The Evaluation

     A few days after my mother passed away my brother and I went fishing in her honor. Fishing had always been something that the three of us shared(and occasionally our sister would join in). I remember saying to my brother on that trip that Mom would surely pull some strings for us and get some fish to bite. At the end of the trip we had no fish to show for our efforts, I turned to my brother and said, "she must be busy checking in." One thought led to the other and I guess that last thought led to this.

The Evaluation

     “Next!” called the lady from behind the counter. John looked up from his watch slightly confused. The hands had stopped at precisely 9:17am.

     “Where am I?” he asked.

     “You're in the processing department,” answered the lady dryly.

     “The processing department of what exactly?” 

     “Well I suppose that all depends.”

     “Depends on what?” John's head was throbbing with confusion.

     “On how you answer the questions,” responded the lady.

     “Excuse me?” stuttered john.

     He was beginning to feel more and more uneasy as the conversation continued.

     “It's nothing much,” said the lady behind the counter, "really."

     John began to look around at his surroundings for the first time. The room was quite large, and filled with hundreds of people. Some were dressed in suits, others in wedding gowns. Most however seemed to be in their pajamas.

     “Who are all of these people?” John asked the lady behind the counter.

     “Surely you don't think that you're the only one to die today. Now are you ready to begin the questioning?” she asked, showing no emotion.

     John's face went white when he heard the words spill out of her mouth. Only one to die. He kept repeating the words in his head.

     “You mean to tell me that I'm dead?” croaked John.

     “Well,” said the lady behind the counter, “you're here aren't you?” she said beginning to sound impatient.

     “Question number one,” said the lady behind the counter, not waiting for John to reply.

     “Name and date of birth please,” she looked up over her glasses to John and awaited his answer.

     “Um,” John stumbled to find the words.

     “Well, out with it!”

Her voice was beginning to annoy John. He had decided that she must have been at this miserable job for far too long. 

     “John Jones, April ninth, nineteen sixty-four,” he finally managed to find the words.

     “Thank you Mr. Jones. Now question number two. Will you be leaving a wife or any children behind?”

     “No,” said John looking down towards his feet, “I won't.”

     His head was beginning to swim about. Could he really be here? Was he truly dead?

   “Question number three,” the lady behind the counter said, interrupting his thoughts. “ Have you died of natural or unnatural causes?”

     “I'm not sure,” answered John, “last thing I remember I was trying to...”

     He stopped speaking mid-sentence. He could now remember, vividly, passing a car on the highway, trying desperately not to miss his exit. In an instant the two cars collided. Fragments of blood and bone and metal flying about. John shook his head trying to clear the ghastly images from his mind.

     “Natural or unnatural?” the lady behind the counter echoed.

John looked up at the lady and said in a low whisper, “unnatural, ma’am.”

     “Thank you very much, Mr. Jones”.

     She was handing him a yellow paper with several boxes checked off. He could not quite make out what it all meant.

     “Please take that with you up to the fourth floor, you cannot gain access without it. The elevators are directly behind you.”

     The lady behind the counter looked over John's shoulder and called up the next person in line. John thanked her again and began to head to the elevator. He only had to wait a minute or two for the elevator to arrive. He slowly stepped in, pressed the button, and began to rise.

     When the doors opened John was greeted by two guards wearing military like armor. He wondered to himself why armor would still be necessary in a place like this. They led him down a narrow corridor lined with doors on either side. After several minutes they reached the door at the far end of the hall. One of the guards opened the door for John. Inside the room he could see an elderly man sitting in a large chair, he was holding a notepad.

     “Ah, welcome John. Please have a seat,” said the old man gesturing towards an old victorian couch. John plopped down on the couch and sat silently, waiting for the old man to speak.

     “The quiet type, huh?” the old man said, breaking the silence.

     “I suppose so,” answered John.

     “Well, there's nothing wrong with that,” the old man muttered.

     “Are you going to ask me more questions?” Asked John.

     The old man smiled at him. “No, not exactly.”

     “So what exactly is it that you are supposed to do?” 

     “I suppose you could say I'm a therapist.”

     John couldn't help but let out a little laugh.

     “Do you find that funny?” asked the old man.

     “I'm dead, right?”

     “Yes,” the old man answered.

     John smiled, then asked the old man, “why would a dead man need a therapist?”

     “Well,” the old man continued, “maybe therapist isn't the best term. To be honest it's my job to evaluate you before we make a final decision."

     At the sound of the words John's face began to shift and change from emotions of confusion to fear. Even though he was currently alive after death the idea of heaven and hell had not occurred to him. His mind began to race. He was now thinking of all the terrible things he had done. Any good deeds he had ever completed had simply been cast aside.

     “So,” the old man began again, “the idea is quite simple, I get you to open up, I make my assessment of you, and then I send you on your way.” He continued on, “ you seem surprised that you're here.”

     “Well, to be honest I wasn't really expecting to die today.”

     “Did you leave everything in order before you arrived?”

     “I suppose so,” said John uncertainly.

     “It says here that you have not left a wife or any children behind,” the old man trailed off.

     “Yes,” said John once again looking down.

     “Hm,” the old man breathed, “Okay then.”

     He continued onto the next subject, but not before making several more scratches on his notepad.

     “No big fights left open ended, no debts owed?”

     “No,” said John quietly.

“Well thats a good start,” said the old man thoughtfully. “Have you come to terms with what has happened yet?”

     “The death...my death?” asked john tripping over his words. “I don't really know yet. I've only been here for...” John glanced at his watch again. It still read 9:17 am.

     “Time ceases to exist when you begin eternity,” the old man interrupted.

     “Eternity,” John whispered to himself.

     “How you choose to spend that eternity is up to you,” the old man told him.

     “If it were truly up to me,” John began, “ I wouldn't have to deal with this.”

He had instantly recognized that his words came out in a way that he had not intended.

     “I'm sorry,” he said, “I didn't mean it like that.”

     “It's quite alright.”

     “So whats next?” John asked the old man.

     “Well,” the old man replied, “I'll send you on up with my assessment and the nice fella' up there will give you a key. That key will open a door, behind that door is your last stop.” The old man looked at John with a twinkle of hope in his eye.

     “Each door is is different depending on the person. Everyone thinks that heaven and hell are the same for everybody. Truth is it's different for each person. My joy is not your joy, and what I fear you may find humorous. What people don't seem to understand is that either way, Heaven or Hell, it's tailor made just for you,” His words had a slight edge to them as they rolled off his tongue. The old man made a few last marks on his notepad before tearing off the sheet and handing it to John.

     “Your key awaits you Mr. Jones.”

     John took the paper and started for the door. As his hand turned the knob he heard the old man mutter one last thing.

     “Fifth floor this time, and John...,” he paused for just a moment. “ I hope you find what you're looking for.”

     “Me too,” answered John with out turning to look at the old man.

     He walked back down the long corridor, back towards the elevator. There were no longer any guards. For the moment he was alone, just him and his thoughts. He tried not to think too much as he entered the elevator, for what he now knew was the last time. His hand shook a bit as it searched for the button. The doors closed on the fourth floor and he began to rise.

     As the doors of the elevator opened to the fifth floor John could tell right away that this floor was different from the others. He suspected that the others on this floor, like himself, had come to understand how close to the end they truly were. The real end this time. One way or another they were all moments away from discovering how they would spend eternity. No escape, no turing back, no real choice in the matter. What had been done had been done.

     The lines were shorter here than they had been on the first floor. He wondered to himself what must have happened to the people who didn't make it here. We're they taken too soon? Had they been returned to live their normal lives? John began to wonder if he had blown an opportunity to do the same.

     He slowly began to walk to the end of the line. Behind the counter stood a middle aged man wearing a flat black suit. The man was oddly tall and thin. His limbs seemed to be out of proportion to the rest of his body. Longer than they ought to be, thought John. Behind the man stood an intricate system of tubes, like the ones John had seen at banks. Countless keys arrived and departed from the tubes every minute.

     After a few moments it was John's turn.

     “Mr. John Jones,” the man called in a sing songy voice.

     “Hello,” said John walking up to the counter.

     “Welcome Mr. Jones,” the man began, “May I see your assessment sheet please?” he asked extending his long, thin hand.

     “It says here,” he continued, “that you have not left a wife or any children behind.”

     “Yes,” said John coldly.

     “Hmm,” said the tall man tilting his head like a confused dog, “Thank you for the updated information.”

     John handed him the paper. The man gazed over his assessment and punched a few keys on the computer in front of him. The computer began to buzz and hiss .

     “Sorry,” said the thin man apologetically, “these can take a while.”

     “I understand,” said John.

     A few more minutes of uncomfortable silence passed before the man looked up again.

     “Sorry for the wait Mr. Jones. Your key shall be arriving any second now.”

     Just as the thin man was finishing his words John heard a faint but distinct thunk in the tube behind the man. The awkward man reached his long, boney arm into the tube and extracted a small tarnished brass key.

     “Door number one seventy-four,” the man said to John. “And might I say sir,” he continued on, “I hope you find what you are looking for.” He smiled as he handed the key to John.

     “Thank you very much,” said John as he took the key. He gave the man one last nervous smile before turning around to venture for the door.

     John's eyes grew wide as he turned. What was once a simple line of people behind him had turned into a massive wall of brilliantly colored doors. He walked along the bottom row, hunting for the one that belonged to him. After several minutes he came to door one hundred and seventy-four. He paused and looked back for the tall man but the room was now empty. No lines, no tall man. Nothing. He turned his attention back to the door. His hands fumbled a bit before removing the key from his pocket. He took one last long, deep breath before inserting the key into the lock. His heart began to pound harder and harder as his hand slowly started to turn the knob.

     In one quick gesture he pulled the door open and was illuminated with a brilliant white light.

“Hello,” said the voice in a warm, inviting tone, “we've missed you terribly.”

     It took a few moments for John to process what was happening, what his door contained. His wife was now standing in front of him. In her arms she was holding his infant son. John was instantly taken back to the day that he had lost them both for what he assumed was to be forever. It had happened during the child's birth. He had seen his son stretch and cry for the first time, he had seen the elation in his wife’s eyes. Then the machines gave several loud hums and beeps and John watched as doctors and surgeons quickly took his family out of the room and wheeled them down the hall. That was the last time that he had seen either of them alive.

     The doctors said that it was a freak thing, that it never should have happened. They told him that they were sorry in their institutionalized way just before they asked him to provide proof of his wife’s health insurance.

     John's focus returned to his family and he slowly began to walk into door one seventy-four. As he turned to look back the door began to shut behind them. The three of them continued walking together, and John never looked back again.