In Line

by Jio Deslate

The walls were made of the highest quality glass. Reinforced, of course, like the ones found in those Manhattan skyscrapers, yet seemingly so fragile. The floor was carpeted with the plainest of rugs. A dark gray mat highly susceptible to visible stains as evidenced in the coffee spills all over it. The room was minimally furnished. Just a few black leather couches on the side, some ornamental plants here and there, and a medium-sized black and white portrait of what seems to be a family - though none of the people actually look alike. It really wasn't what you would expect.  No bright, divine light magnificently shining through in an awe-inspiring effect, no angelic voices or celestial choirs singing harmonious songs, and especially no lofty, dream-like clouds set against a deep, blazing azure.  Centuries of conditioning should be blamed for this idea of heaven. And this is exactly what Jimmy was grudgingly thinking while waiting in line at St. Peter's gate.

The lines were inconceivably long. Two columns tortuously snaking its way around the ground floor lobby moving at a snail's pace. It was so cramped that there was but a few inches-space between each person. Not very efficient for the ultimate utopia, Jimmy thought. Then again this is just the reception area, the transitory vestibule between Earth and the final resting place. There are bound to be grander things inside, Jimmy hoped. But first there's the small matter of actually getting there. As his mind was yet again about to venture off into deep thought, a middle-aged, benign-looking man dressed in a guard's uniform (an angel Jimmy thought, I wouldn't be surprised if he was one, things here seem to be pulling off some kind of mundane look) comes around distributing curious looking files. They were application forms. The medieval legends did get something right. There is some sort of preliminary examination before entering the gates of heaven. Of course they misjudged this to be some sort of personal question and answer portion with St. Peter himself. It's really more of a standardized test, a lot like your customary university entrance exam, and as such filling out the application form is the first part.

Name, age (I'm guessing that's at the time of my earthly demise or can I already put "infinity" here? Maybe they'll like my confidence, Jimmy wondered), sex ("None whatsoever!" Might improve my chances! Haha!) Standard information. Pretty much all of it was standard. Well save for the essay question: "Why do you exist?" (It's either they're giving me another chance at life or Heaven should really improve its grammar. Guess they're really more familiar with Latin) somewhere in the middle below civil status (Widowed? Well I'm pretty sure that's what Marie checks. I wonder how she's doing now. At least the mortgage was nearly paid before I skedaddled...I think. I wonder if she 's still working for that ad agency. Oh and the kids. Is Junior still thinking of becoming a writer? Okay maybe that mortgage is still a long way to go...) and blood type (AB . Only one in the family with it. It's quite rare. I really have to thank that blood donor. Didn't even know the guy. Then again didn’t do much. Still ended up here way too early, right? Hahaha).

"Why do you exist? Explain in 300 words or less." The question said in big blue letters. There were already people in line frantically answering it. Each form came with one of those sturdy clipboards that made it easy for people to write even while standing up (finally a sign of competence here). The bell rang. "Serving 2452" the neon sign in the north wall said. The crowd was awakened. It's been 2451 for quite a while already and this is a welcome - albeit slow - development. Jimmy looked at the number on the upper right corner of his form: 2460 (okay so 8 more. Not that bad. I should probably already answer this damn question...oh but of course. No pen. Knew it was too good to be true). As Jimmy desperately searched for a pen more and more people pile up.

"Hey you need pen?" The old man ahead of him asked. He had a pleasant air about him. A feeling of familiarity that put Jimmy at ease. He dressed simply. A blue sweater with dark brown trousers. There was really nothing out of the ordinary about him save for the gold chain hanging from the side of his pants. A pocket watch, Jimmy noticed. He had one himself, though he never really used it. He saw it as a bit too old-fashioned when his father gave it to him. (Maybe I should've given it to Junior before...coming here. Then again. He probably would've just lost it).

"Yeah. Yeah I do. You got a spare?"
"Here!" The old man handed him the pen, his watch to fall out in the process.
"Thanks! Pocket watch, huh?"
"Huh? Oh yeah. Got it a long time ago. Didn't know we could actually bring stuff here, you know. Hahaha," the old man laughed warmly.
"Well it's not much of use anyway, I guess. I don't think there's any sense of time here anyway."
"Ahh yeah. Well hasn't really worked in ages. I just keep it with me for the sentimental value. Been passed on for generations in our family."
"Really now?" Jimmy smiled at the coincidence (Guess we're really not far off from Earth after all).
"Say this is a pretty lame question, don't you think?" Jimmy said to the old man, holding up his form.
"Why? Can't answer it?" The man replied. He was wearing a neon green polo with khaki pants (gaudy and not to mention painful to the eyes. A bit too young for your age don't you think, bud? Midlife crisis I'm guessing. Well he still looks like a mutated tree ). A stark contrast to Jimmy's tone colors.
"Nah. I'm just surprised they didn't make it into a multiple choice question. I would just answer "All of the above"... Is that what you answered?" Jimmy replied quite sarcastically, still reeling from the audacity of the man to stick his nose into his business (prick. An obnoxious, little prick. That's what he is).
"You're new here, aren't you?" the prick replied.
"Fresh out of Earth!" (I don't intend to wait here long with the likes of you turning this to hell!).
"Well look, bud. That's the standard question here. They've been asking that since Adam and Eve decided to come knocking . It's divinely inspired. Like the bible and all. So I don't think you should be poking fun at it," the prick replied. His hostile tone somewhat tempered by his sincere demeanor. (One of the ardent Church apologists. Those annoying overly-devout Christians. I wonder why he's still here then? Shouldn't they have welcomed him with open arms?)
"Not poking fun at it. I was just pointing out that it seems like such a heavy question given that I'm ten people away from being called," Jimmy replied.
"Trust me. You'll have more than enough time to answer that."
"2453" the neon ominously flashed as the pilgrimage inched further on.
"Thanks for the heads up!" Jimmy said sardonically again. (He's right. But does he really have to be such a prick about it. I mean he could've just pointed it out nicely. Plus even if I do have all the time in the worl...Heaven...Heaven. Still feels like Earth. How do I even know I'm in heaven. None of the typical signs here. Then again those legends ARE ridiculous. But how would I know I'm actually at the gates of eternity?Ah don’t be stupid, Jimmy. You just know. You've known since I found myself here. Maybe I'm just in denial. This is heaven alright. Or at least the road to it).

The old man smiled at him upon the conception of the thought. It was a knowing smile. It was as if he overheard him in his head. Or felt the sudden shift in Jimmy's expression from a stiff annoyance to visible anxiety.

         "It's okay, sport! Breathe. You'll get your answer in due time," the old man said.
"Thanks, sir!" (Sport. Odd. That's what dad used to call me as a kid. Got in the habit of calling Junior that as well. Oh and once again he's right. I guess people who stay anywhere near God absorbs some of his infallibility, eh? Maybe I can avail myself of that and finally be able to answer this damn question!)
"2454" the sign read. 6 more to go.
Jimmy stared at the mocking blank box that he is supposed to fill out soon enough. The nearby murmurs of equally anxious applicants filled the room, simultaneously assaulting his defenceless ears. A look of livid annoyance flashed on his face. (Son of a bitch! Can these people keep their mouths shut? How the hell am I suppose to answer this damn essay with all that noise?!)
"...Pencil," the stranger said. Jimmy only caught the last part of that in his distraction.
"What?"
"Use a pencil. Just in case you need to erase it. Looks neater," the stranger said. He was a woman in her late 30s --  at least judging from her appearance. She had a casual air to her. A nonchalant aura that was a stark contrast to the imposing prick's, just enough to make her presence her felt if one would care to notice. She had a bashful smile. An awkwardness to her speech and movement that suggests she is not one to regularly socialize. She was neither pretty nor repulsive. An admittedly forgettable face, Jimmy thought.
"Oh. I don't have one," Jimmy replied amiably enough.
"Oh! I think I have a spare. Hold on. Let me check," the girl said. Immediately fumbling through her purse in search for the pencil.
"Oh it's quite alright I can just use..."
"Here!" The girl held out the pencil, visibly pleased at the small help she had offered.
"Oh. Thank you so much," Jimmy replied. (Wow why's someone as nice as her still here? This woman should practically just make her grand entrance into the gates right now!).
"I'm Mary," the girl introduced. (Which one? The Virgin or the whore? Pretty sure the first one but whatever the case that name is made for heaven! Well James is good enough I guess. One of the disciples, right? Wish it was more of the popular ones, though. The stars of the bible. Matthew, Luke, ...Jesus?)
"Jimmy," he replied, offering a handshake.
"2455," it threatened in a hostile red light.
"Hey it's speeding up!" the old man observed.
"Right when I need some time! Jesus Christ!"
"Be careful, sport! He's pretty nearby! He might just hear you!" The old man quipped.
"Well maybe he can help me out here!"
"Hey you hold your tongue!" the prick warned menacingly.
"Can't seem to," Jimmy retorted as he petulantly stuck his tongue out. (Yeah I know. Real mature. Well maybe they should me back to Earth so I'll have enough time to grow up!)
"Now, now. Can't we all be civil here? This place is known for peace after all! Well what's beyond the gate is at least. Let's try and emulate that, sports. Shall we?" the old man admonished the two. He, himself, was only halfway through his essay as he scoured his brain for an answer.

The couches were now occupied. Some tired men and women resting their minds awhile in the comfort of the leather upholstery.  There was a feeling of exhaustion in the air. Mental exhaustion. There were some who would talk amongst themselves and discuss their answers  - for this was permitted. These were the more energetic ones who still enough vigor in them to fuel the deft movements of their hands that accompany each articulation. There were still some, young and old, who had enough life in them for these draining activities for the rest have retired to their own corners or amble aimlessly around, dragging their heavy feet as in despair.

"By the way, sport. Would you happen to have any of that white-out thing on you? I seem to have made a mistake with my son's birthday! Just have to correct it!" The old man asked.
"Correction tape? Yeah I think I have some!"
Jimmy casually searched his overloaded pocket, frustratingly groping for the tape lost among his other stuff. (Where the hell is it? God I really need bigger pockets. Everything's in the damn way!)
The murmurs were getting louder and louder as the line was beginning to buzz about. This added to Jimmy's irritation as he finally retrieves the tape. (JESUS HOW CAN I CONCENTRATE WITH ALL THIS NOISE? WHERE IS IT??! Oh there we go! Found it! Aannd it's almost out. Christ. I might need this too. What if I make a mistake? But then again he did lend me a pen. Great. Now what.)
"It's out! Sorry! Maybe you can just scratch it out?" Jimmy suggested, offering his best compensatory smile.
"Oh, dear. Well alright. Thank you anyway!" The old man warmly replied. (Really sorry, old man. Just need to get all of this right. God what is up with all that noise! They're really getting on my nerves. Can't they talk about stuff somewhere else? I need to start on this damn essay already!)
The room was getting stuffy. Another influx of applicants crowded around the lines getting all the materials they'll be needing. The noise was becoming unbearable. The cacophony of a thousand different voices clashing in the dense air. The chaos was intensifying in Jimmy's ears.  Bombarding him relentlessly (CAN EVERYONE PLEASE TURN IT DOWN A NOTCH?! SERIOUSLY).
"Are you okay?" the girl asked.

Jimmy saw her lips moving. In the craziness of it all she wasn't so bad. The initial awkwardness was slowly melting away. She must be saying important and in response Jimmy cluelessly smiles.

"Oh I'm sorry to bother you but do you know if it's last name first or could we write it the way we usually do in the form?" the girl followed up.

Jimmy closed his eyes as the girl's question was met with cold silence. The noise was become quite physically painful to his ears - or at least gave a similar sensation. Perhaps he could block everything out, he thought. It was worth a shot.

The torturous buzzing was ceaseless. The assault was ramming through his defences. Inner peace was rapidly escaping his mental grip, descending into the abyss of his enveloping rage.
"SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU!!!"

The crowd was stunned into silence. The sudden quiet, deafening. A thousand eyes now stare at him.

"Hey , hotshot. Where'd you get the balls to order people around?" the prick violently admonished.
"Shut up, you son of a bitch. You're goody-two-shoes act won't increase your chances here!"
"Maybe it will if I send the bad guy straight to hell," the prick threatened as he menacingly made his way to Jimmy.

The old man quickly got in the middle of it all to cool things down. Jimmy and the prick were forced to settle for hostile stares as they struggled with their tempers. The crowd went back to their disruptive business soon after.

"2459" It warned. (Shit! Must not have noticed when the other numbers were called. Stupid crowd! Stupid prick!)
"You're up next! Ready for the test?" The old man asked, trying to lighten the mood with normal conversation.
"Yeah. You have any idea what it's like?"
"Keep forgetting you're new at this. Well it's a written exam so that pen I lent you will come in handy. Hahaha," the old man quipped.
"There's more of that crap?"
"I wouldn't call it crap, but yes. It's all part of it, sport. We all have to go through this! Hahaha."
"Wait. You've done this already? So why are you still here?"
"Well they're giving more questions apparently. Can you believe that? Hahaha!"
"No. I can't actually. This is insane."
"That might be so but you should really finish that essay in a while. You're almost up!"
"Yeah. You're right," Jimmy replied. (Great. Just great. Well he's right. Have to at least try writing this damn essay.)

Jimmy scrawled a few spontaneous sentences. Perfect grammar , proper word choice, and neat sentence structures, he was proud to say. He's always been a good writer.

"2460" The sign beckoned. The red light greeted him with an alarming intensity. It was time.
"Damn it! Made it a mistake again! This is gonna look shitty now!" the prick ranted in the distance. Jimmy couldn't help but smile on his way to the examination venue (serves you right, prick) fiddling with the correction tape in his hand.

The venue was your typical lecture hall. Each row was higher than the next, ascending in every step. The tables were long and connected, and due to the overwhelming number of examinees, prone to cheating due to a forced non-implementation of the one-seat-apart standard procedure. Cheating was impossible here anyway. Too noticeable considering the classroom setup and too stupid considering the reason for the test.

Everyone settled down into their chairs, anxiously awaiting the test papers to be distributed as the proctor went around to collect the application forms. He was an old man. Heavily bearded with the white locks snow-capping his head. It was St. Peter himself. Another one the medieval stereotypes got right.

A few minutes later, the questionnaires were given faced down followed by the instructions. They were simple. Answer the questionnaire with a pen, erasures are allowed, use complete sentences.
 
Jimmy nervously tapped his pen on the table, taking a bit of time to mentally prepare himself before viewing the questions. He felt the smooth, thin, material of the paper, half-hoping it would soothe him. And then with a big exhale of anxiety he mustered up enough courage to turn the questionnaire over.

"1. What is the name of the old man in the line with you?"

Jimmy froze. The perceived absurdity of the question stunning him into immobility. It must be some kind of joke, he thought. (I thought...this was supposed to be a standard test. Why on earth are they asking me that. How do they even know I talked to him. Well nevermind I know how but he...He never introduced himself. And how was I supposed to know this was gonna be asked?! Why is this even being asked? Jesus! Now what?)

Jimmy slowly scrolled his eyes down to the next question, desperately praying for something better.

"2. What is the name of the awkward, forgettable girl?"

It was another dead-end. Jimmy closed his eyes in despair as he realized his mistakes. (Why didn't I take her name down? Or remembered it at least! Was it Maggie? Something like that. I made a joke about it but geez. How am I supposed to remember with that stupid quip? Oh I am so screwed!)

Jimmy continued despite striking twice. Third time's the charm, he thought, with tragic hope.

"3. What is the name of that annoying, little prick?"

It must be a prank, he thought. A mean display of divine powers to establish authority perhaps. (This can't be legit. There's no way this can be a real question. They can't penalize me for not knowing that son of a bitch's name. This is unfair.)

The last one, Jimmy thought. The last one could be some sort of saving grace. A final opportunity to possibly redeem himself. If only he could answer it.

"4. How did you help them?"

Blank. Jimmy wasn't expecting this. Any of this. The irony of it all was too much to bear, he thought, as he recalled his encounter with the people in the line. (The tape. The damn correction tape. Am I really gonna be deprived of eternity for not lending that?). One by one the examinees submitted their papers and left. Jimmy followed suit in a moment's time.

The walk back to the line was an agonizing one as Jimmy’s dispirited gloom set the mood for a virtual funeral march. The crowd was still buzzing away, unintelligibly voicing out their concerns. This time Jimmy was too exhausted to even notice anything.


The room remained virtually unchanged. The still, unmoving background provided a stark contrast to the restless people moving around the vicinity. His little tragedy would go unnoticed here as his fellow mourners made their way to the couches. Jimmy’s heart sank at the misery of it all. The sudden realization of the facts he must face was difficult to take in. The possibility of being stuck here, so close to paradise, for who knows how long. The thought sent a stinging pain right through his chest. It was a real and extreme pain urging Jimmy to wearily check his heartbeat. It was too fast.

Jimmy struggled to stay on his feet. His voice was lost in his throat as he tried calling out for help. His heartbeat was intensifying further and further driving him to desperation. His vision was slowly failing him. Dark spots coming and going as he stumbled towards nothingness. Fragments were all that was left. Splinters of images giving him a last chance at survival. Jimmy desperately tried to focus on the these. It was a chaotic sequence of light and abstract objects. Blurred figures of unidentifiable things. Faces he struggled to recognize. The family portrait he saw earlier was there. Well it must be it, he thought. The black and white blot on the wall. The plants were still visible with their green hues. And the couches...They were all occupied. By the same people who clearly don’t know or care for his predicament. The images came to him more slowly now. In a frame by frame stylized effect. Jimmy held out his hand in an effort to call their attention. It was to no avail. The room was now losing its shape. Everything was reduced to unrecognizable forms, racing towards pitch black oblivion as his leg struck a hard, immovable object.

His impaired vision could only make out the white pillows that at first he mistook for clouds (so we finally get clouds up here!). There were two of them. One resting horizontally upon the head of the mattress and the other perpendicular to it forming a T shape on top of the clean, white sheets. The bed was simple enough save for its odd location in the middle of the room. It was wooden and equipped with the standard headboard and footboard. Good for one. Perfect for the exhausted Jimmy. He blindly groped for the pillows and upon find them he collapsed on the bed...

Jimmy awoke to the sound of murmurs (they’re still at it, huh? I wonder what they’re talking about now) of people gathered around him.

“We’re gonna have to shock him. Defib! Where’s the defib!” the man said through his flimsy looking mask. He was wearing all green down to the hair covers. Jimmy’s vision was coming back in time for him to recognize the face of (Dr. Xavier!) the head surgeon. He was looking down at him, earnestly concerned, Jimmy recognized, even through his mask. Beside him were the team of surgeons tasked to (what happened to me?) somehow save him. Jimmy realized he wasn’t in the line anymore. He somehow returned back into the world.
“He’s flat-lining. Get ready to shock him!”

Jimmy looked around and saw the calm countenances (they must be panicking inside)
 of the surgeons around him. In the distance he saw familiar faces. In the observation area he noticed Marie watching on conspicuously worried. She looked younger somehow. As if the stress of having to watch over him had a reversing effect. She looked like she did in their honeymoon. Beside her was Junior. The stoic expression can’t hide his concern as he walked around frantically, checking the time every minute or so. Even from afar Jimmy could recognize the gold chain that dangled elegantly from the pocket watch (so he decided to use it. That’s good. I should’ve given to him long ago).

Jimmy closed his eyes as he recalled his (what was that?) celestial experience. He knew it wasn’t over as the EKG’s slow, slithering lines reminded him of that frustrating wait.

“Clear!”

The murmurs started again. This time they were coherent enough. Updates on his condition. Instructions on what to do next.

“Clear!”

Jimmy listened to them. To the sound of their murmurs. To the sound of the EKG’s high pitch as it signalled the movement of his heartbeat in long, thin green lines ominously going flat. To the sound of the defibrillator shocking him back to life.