word was “Um.”

After uttering the completely unmemorable first words, she starts to take in what she sees. The Pearly Gates Train Station has no gates, nor is it pearly. It isn’t really a train station either. The train station is simply the place the newly dead arrive at. The place is about the size of a ballroom, and almost everything is a foggy grey. The only colorful spots in the room are a wooden door on the far side of the room, a large green sign that says ‘Pearly Gates Train Station,’ and a long banquet table covered in red cloth that could seat over a hundred people.

An old-looking white man dressed in shabby clothes is the only person seated at the table.

“You, my dear, are in Death.”

“I don’t think that’s proper language, mister,” Carolyn says.

“No no, you misunderstand. Death, with a capital D. Like a place,” the old man says. “Take a seat; I’ll explain it to you. But first, you have to tell me about how you died.”

Carolyn hesitates, but decides that, if she really is dead, she can at least get an explanation for her troubles.

“Well?” he encourages.

“I saved a nigger. Well, not saved, really, but I’m dead and she ain’t, so I guess that’s somethin’. It was an accident. If it was up to me, I woulda let her die,” Carolyn begins her explanation somewhat awkwardly.

The man only nods at her, silently signaling that she should continue.

“I was outside of school waitin’ fer the guards to get the nigger kids inside so me and my friends could get inside too. They was going by me when I went behind ‘em to get to my friend Diana. She told me to hurry up, so I started running, and just then one of the nigger girls stopped to button her shoe or somethin’, so somebody shot her. But cuz I’m a klutz, I had just went in front of the girl, between her and the bullet, so I got hit ‘stead of her.”

“Well, at least your death did some good,” the old man says.

“Good? I don’t think so. Them niggers are troublemakers. At least, that’s what my papa always said. Them black kids didn’t seem to be bad, but the police was always gettin on them, so they must be up to somethin bad. My papa always says that they is lesser than us and it’s bad ‘nouff that they ain’t slaves no more, and now people is making us share stuff with ‘em ”

“Did you ever see them do something that would get them in trouble?” the old man asks gently.

“No, but the police is good people. They wouldn’t hurt somebody that didn’t do nothin wrong.”

The man sighs. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that isn’t true. Your father and the police are only being mean to those black children because of the color of their skin.”

“You’re a liar,” Carolyn says. “They be good people, ‘specially my papa. He always is sayin to give to the less fortunate, whatever that means, and he’s always saving them white people from the nasty niggers.”

“I know you don’t believe me, but just watch this.”

A white strip appears in midair and slowly gets fatter and fatter until a square white box is in front of the pair. Color starts to appear and an image forms. The picture starts moving, and after a second, sound can be heard.

A black man is sitting at a counter, patiently waiting for his food. Next to him is a black woman, presumably his wife. They are quietly talking, and every once and a while one of them will let out a little laugh. Suddenly, a man Carolyn recognizes as her father stands up.

“That is enough of that. Leave us to eat in peace.”

The couple falls quiet but continues to wait for their food.

“I said beat it,” Carolyn’s father says.

“Please, sir. We’re just waiting for our food, same as you--”

“You are not the same as me,” Carolyn’s father bellows.

“But--” the timid woman tries.

“Out!”

“Food’s ready,” the waiter says, somewhat disdainfully.

Grateful for the distraction, the couple turns to grab their food.

“I said beat it, and I meant it. Now!” Carolyn’s father is practically screaming at the couple now. He grabs the woman by the wrist and drags her to the door, the black man trying desperately to release her. Another white man has opened the door and shoves the pair out onto the sidewalk.

The screen fades to black and then disappears as Carolyn sits, shocked, next to the old man. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and in fact, that is exactly how she feels. Finally she closes her mouth.

Somewhat shamefully, she questions what she saw. “My papa was wrong?”

The old man nods gently, sympathy shining in his eyes.

Carolyn hides her face in her hands, her eyes leaking tears. When the old man comfortingly wraps his arm around her, she lets him, and, before too long, she stops crying.

“I’m sorry mister, it’s just, now I feel horrid for treatin’ black folk so awful.”

“We all feel bad about things we’ve done. Maybe one day, when she comes here, you can be the one to sit here and listen to her story. I’ve been doing that for all the black folk I can. Lord knows I treated them bad enough when I was alive,” the old man says.

Carolyn thinks for a minute. “Maybe I will.”

The old man cracks a grin. “Well if you’ve made up your mind, I think it’s about time for you to learn how things work around here.”