by Simon Rich
EARTH—THIRTY-SIX MINUTES UNTIL DOOMSDAY
Beto Lloreda Jr. sat in the right-field stands, working the bottom of a jumbo-sized Cracker Jack box. The Marlins were trailing 12–4 in the seventh, and his father was clamoring for them to leave so they could beat the postgame traffic. Beto stood on his chair to get one last good look at the field. Miami was down to its final strike of the inning, with no runners on and the pitcher up to bat.
“Come on,” Beto Sr. said, snapping his fingers impatiently. “Come on.”
Beto Jr. reluctantly took his dad’s hand. His Marlins jersey, caked with sticky crumbs, hung down past his knees.
“Can I bring the Cracker Jacks?”
Beto Sr. shook his head. “It’ll make a mess in the car.”
The boy hung his head in disappointment. He was rooting around for a final handful when he heard the crack of a bat, followed by a rising commotion all around him.
“Look out!” someone shouted. “Kid, look out!”
He tilted his head up and watched in shock as the foul ball hooked wildly toward him. For a moment he stood motionless, too frightened to move an inch. But a second before contact, his instincts kicked in and he held the box up to shield his face. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for injury. He heard a muffled thud—then an eerie silence. When he finally opened his eyes, the stadium erupted in applause.
Beto reached into his Cracker Jack box and pulled out the baseball, still warm from its collision with the bat. Then he stood on his chair, held it above his head, and basked in the cheers of thousands.
Craig watched as Beto Sr. lifted his son onto his shoulders and carried the young hero out of the stadium. The Jumbotron broadcast their entire exit, even after the game resumed and the pitcher popped out to center field.
Craig laughed out loud as the Lloredas made their way to the parking lot, slapping strangers’ hands and posing for the occasional picture. They were almost at their car when Craig reached for the power switch.
“See ya,” he whispered.
He closed his eyes as the screen went black.
Part III
EARTH—TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES UNTIL DOOMSDAY
“IS IT TOO LATE?” SAM demanded, his voice thick with anguish. “Please, tell me it’s not too late.”
There was dead silence on the other line. Sam closed his eyes, bracing himself for rejection.
“I know I made a mistake,” he continued. “I waited too long. I’m sorry—really, really sorry. I just…it would be so amazing if you could come over.”
“Apologize first,” Raj demanded. “Apologize for calling so late.”
“I apologize!” Sam cried earnestly. “I lost track of time.”
Raj hesitated. “I have no puri left—only naan.”
“That’s fine,” Sam assured him. “I’ll take anything!”
“Okay,” Raj said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Sam thanked him profusely and hung up the phone, relieved that the night’s crisis had been averted.
Laura was taking off her jeans when she felt her cell phone vibrate. She rummaged through her pocket, hoping it was Sam—a text message, maybe, wishing her good-night. But it was just an unknown number with a Staten Island area code.
“I win the prize?” an older man asked her.
“Which prize?” she answered, her voice soft with disappointment.
“Jets tickets.”
Laura looked at her cell phone. It was 11:41 p.m. She thought about sending Sam a text saying she’d had fun. But what would that accomplish? Besides, he was probably asleep by now. She didn’t want to wake him up.
“Hello?” the man said. “Lady?”
She glimpsed her reflection in her laptop, and the sight was so humiliating she had to close her computer. She hadn’t worn makeup for weeks until today and the sight of her rouged cheeks made her cringe. There was nothing more depressing than wasted cosmetics.
“Lady?” the man repeated.
“No,” she whispered. Her voice was so small the man couldn’t hear her.
“What?”
“No,” she said. “You lost. In fact, the contest is over.”
“Really?”
“Yes, we’re not doing the prizes anymore, so you can stop calling. I’m sorry to tell you this, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up anymore. There aren’t any more prizes.”
“Jesus. Lady, are you okay?”
Laura realized with shock that she was crying.
“Honey,” the man said, in as gentle a voice as he could muster. “It’s no big deal. I don’t even like the Jets.”
“I’m really sorry,” she repeated, before turning off her phone. “See ya.”
“Is not healthy,” Raj warned as he counted out Sam’s change. “One dinner should be enough for one man.”
“This is my first dinner,” Sam said. “Actually—it’s my first meal all day. If you don’t count bar nuts.”
Raj crinkled his massive eyebrows. “Bar?”
Sam blushed. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I went on a date. Well, you know, it was just going to be coffee. But it kind of turned into a date. I think.”
For the first time in their relationship, Raj’s lips curled into a smile.
“Describe the girl.”
“Come on, Raj…”
He reached for his dinner—and Raj pulled the bag out of reach.
“Describe her,” he commanded.
Sam reluctantly told him about Laura—how they’d met, how he’d run into her at the Apple Store, how they’d danced and laughed and almost kissed.
“I really like her,” he said.
“And how does she respond?” Raj demanded, his voice loud and resonant. “When you make your advances?”
Sam laughed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never exactly made an ‘advance.’”
“Do it now.”
Sam laughed again and reached for his food. Raj yanked the bag out of reach.
“You love this girl,” he said. “Admit this.”
Sam sighed.
“Okay,” he said. “I admit it.”
“Then you must make an advance,” Raj said. “Or else I will not serve you.”
Sam clenched his fists and stamped his right foot like a frustrated child.
“This isn’t funny,” he cried. “I’m really hungry.”
Raj’s eyes narrowed. “My mind is stone.”
Sam threw up his hands in frustration. “Fine!” he said. “Fine. I’ll send her a text.”
“What is ‘text’?” Raj asked, spitting out the unfamiliar word with disgust.
“It’s how people communicate now.”
“Is not how a man communicates.”
“Okay,” Sam muttered. “Jesus! I’ll call her. I’ll ask her if she wants to go out again.”
“That is not good enough.”
Sam took a swipe at Raj’s bag, and Raj slapped his palm with a surprising amount of force.
“You must do it in person.”
“She’s probably asleep by now!”
“You must try. Or else no food. No vindaloo, no naan…” His eyes narrowed. “No sauces, green or red.”
Sam shook his head wearily. He was so weak from hunger he could barely keep his head up, and his brain was still foggy from all the gin.
“I’m not even wearing pants.”
Raj folded his arms and squinted. “It is time to put them on!”
Sam staggered up Ludlow, buckling his pants as he walked. After a few minutes of rigorous debate, he’d agreed on a compromise with Raj. He’d walk to Laura’s awning and send her a text message. (“It’s like a telegram,” he’d insisted to Raj.) If Laura was still awake, he’d ask her to come downstairs and say hello. Otherwise, he’d walk straight home. Either way, the food was complimentary, along with two complimentary servings of garlic naan for his efforts.
It was such a short walk he hadn’t bothered to put on his coat. But as he trudged through the October night, he began to
regret his decision. The light snowfall—already odd for this time of year—had escalated into another blizzard. He paused to look up at the sky. The snow was tumbling down in sheets.
Sam considered bailing. According to his phone, it was 11:57 p.m.—which meant he’d been walking for a good five minutes. If he turned back now, Raj would have no reason to believe he hadn’t made it all the way to Laura’s.
There was only one problem with that plan: Raj would never believe him. He’d never successfully lied to him in his life. Sam took a deep breath and trudged onward, shielding his face with his forearm.
Laura sat by her window, taking off her makeup. She was relieved it was almost midnight. A new episode of Bizarre Bodies was about to premiere.
She was on her way over to the couch when she heard a thump against her window. She assumed it was a piece of hail, but a second thump convinced her to peek outside. A man stood shivering beneath her awning, caked with snow, tossing clumps of ice against her window. She was thinking about calling the police when she caught sight of Sam’s face beneath a streetlight. He waved at her awkwardly, and she ran down the stairs to the door. It was 11:58 p.m.
“Your phone was off,” Sam explained, his voice shaky from the cold. “But I saw you in the window…so…I threw ice.”
“What are you doing on my street?” she asked.
“Raj said I had to,” he sputtered through chattering teeth. “For dinner.”
“What?”
Sam cleared his throat.“I never bought you dinner!” he said, recovering. He had to shout to be heard over the howling wind.
“Oh!” she said, laughing. “You don’t have to! I mean, unless you want to.”
“Well, it’s not a date without dinner.”
She smiled self-consciously. “Was that…were we on a date?”
Sam looked down at his feet. “I don’t know, were we?”
A thunderclap sounded in the distance, followed by the crunching collapse of a snow-laden tree. Sam noticed that Laura’s teeth had begun to chatter, just like his. He instinctively rubbed her shoulder, trying to protect her from the cold. She grabbed his hand and blew on it, warming it with her breath. His thumb brushed against her lips, and she held it there for a moment. When she exhaled, he could see her breath through his fingers.
“Sorry to keep you up so late,” he whispered.
“It’s not that late,” she said. “It’s not even midnight.”
She squeezed his hand, and for the first time in his entire life he looked directly into her eyes.
“I like you,” he said.
She laughed. “I like you too.”
“No, I mean…” He looked around helplessly. “What I mean is…”
A series of thunderclaps sounded, one after the other, and the blizzard suddenly intensified. The awning began to creak, straining under the weight of fallen snow.
Sam closed his eyes, still searching for the right phrase. He was about to open them when he felt Laura’s lips on his. He tentatively kissed her and, with some anxiety, opened his eyes.
They laughed awkwardly—then kissed again, less fearfully this time, Laura’s tongue probing bravely through Sam’s parted lips.
Sam took a deep, slow breath. There was something he desperately wanted to ask her, but he feared what her response might be.
“Laura?” he whispered. “Do you like Indian food?”
“I love it,” she said, her eyes bright with intensity.
Sam was so relieved he kissed her again.
“Let’s get some,” he said. “Right now.”
“Is anyplace open?”
“Not exactly,” Sam said, debonairly. “But I’m kind of a big deal over at Bombay Palace.”
“We could get takeout and watch Bizarre Bodies!” Laura blurted. She was immediately embarrassed, but Sam was already nodding and taking her hand. At some point, it had stopped snowing. The humans marched proudly down the avenue.
It was 12:01 a.m., a whole new day.
Epilogue
“I’M NOT MAKING NEW SIGNS,” Raoul said.
“You don’t have to,” God promised. “The world’s not going to end anymore.”
Raoul groaned and rubbed his naked stomach. He was lying in the middle of a golf course, surrounded by empty bottles of MD 20/20.
“You should’ve told me yesterday,” he complained. “If I knew I was going to live till morning, I never would’ve hit that Taco Bell so hard.”
He wearily shook his head. “I ate bad things.”
God nodded sympathetically. “That’s on me,” he said. “I had to change my plans at the last second.”
“Why?”
“I lost a bet.”
Raoul nodded, satisfied with the explanation.
“I’m sorry, Raoul. It must be miserable having to stay down there.”
Raoul shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I kind of like it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s a good planet. You know what I like? The fruit.”
God blushed. “The fruit was my idea.”
Raoul nodded. “Thank you.”
God smiled cheerfully. “You’re welcome!”
He kicked his feet up on the desk and laughed. Maybe Raoul was right? Maybe Earth wasn’t as worthless as he thought? He’d never expected those losers in New York to hook up. But just as he was about to give his demolition order, Vince had drunkenly asked him to check on the two humans one last time. God almost choked on a nacho when he saw them sucking face in the middle of a sidewalk. It was a sloppy kiss—but a kiss all the same—and God had no choice but to call off the planet’s destruction. Part of him was disappointed, but another part was secretly relieved. There was a lot about mankind he would’ve missed.
“You know what?” he told Raoul. “I’ve got a message for the humans after all.”
Raoul whipped a Sharpie out of his underwear. “I’m on it.”
“I want you to make a big sign, your biggest one yet. And I want it to say, ‘God Loves You.’”
“That’s it?”
God nodded firmly. “That’s it.”
He smiled as his prophet copied the phrase onto a flattened cardboard box.
“I’ll wave this in people’s faces,” Raoul said. “And, you know, scream at them and stuff.”
“That’s great,” God said. “You’re the best.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his Rubik’s Cube, still lying in his wooden wastebasket.
He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed it.
“I can’t believe it,” Craig said to Vince. “Angel of the Month!”
“You deserve it,” Vince said. “That foul-ball miracle was really something.”
Craig thanked him and greedily opened his prize. A coupon fluttered out of the envelope, landing on his desk. He picked it up and read the text out loud.
“One half-price appetizer at Sola with the purchase of two entrées.”
He turned the coupon over and squinted at the fine print.
“‘Limit one per customer…meat appetizers excluded…expires in twenty-four hours.’”
He shrugged. “Guess I’ll go tonight?”
Vince laughed and unpacked his stapler. God had offered him a job managing reservations at Sola, but he’d turned it down. It’s not that he bore any ill will toward his boss; he was just sick of working with the guy. He wanted to do something challenging—something that mattered to him. He’d asked God if he could take over as CEO of Heaven Inc., but the old man wanted to keep the position, even if it was just an honorary title. After some thought, Vince decided to do the next best thing. He demoted himself to Angel and rejoined the Miracles Department. He was taking over Brian’s old cubicle, just a few steps away from Craig.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, as he opened the filing cabinet. “This whole thing is full of bottles.”
Craig nodded. “Brian had a bad problem.” He shook his head wistfully. “I wonder where he is now.”
Vince cocked hi
s head. “You haven’t heard? God promoted him to Archangel.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Apparently they really bonded at that End of the World party. You’ll probably see him at Sola. He’s got a regular spot at the bar.”
Craig smiled. “Good for him. Hey, do you want to come with me tonight? I don’t think I can eat two whole entrées by myself.”
Vince chuckled. “You’re asking me?”
“Who else should I ask?”
Vince gestured subtly toward Eliza’s cubicle. She was hunched over her computer, finishing up a fishing miracle. Vince handed the coupon to Craig and nodded. “Don’t blow it.”
“Hey, congrats!” Eliza said. “That sounds like a pretty good prize.”
“Yeah, I know!” Craig said. “I mean, you know, it’s nothing to sneeze at.” He toed the carpet. “Anyway, I was wondering…” He looked around helplessly. “Uh…I was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab coffee sometime?”
She smiled gently at him. “Grab coffee?”
He looked down at his feet. “I mean…” He cleared his throat and looked into her eyes. “I mean, do you want to go on a date with me?”
She nodded. “That sounds like fun.”
He sighed gigantically. “Great! That’s great. So…when do you want to leave work?”
“How about right now?”
Craig laughed. “We can’t go now. I mean, look at Sam and Laura.”
He gestured at his screen: the two humans were sitting alone in their apartments, staring at their iPhones, each one waiting for the other to call.
“What if they screw it up?” Craig said. “What if they both chicken out and never call each other? What if, after everything we’ve done for them, they still manage to ruin it?”
Eliza shrugged. “It’s in their hands now.”
Craig looked into her eyes and smiled.
“You’re right,” he said, reaching for the off switch. “It’s in their hands.”