The Heavenly Heart (2 page)

“Not for things like that,” he says, like has an invisible porthole he hasn’t told me about and can see into my brain.

 “It’s so we can make a difference.  The Ole Man grants free will, but he stacks the deck!” Pete says, and winks.

“The Ole Man?”

“The Big Kahuna, the Great Spirit,  the Head Honcho, Prince of Peace, Supreme Being, King of Kings—” He says, and once again points upwards. “You can call him what you like. He takes no offense here.”

“Have you seen him?” I ask, excited.

Pete smiles and nods gaily. My parents don’t go to church, except on special occasions, but we believe in him.

“What does he look like?”

 “Exactly how you’ve pictured him.”

“How can that be? There must be a zillion people here,” I say, and for the first time I wonder where they are. Surely, I’m not the first one to make it.

“Simple, he is all things to all things,” Pete says, and extends his arms outwards like he is embracing the very air before him.

It’s incredible. Pete’s seen him. He knows him! “What’s he really like?”

 “Like you and I,” he says. “Or I should say you and I are now like him.”

I let that sink in.

“Oh,” Pete adds, “And he loves wearing jeans.”

“You’re funny.” I giggle, and immediately feel the tinkle of bells that are tickling my tongue. They float out my mouth and cavort in the air like tiny bubbles. This is magical. My mother would love this kaleidoscope of
exquisite
sounds and
breathtaking
colors. This is heaven!

Maybe it’s good I’m not going back.

FOUR

The Silver Lining

I’ve had some fun. But now, I want to go home. Here come the tears.

“Ah,” Pete says and sighs. “It seems I must get to work.” I look at him like a puzzle that’s hard to put together. Maybe I didn’t hear him correctly.

“You have a job?”

“Oh, yes,” he says.

“Does he pay you?” I point to the spot above us, and Pete shakes his head that he does, but not with money.

“I don’t care,” I say, sulking.

Pete says, “You still want to go back.” He nods firmly and rubs his chin.

“Yes!” I say emphatically. “But I don’t want to spin some silly wheel.”

“No, of course not. What I meant is you want to go back exactly the way you were.”

 “
Precisely
,” I say, noting how easily my mother’s words have become a part of me.

“And continue with your life below as though this never happened,” he says and now has my undivided attention.

“Yes! Yes!” I say, and jump up and down.

“In that case, I have a surprise,” he says. “I have found a way to do that.”

I’m flipping out.

“It’s very special,” he says. “
Would you like to see
?”

I nod my chin and bob my head so hard I’m sure my teeth are loose. “Yes! Yes, I would,” I say, and think of the time my father said those words. A shiny new bike was parked in the driveway with a red ribbon as big as a dog house tied to the handlebars. “Happy Birthday, Princess,” it said. I was five. It was a two-wheeler. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Now I had.

Pete tells me to close my eyes. When I do, he turns me around and around.

“Now open,” he says.  I watch as I’m spun into a gigantic pink mist. It’s a giant cloud of cotton candy, totally delicious. Pete steadies my shoulders. I come to a halt.

“
Voile
!” he says, and I step out of the pink doorway. Before me is a window much like the golden one. This one is etched in silver and lined in matching satin. It has a large pillow loaded with diamonds and pearls. It’s pretty awesome. I climb up into the window, running my hands along the smooth edges that have been dipped in paint the color of crystal. The pane sparkles and glistens.

“Is this how I’ll go back?” I ask.

“So to speak,” Pete says.

I hang my head. I don’t trust him. Pete’s full of surprises, but they all seem to have a catch. I’m no longer jumping.

“Lorelei,” he says, “it’s the best I can do, but let me explain.” He glides into the window like a large bird and perches on the oversized pillow.

“This is The Silver Lining,” he says.

I’m no longer interested. I pretend I’m not listening.

“Through it you will see your life exactly as it would have unfolded had you lived.”

Maybe I
am
interested. I step closer. “Exactly?” I say. “No catches?”

“No catches,” he assures me.

I’m
very
interested. If I can’t live my life, at least I can watch it. I’ll be the star in my very own movie. “This will be like that Jimmy Stewart one, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” only in reverse,” I say.

“The movie?” Pete says.

“Yeah, this guy George got in trouble and wished he’d never been born. Then Clarence, this totally cool angel, showed him what life would have been like if he hadn’t of been.

“Yes, yes, I remember,” Pete says.

It affected so many lives you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I would believe,” Pete says.

“So, I’ll be seeing—”

“You’ll be seeing your life had you continued to live it.”

“Right, the opposite of George Bailey,” I say happily. “He saw life as if he hadn’t lived it. I’ll see mine as if I had. Totally cool!”

“Right,” Pete says and his eyes light up.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he says. “But remember, just like ole George, you may not be happy with all that you see.”

Of course, he’s wrong. What could be more wonderful than seeing a life that was cut short, go on? I’m ecstatic. I flit in and out the window as easily as a sparrow. I zoom around like I have wings. When I tire of that, I plop onto the soft pillow, dizzy with happiness. I stare at the endless expanse and the infinite colors that surround us and realize this is eternity. But something’s missing.

People!

“Where are all the others?” I ask.

Pete points to the vast universe above us. It is a gold and purple haze that stretches far beyond what my eyes can see. I marvel as it shimmers and sparkles and wonder why I’m here and not up there.

“You’ll go there next,” Pete says. Now I know he has a porthole to my thoughts. I hadn’t said a word.

“When will that be?”

“When would you like it to be?”

I’m not sure, so I don’t answer. I’m resting next to him on the satin pillow that is softer than down feathers. It’s a totally cool window. It’ll take me back, if not to live my life, at least to see it firsthand, as if I had. It’ll be almost as though I never left! This excites me. Every part of me tingles. I lean deep into the pillow and close my eyes. I’m on the ascending rail of a magnificent roller coaster. Pete is beside me. We’re not at the top, yet, but close, very, very close. Swooooooooooooooosh! We plunge over the edge and roar down a descending track so steep it’s nearly impossible to hang on.  I grab Pete’s hand. He’s my rock. We’re tossed out of the coaster, spinning like whirling dervishes. We fly past the sun. Down! Down! Down we go! We fall through clouds as gentle as rain. We soar through the bottom of the Silver Lining.

 “Here we go,” he says. “Hang on!” We’re hurled into the wind. It howls as we enter its belly.

“Can you see?” he yells.

“Yes!” I squeal. “I can!” I look beneath my feet as the wind tosses us into a gentle breeze. It rocks me like a baby. I lie in the sway of the tender gust that holds me until I’m able to catch my breath. My hands are shaking and something familiar is beating again in my chest. It feels like my heart! I can hardly wait for what comes next.

“I see my parents! There they are!” I look back at Pete while I point.

They are close enough for me to touch. I grin and turn once more to Pete. He’s reverent. I’m crazy happy and giggly silly.

Then I look again. My mother’s crying. I’m standing beside her in the
Ralph Lauren
dress she bought me at Lord and Taylor. I never wore it and never planned to. The last time I saw it in my closet it still had the tags attached with little gold pins under one arm. It’s navy blue and has matching pumps and a purse with silver accents.  Now, I’m wearing this gross outfit and I have on navy blue hose. Dorky! The leather purse is on the seat beside me.

I look sort of grown-up, except for my eyes. They’re as swollen and red as a little kid’s who’s been crying for hours. I’m chewing my bottom lip like gum. It cracks and starts to bleed. My mother opens her pocket book and hands me a tissue.

There are people gathered around us in a room I’ve never seen before. It’s got more flowers than a garden. My father’s lying at the front of this room in another little room, kind of a room within a room. His part has creamy carved wood all around it, and a very fancy arched doorway above it. The ceiling has three parts to it with each section a little higher than the one below it. It’s got this funky light directly over his head. It’s glued to his face. Bits of dust are floating in the light. They’re dancing around like it’s some kind of party and this is serious stuff. I brush the dumb dancers aside, but they never miss a step. My mother shakes her head, then, takes my arm and draws us closer. She places her hand on my father’s chest and gently rubs the folds of his suit coat. She leans over and kisses his cheek. I touch my father’s hands. They’re folded one over the other with his wedding band hand resting on top. They have make-up on them. They look like wax, but when I lift one up, it’s heavy.

“Uuuuh!” I gasp and place the dead weight quickly back down. His fingers look like they’ve been carved out of wood and lightly stained. What have they done to my father’s hands?

Up close, the spotlight staring at his face is creepy. I wish they’d turn it off. It makes me shiver. I’m crying, first just a little. Then something grabs me—a pain so bad I grab my chest. Now my tears are sobs. They run down my face and plop one after the other onto my dress. My mother places her arm around my shoulders. She pulls me tight and inches me close to where my father’s head rests on a really nice pillow etched in lace. I lean over and kiss my father’s cheek, just like my mother did. My tears spill all over him as he lays in his . . .his
resting place
. I can’t say the real word. It’s stuck to my tongue.

A tall stately man whispers to my mother that they’re ready to begin the service. He’s wearing an elaborate gold name badge. It says
Thurgoode Castle, Director
in script. He guides my mother gently to her seat. He motions for me to follow, then nods to two other gentlemen who are now standing like guards on each side of my father. They have the same badges pinned to their suit coats, with different names engraved, of course. I look at Pete. He’s next to me, but I know the others can’t see him. I realize he’s right. There
are
things I don’t want to see.
Oh, please!
I watch as the guards close the mahogany lid.
Please!  Please!
The enormous brass buckles are snapped firmly into place. A huge wreath of roses and lilies mixed with baby’s breath is placed on top; ribbons of black satin trail down the sides.
Your Beloved Wife and Your Precious Daughter
is stamped in gold and sits in the center. This is the silver lining.

“It’s not what I expected,” I whisper to Pete, choking on the words.

“No,” he says, “it’s life, Lorelei. And life here includes death.”

And it sucks. I know Pete hears my thoughts. He winces.

Sucks! Sucks! Sucks!

“So there!” I say, and look up. My mother jumps. Pete takes my hand. He places his arm around me and lets me rest my head on his shoulder. He doesn’t breathe a word, just gently pats my back. I’m liking him more every second that I know him, and I liked him pretty much, to begin with. I don’t care that he is ancient and wrinkled. He’s warm and funny and I love his soul. It’s pure gold; it feels my pain. I know this.

I look in his eyes and see that it’s written there, clearly, in a language called understanding.

*   *   *

“Why did he have to die?” I say. We’re on our way back and my heart is heavier than a baby elephant.

“You weren’t there to give him yours.” Pete answers. “They were looking for another match when his gave out.”

There’s a fluttering inside my chest. It quickly fades and what was beating leaves me, once again. Will my heart slip back and forth in place each time I make this journey? Pete says it will.

“It’s safely back within your father, now,” Pete says.  I’m relieved and sigh.

“Remember Lorelei, the Silver Lining will not change anything,
permanently.
Everything you experience through it is temporary.”

“I know
that.
” I tell him.

Yet it felt so real when I was there, that I forgot.

FIVE

The Golden Window

I’m chilling out in the Golden Window, recovering from our trip through the Silver Lining. I look below and see that my mother is sitting next to my father’s hospital bed. The doctor says he’s doing great with his new heart—my heart. No signs of rejection.

Having been to his funeral, I’m relieved to see he’s very much alive. My mother states they’ll have to make arrangements for mine. They can’t put it off forever.

I’ve decided not to go. Of course, my body will be there. What I mean is I won’t sit in this window and watch. I’ve seen enough of death to know I don’t want to see it again.

Pete says it’s a good decision and asks if I’d like to “go upstairs”, like the place above us is, merely steps away.

“It is,” he says.

“I’m not ready,” I tell him. My heart is aching from our trip to Earth. Even so, I want to go back again and again. It’s like a drug.

I want to see more and more of what would have happened if I hadn’t been so stupid and irresponsible the night my life ended. Of course, that means my father will be dead, but only for the time I’m there. It’s all sort of creepy and selfish, no doubt. Even so, I can’t help myself. I want to know what happens next. And like Pete said, my father won’t
really
be dead. Pete’s constantly reminding me that the Silver Lining is “what if.”  The Golden Window is “what is.” And he’s very concerned I won’t keep it straight. I promise him I will. He’s not so sure. I cried for hours when we got back. He told me every joke he knew. There was absolutely no consoling me, until the last one cracked me up.