The Long View (Short Story)(Christian)

The Long View by Ian Whippy

It wasn’t what she expected Heaven to be like at all. Not at all.

Paradise – she knew that was another word for Heaven. But paradise meant a wonderful, blissful place. This was just …blank. All around her was a dimensionless void. No up, down, horizon - nothing. Here she stood – all twenty-seven years and five-foot one of her. And there he stood – the angel flipping Gabriel! At least, that was who she took the man standing before her to be.

Only a few minutes ago she was in the middle of London’s West End, going full steam ahead into the yearly mad-rush-before-Christmas period. Too full steam ahead, as it happened. She’d always been careful crossing the deadly waters that were the busy London streets. Not this time.

            So what am I doing here? And, more importantly, where do I go from here? Her mind should have been in turmoil – a churning cauldron of emotions heavily spiced with a generous pinch of panic. She was now a permanent member of the grateful dead. And she was grateful - to be away from the horrific city traffic, the pushing and shoving, the seasonal whirlwind of greed that was Christmas shopping. She was even grateful to have left behind the ever-lengthening fractures of her relationship to the man that her mother adored and already called ‘son’.  So, was this what death was all about, looking back on your life and saying ‘whew, saved by the bell’?

            The angelic figure with the white hair and bluer-than-blue eyes continued to look at her. If this had been any other situation (that is, any earthbound situation), she would have accused him, rather bitchily, of staring. This, however, was slightly different.

What the hell is this guy waiting for? Is he expecting me to say something? Am I going to get into trouble for thinking the word ‘hell’?

            One thing was for certain – there was no ‘life review’ flashing before her eyes. So much for hearsay. What was there to review, anyway? Birth, bad sex, death. Suddenly she had a theory as to why Gabriel, here, was so quiet. He knew her life story, and was just plain bored.

            “Right,” she began, her voice coming out quite hollow. “I know what’s happened. I mean, I’m dead.  Passed on. You’ve come to greet me at the pearly gates.” Leaning over slightly she noted that there was absolutely nothing behind the man, just more emptiness. “Alright, then, no gates. But you know what I mean.” There was an uncomfortable silence. “Can you at least give me a clue here?” Then, for good measure, “Please?”

            The being did something that finally put her at ease. He smiled. Not a great big smile that made one all warm and fuzzy inside or one of those ones that made you want to laugh for the sheer joy of it…but a smile nonetheless. To her, it was as welcome as a Bacardi Breezer after a stressful day at the PR office (which, by the way, she was deliriously glad to have left behind).

            “Indeed, your life on Earth is only a memory,” the angel stated matter-of-factly. “But now you have a choice to make before you go any further.”

            God, his voice is sexy, she thought.

Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. She looked away. Does this guy know my thoughts? The sparkle in the being’s eyes told her that maybe he had. It was just enough of a sparkle to indicate that, if he had heard it, it wasn’t a problem.

A choice…” she echoed. “Well, if by choice you mean, ‘do I stay or do I go back’, then let me put my cards on the table right now. I’m staying.”

There was no nod, no pat on the back, no ushering away to an awaiting transit cloud. Gabriel just stood there looking angelic.

“It’s…not as simple as that, is it?” she said, smiling weakly.

“No,” the angel said.

She took a deep breath, expelling it as though taking yoga instruction (another thing she had no qualms about leaving behind.)

“I suppose,” she continued, “you want to know why I’m not exactly eager to go back to my friends and loved ones. It’s not that I dislike them. It’s just that…I don’t fit in down there. Not just London – on Earth in general! I just don’t get the programme! It’s like, the whole world is functioning really well on Windows XP, and I’m still Windows 95.”

“Go on…”

Hey, she thought. This purgatory thing isn’t so bad. It’s basically therapy. Lord knows I’ve had plenty of that. I can do psychoanalysis standing on my head. Oops, mind wandering again. Where was I?

She cleared her throat and continued.

“I’m basically a good person. Fine, I can be a bit of a handful sometimes, and my friends tell me so, but basically I’m a good person.” The angel’s eyes were saying “define ‘good’”.

A chair, she thought. My kingdom for a chair. And a cigarette. She laughed inwardly. With my luck, the smoking ban’s probably reached up here as well. Who am I kidding? I bet it started here.

“Look, Gabriel, or whatever your name is. I don’t want to go back to that cesspit of a life and, clearly, you want me to reconsider. So, what is it – I have so much more to give? Is it the fact that I only have eight more mortgage payments?  I was once kind to a dog? What? Don’t leave me in the dark, here!”

“Give me one thing about your life you are grateful for,” he said. It sounded like a challenge. It wasn’t, of course, but she sure would find this challenging.

She laughed for effect. “This could take some thinking. Um. Ok. Let’s see.” Time to wrack her brains. Wrack, wrack, wrack. “No, sorry. Did you hear the buzzer? Couldn’t think of a thing. Maybe you can tell me?”

“Are you grateful for life itself?”

“Hmm. Well, considering I come from a broken home, ruined every relationship that I’ve ever been in, and am running my own public relations firm into the ground, I think that would be a big, resounding no.” Emotions swelled inside of her. Flippancy was passé, at this point. Looking him with seriousness, she continued: “Just don’t go showing me images of childhood birthday parties, or my mom drying my tears, or my first kiss, or any of that stuff, please.  It’s gone, it’s happened. Old stuff. Everybody has that stuff. Ok, not everybody, but…darn, this is hard.” Tears welled hotly in her eyes. “Does everybody that dies have to go through this?”

“Dies?” repeated the being. “No one ever said that you were dead, Amanda.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Not…dead? Then what am I?”

“You are an original soul,” he told her. “A ladleful of light taken from the Source itself -  the essence of all life.”

Like a mallet whacking her in the head, she finally got it. “You mean…I’m going to be someone?” The angel nodded. “But…what about all those memories. My life, all that stuff, right up to the accident?”

“All that is what will happen,” he explained, putting a hand on her shoulder, “if you accept the great honour of life. It’s really up to you. Would you like to see what happens to you after you recover in hospital from that Mercedes that bumps you?”

“Sure,” she said, voice coming out quieter than expected.

All around her shifted, the white realm fading away and a rush of images swooping toward her. And she saw everything – five decades of life that proceeded from that car accident onwards to death. Thousands upon thousands of incidents, torrents of emotions, surprises, and mysteries. In an eye blink, it was over.

Her eyes brightened. Raising her chin high, she smiled – one of those smiles that made you want to laugh for the sheer joy of it.

“I accept.”