Heaven

Jaime Southbridge remembered clearly how he died. He couldn’t, however, remember how he got onto the train platform he was currently standing on.

Just a little while ago he had been walking home from the local packie with a couple of six-packs and was murdered in the alley behind his apartment building by a strung-out junkie. Jaime remembered bleeding out, the lights going out, while he lay on the pavement waiting for an ambulance. He remembered smiling as the sound of the sirens approached and he coughed up the last of his breath in a bubble of blood.

Then there was darkness.

Then there was the platform.

And he was alone.

And he was relieved.

Jaime’s life had not been one which would have been considered well-lived. His best estimation, as far as qualifying it was concerned, was that his was a life well-survived. His older sister, Erica The Great, had told him when Jaime was still quite young, “To put this in vernacular you MAY comprehend, you ain’t never gonna amount to nuthin’.” And she was right.

Still, now, Jaime was free, and presumably his was to Heaven. Since he was standing there, obviously in some kind of afterlife, Heaven was really the only choice, wasn’t it? True, he was never a spectacularly good person, but he certainly was never a bad person. So, yeah. Had to be Heaven. No more guilt, shame, disgrace or regret. And Erica could kiss his dead ass. Jaime was finally upwardly mobile.

As he sat on one of the concrete benches, he became aware of how visceral the afterlife was: the chill and the hardness of the concrete made him shudder; the feeling of his eyes pulling focus from the chain-link fence just beyond the tracks to the parking lot and buildings down below in the distance; the tug of emotion as he recognized the side street where he had his first real kiss with his first real girlfriend. Really good kiss; really bad relationship.

A breeze came along that shook him from his reverie. He knew this breeze. This was the breeze which came before the crackle of the third rail, which came before the screech of the train approaching the station. He got up, leaned over the edge of the platform and peered down the line. Sure enough, there it was. Jaime’s heart skipped a beat in anticipation. “Eternal bliss, here I come.”

Even as the train roared and howled and screamed by, car after car after car, Jaime recognized it as the same Red Line train he rode so frequently all through his childhood. So comforting, the knowing. As the train slowed to a grinding halt, what had been just a blur of colors and shapes, took solid form. The cars were packed like it was morning rush hour. Everyone rushing to get to get to Heaven. Strange, then, that Jaime was the only one at this station. The doors to the car nearest him slid open with a slap, and Jaime, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, took his proverbial and literal leap of faith.

Small miracle, he found an empty seat just as the doors slapped shut and the train lurched forward.

It all looked the same. Everyone looked the same. There were the sign-starers, the space-starers, and the shoe-starers. No one made eye contact with anyone else. There were mumbled apologies and nods of acknowledgment when hands or legs or arms brushed against one another. There was even the same energy: that collective unease, that heaviness created by a large number of people on their way to a place or places none of them are sure they want to get to. Yes, some of them were sure. They were sure that they were on their way to The Rapture. Just as some of them had been sure, in life, that they were on their way to a wonderful day at The Office. There would be music and singing and angels playing harps and loved ones greeting them with hugs and kisses; just like there had been easy-going colleagues and understanding bosses waiting to pat them on the back for doing the right thing.

But there were also those on the train who couldn’t summon the faith that it would all be OK. Would it be Heavenly? Would it be a good day at work? Would Mom be waiting to kiss him? Would his boss be waiting to berate him?

As on Earth, so shall it be on the way to Heaven.

And so Jaime waited, and he watched as a single person boarded the train at each successive station, until, after what seemed like an eternity, he heard over the PA, in that familiar garbled, crackling, electric monotone, “Xhhxh. Last stop. Everyone out. Xhhtxk.”

This platform was jammed with people all jostling and shoving and pushing with rude excitement. Jamie hadn’t seen anything like this since opening day at Fenway. He climbed up on a trash barrel to get a clear look around. Off in the distance, Jaime saw the light, and he knew that was where he was going. He hopped down, using a nearby stranger’s shoulder in aide, and, casting a vague nod of thanks, forced his way as only a Sox Fan could, through the throng, and found his place at the back of the line for the Escalator to Eternal Bliss. Now he could relax. He had made it. He had arrived.

Slowly, ever so slowly, ten minutes a step, the line crept forward. Jaime cast an experienced gaze all around him: you can relax, but stay alert – No cutsies in THIS line. But for all his vigilance, Jaime didn’t notice until he was already on the escalator that the person directly in front of him was a little girl. Her long blonde hair was a tangle of knots and dirt and dried blood. When she turned, Jaime could see a long brown stain down the front of her shirt.

“Oooh! I’m so excited! Aren’t you excited, mister?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Why are you even here?”

“Paying attention to my coffee, not the car coming. Whacked my head on the street.” She shrugged.

“A bit young for coffee aren’t ya?”

She shrugged again and smiled a gap-toothed grin, then turned back around with a gasp. She heard it at the same time Jaime did: Singing! It was unmistakable. This was, with out a doubt, The Rapture, and they were about to be welcomed to it.

The light got brighter, so bright, Jaime had to shield his eyes.

His heart began to race with overwhelming joy.

The little girl was jumping up and down on her step as she came to the top, but her breathless joy was snuffed out suddenly and she shrieked in terror as she disappeared into The Light.

Suddenly a giant, impossibly strong black armored hand clamped onto Jaime’s wrist and yanked him into the light.

Before he could register what was happening, two of the tallest, widest blackest suits of armor imaginable were wrenching Jaime’s arms behind his back and binding them in iron cuffs. Horror clutched his chest as he struggled in vain to break free. He could see the little girl kicking and screaming being hauled away, her wails and screams blending in with the - . It wasn’t the Joyful Song of The Rapture! It was millions upon millions of tortured souls crying out in agony and despair!

“Welcome to Heaven,” one of the suits growled. “We are the Guardian Angels. And you can never leave.”