John was gone the second he landed. His mother would be left behind, running down the path back to her campsite. She had banned the phones from the hike. She had wanted no distractions. She worried that if they had only been able to find him sooner, maybe something could have been done. Responders would have to reassure her over and over again that it would have made no difference. The terrain that she had been able to traverse so easily in the dark with her son had become an obstacle course that knocked her down again and again in her panic.
None of that mattered, though. She was a panicked mother trying to find help for her child. But no one could have helped him. As she stood back at the top of the cliff, pointing down to John’s mangled body, which was laying there in a completely unnatural pose, she knew he was gone. She just refused to admit it. The heaviness was on both shoulders now, and the sky had opened up, drowning her real tears with ones of its own.
John watched from behind as his mother stood on the cliff top for the last time. Years later, she would remark to one of the nurses in her final home that it always rained on this day, ever since her John had left. The woman assumed she was just romanticizing the rain and seeing symbolism where there was none, but she was right. It rained every year on that day until she passed away.
John had long moved on by the time his mother was in a home. The afterlife waits for no one, and John was given the standard few hours before he was whisked away from his mother and on to his future. The feeling of being without your body is very like someone chopping off years’ worth of hair growth. You feel oddly, but happily, lighter. John was pulled straight up off that cliff side into the clouds. As he was fully engulfed in them, they became unexplainably thick. Although they were denser than any fog you have ever seen, they were not menacing. They would be better described as comforting.
John didn’t know what to expect, but he would have never thought that the chubby naked cherubs that were painted as renaissance artwork were real. About a dozen cupid looking creatures surrounded him, and pulled him in the direction of their master. John wanted to put everything on pause for a minute until he could get his bearings, but they were having none of that. When he refused to move his feet, they just piled up behind him and used their combined weight to force him into moving again. Giggling the whole way, they behaved as if their entire existence was part of some cosmic children’s game.
The golden gates were entirely literal. The cherubs gave John one final shove, then flew away looking for the next arrival that needed to be herded to the entrance. John had experienced the feeling of being insignificant and miniscule in his lifetime, but nothing like this. The gates towered over him. The proportions were so off that if you stood back to get the entire gate in your field of vision John would no longer be visible as a man. He would be more like an ant. That could have been a metaphor, or it could be that God is so large he needs a gate this size, or maybe even a little of both.
There was no need for the gate to open for John to walk in. He could have easily stepped through the enormous hole between the spindles, but he didn’t even think to try. It felt wrong to enter without an invitation. Luckily for him, the man upstairs is all knowing, and saw that John was planning on spending an eternity on his doorstep. Not a sound was made when the gate cracked open, creating a gap just large enough for a man to fit through. The symbolism was lost on John again.
A soft a capella serenade floated gracefully on the warm summer breeze. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he was knocked down onto his knees. Each beat of his heart that crashed against his chest filled his body with the warmth of his creator’s love. Waves of emotion, over a soul that had been closed off from the messy details of life, came crashing at a rate that John was unprepared for. The truth was, no soul was ever prepared for the moment they enter Heaven.
All of our lives, but for a few small instances of traumatic grief, we are pushed and dragged around in life, slowly adjusting to the situations around us. Heaven, on the other hand, is like cannonballing into a hot tub. Even though you feel like you may burn alive from the sudden change, it is a good change. It’s the kind of feeling that we spend our entire lives searching for in the world and in ourselves. Every flaw is healed, and upon entry you are wrapped in all the love you could ever crave. Eventually, the tears dried and he brought himself to his unsteady feet.
The path ahead was clear even without markers. Like a beacon, the throne ahead poured light in all directions, calling all to it. Each step became more sure, a compulsion that could not be ignored… not that anyone had ever tried. A lone man lounged comfortably on a sparkling mound of clouds. He was almost the representation of God that has been overdone and overused. You know the one I mean, where he is a wise old man with long flowing white hair and beard. Yes, the white hair was correct, but the old man part was not as accurate.
‘Hello, John Robert Thompson. It is nice to finally meet you.” God’s voice was deep and thick.
“Hello, erm...God? Your majesty? Sir? What should I call you?” John stammered.
“Dad, John, you can call me Dad.”
Hearing that answer socked John directly in his stomach. He spent a lifetime wishing his biological father would magically show up and give a shit about him. Now, the creator of all things, including him, wasn’t just offering to be his father, but his Dad. The distinction was important, and John knew the difference in those words. A father creates you, a dad loves you. Eight-year-old John was finally fulfilled.
“How did I end up here? With you? I never went to church after childhood. I didn’t read the Bible or follow its rules.”
“That isn’t the only way in, John. Some people need that book. It’s like a map to keep them from falling off course. There are other ways too, though. Look at the book as a guide. You can still get to a place even if you don’t use GPS, right?”
He nodded wanting to seem like he understood, but he really didn’t. Others had lived pious lives of servitude, but he, while no heathen, had spent a lifetime avoiding any tasks that were not for his benefit. At no point had he earned his wings, yet there he was standing face to face with the deity, feeling sorely inadequate.
“John, you are enough as you are. I created you, I knew what your limitations would be. While I had high hopes that you would overcome them and rise to a level of greatness, I am proud that you didn’t fall far into the pit of the most horrible of human nature.”
“You should have wanted more from me. The guilt is like a rock on my chest. I failed you.”
God looked at his child and motioned for him to sit. “Most of them have it wrong down there, John. I don’t want my children to spend their lives living my life, fearful of not meeting my expectations. I want them living their own lives, using the gifts I have given them in their own unique and amazing ways. You were a blank piece of paper, and each day you added more lines and colors to it. Eventually, it became a piece of art. One that was true to you.”
“So, what was the point? What is the meaning of it all?”
“Why does there have to be meaning?”
John laughed and called him out. “That isn’t fair, answering a question with a question.”
God’s laughter was booming, and all-encompassing. “Maybe, John, maybe, but I think I’ve earned a little leeway.”
“What now?”
“What do you want?”
“You’re doing it again.”
Smiling, God asked again, “What do you want?”
“Rest without expectations. I want to be me for a bit, and have that be enough.”
“Then do that.”
God hugged John in such a way that it threatened to swallow him whole, and John would have happily disappeared into his creator. God, however, had other plans. Using John’s thoughts, he was busy crafting John’s special place in Heaven as he embraced him. Heaven wasn’t the same for each individual, and God loved creating every nook and cran
ny in his kingdom to fulfill each being’s desires.
As he brought John’s small slice of Heaven into existence, there was no need for extravagances. There would be no mansion or dramatic landscape. He carved a small cabin out of the air, and furnished it with well-worn hand-me-downs. The climate was tepid, but fresh. The choirs singing would be the only ambient sound that John would ever need, leaving him no distraction from the shelf of books that sat neatly next to an old leather chair. The fire would burn indefinitely in the fireplace, and an old hound dog would spend most of his time snoring at John’s feet. He would be the perfect companion, since his only wish was a treat and a belly rub every once in a while.
“Goodbye for now, John. Come back and visit me anytime.”
“Where am I going?” John asked concerned.
“You are off to Heaven, John.”
“But, this is Heaven, here with you.” John’s voice quivered like a scared child.
“John, put your trust in me. I have a gift for you. You only have to accept it.”
The moment John nodded, he was whisked away to his small cabin in clouds. The old leather chair was an exact replica of his grandfather’s favorite seat. “Hello, Hank,” he called over to the dog.
He may have been surprised to see the floppy-eared hound laying there, but he was not just meeting him. The dog had been owned by his neighbor when he was a child. Hank would roam the neighborhood because his neighbor had no consideration for leash laws. Most people didn’t mind, though. Hank stayed to the sidewalks, and for the most part, lounged lazily in the sun or with his head on a willing lap.
The dog learned quickly that John wasn’t like most children his age. Instead of tearing through the neighborhood, John would sit and read on his porch if his mother forced him outside. With a sixth sense that only animals seem to have, Hank would always know when John was headed out to the porch. John whispered a “Thank you” to God for allowing him to have one of the only creatures that he ever felt had understood him with him forever.
There was a powerful knock on his front door. Hank barely lifted his eyebrows. The door swung open, and his grandfather marched right in, like he owned the place. “John! You’re finally here! Hey, Hank!”
The old dog looked up, then promptly closed his eyes and began to snore. “Pappy!”
“Nice fall, sport. You managed to hit every rock on the way down. Your mother is going to kick you square in the rear when she gets here.”
“Do we get to know when that will be?”
“Nah, you just have a feeling it is coming, and can either be with her there or wait here. Time moves a little differently here. You start enjoying yourself, and it just flies by. I am going to have to take you around and introduce you to everyone.”
John sighed. He was sure God said he could just relax for a bit. This didn’t feel anything like relaxing. He loved his grandfather, but it felt a lot like life again. He was hoping eternity wouldn’t be an endless line up of small talk and introductions to people he had no interest in meeting. He remembered God’s words. “Then do that.”
“Pappy, I need some time alone. Maybe later, Ok?”
“Sure, my boy. Sure. I just got a little excited, and forgot you’re here for your enjoyment, too. I’ll be back. Not too soon though. Maybe, I will wait till your mom gets here, alright?”
“That’s perfect, Pappy. It is so great to have you here with me.”
His grandfather whistled one of his favorite tunes on his way out, and Hank opened one eye. He must have been checking if they were alone again. John knelt low and cradled Hank’s heavy head in his hands.
“I think it is time for us to start enjoying this place in all of its glory.”
That old chair was the perfect place to start, and start he did. Hank curled up on his feet as John quickly dozed off the minute his butt was cradled in what felt like years of his own rear-end perfectly shaping the foam. Every detail was perfectly crafted, but John wouldn’t notice most of them. Napping doesn’t leave a lot of energy for observation.
The Epic Battle
Living above a garage came with its own unique set of challenges. There was a constant smell of burnt motor oil in his kitchen because his landlord parked her car right below it and it wasn’t exactly the newest vehicle on the road. Actually, it wasn’t even from this century. On weekends, John had a hard time sleeping in because the garage doors would open promptly at 7 am for his landlord to get an early start on cutting the grass. Also, several times a year, John would have rodents make their way from the garage downstairs up into his bedroom or kitchen looking for a snack.
They would creep in when the door was open, or through one of the unguarded doorways. There wasn’t much for them to munch on in the garage, so they would inevitably work their way up through the walls to where the delicious smells were lingering. John didn’t have the healthiest eating habits, but the mice didn’t seem to mind. He would eventually end up being alerted to their presence by a chewed through snack bag of one sort or another.
This time it was a bag of cheese curls. Annoyingly, the mouse had eaten a hole out of the bottom corner, so when John grabbed it out the cabinet and made his way over to the couch, all of the curls fell through the hole and onto the floor. This mouse was a bit ballsier than the rest had been, and instead of John having to set traps hoping to find the little intruder, he was sitting next to the cabinet skirt chewing on his new-found feast. This, oddly enough, infuriated John. He would put up with a lot of things in life, but the complete disregard for his nightly snack routine was not one of them.
There he was in his kitchen, crouched over, trying to pick up his delicious snack, and the tiny thief was staring back at him as if he was daring John to do something about it. John stared back contemplating his options for revenge. The mouse would surely get away if he tried to get a heavy object to bash the little monster with. He had to go too far to find anything useful. His eyes scanned the countertop above him, and he sneered when he saw the cast iron skillet still sitting on the stove top from breakfast. For once, his laziness had paid off.
Trying his best to not to alert his foe to his intentions, John reached up and pulled down his weapon of choice. The movement caused the mouse to stop chewing and take a closer look at the giant creature looking a bit too intently at him. John slowed his breathing and attempted to stand as still as a statue, hoping to fool the mouse into believing that he had somehow disappeared. But the mouse was no idiot, and he, in turn, was allowing John to believe that he bought this nonsense.
The stare down lasted a full five minutes. The mouse noticed a muscle twitching in John’s fingers that revealed when he was about to pounce, and they both took off at the same time. Wildly swinging the frying pan, John was smashing it over and over on the floor and countertops. The mouse had the agility of a master of parkour, and was leaping and bounding from surface to surface before bolting out through the open archway from the kitchen into the living room.
Things came crashing to the ground all around them as John gave chase. Cups, picture frames, even a tablet were smashed in the epic battle. The mouse managed to run through John’s legs, not once, not twice, but three times. John, to his credit, was able to clip the nasty little creature’s tail twice, but each time, the mouse just bounded away like nothing had happened. An outside observer would have made the connection to one of John’s favorite childhood shows, where these comical chase scenes were commonplace.
John was too busy engaging in the biggest battle of his entire life to see the humor in it. He had never used so much energy in any of his endeavors, but he was far too invested at that point to give up. The mouse scurried up the curtains that his mother had hung when he first moved into the apartment, which was well over twenty years ago. John saw this as his best opportunity to finish him off, so he wound up like a pitcher in an effort to put all the force he had into one final swing. The mouse dove off the cu
rtains and onto John’s shoulder as he was following through with the monumental swing.
As the mouse leapt, John turned his head to watch, which caused his body to follow. He spun around in a full circle as the mouse dove straight off his shoulder and bolted back into the kitchen, where the whole mess had begun. The frying pan hit the glass window in the living room with an ear splitting crash, causing it to explode outward with shards of glass raining down in every direction. John was unable to stop the momentum of that swing and followed the frying pan straight out the window. Bits of glass still attached to window frame cut his arms, legs and face as he toppled out to the ground below.
Amazingly, the fall didn’t kill John, nor was it the cuts to his arms, legs, or face that did him in. No, it was an insane coincidence. His landlord was arriving home at the exact moment that John was falling out of the window down to the driveway below. She had left the garage door open earlier when she headed out to the store, so she wouldn’t disturb John with the sound too many times. This led to her zooming up the driveway with her older-than-time-itself car, and, with impossibly flawless timing, smashing right into John’s falling body. The impact from that collision was what took him out.
The poor landlord would never be able to drive again after the sight of John’s bloody and limp body burned its way into her brain. She knew in her mind that the accident was not her fault, but deep in her heart she would always carry the guilt that if she had just closed the door when she left perhaps John would still be around. That may have been true, but no one should ever be blamed for a freak accident that occurs, especially if their part in it was simply trying to be a good neighbor.
John was immediately spirited away to the afterlife. As he tried to process the events that had unfolded, he couldn’t seem to make the connection between how he ended up getting hit by a car when all he wanted to do was eat a bag of cheese curls. The internet was not kind to him after he passed. There were several mean, albeit hysterical, memes that ended up being his legacy in the living world. The rescue workers who came out to deal with the initial call would all go on to say that his death, by far, was the strangest and most comical tragedy they had ever seen.
The Many Afterlives of John Robert Thompson Page 14