Chapter 1: What Happened After I Died
Meeting Him was like meeting a celebrity, but about five times better. Admittedly, I didn’t have much experience in this area, apart from the time that I met a very ill man – behind a portaloo, at a country fair – who claimed to be Michael Jackson’s pet monkey, Bubbles.
Long story short: it wasn’t Bubbles. But this guy really had me going, for a while.
Another time, when I was a child, I went along to meet Spiderman (an incredibly famous and powerful fellow, back down on Earth) at the opening of a pet shop in the idyllic town of Muff.
Actually, come to think of it, Ol’ Spidey was actually on his lunch break at the time, so I ended up missing him.
In the car on the way home, I remember wondering aloud what Spiderman might be eating for his lunch, and my mother made a revolting “joke” about how he was probably munching away on a load of flies that he’d caught on a giant web out behind the shop. Then she had to pull over, because I started getting sick everywhere.
That image had just been too much for me; my all-time hero, eating insects? Yuck. After I finished doing my thing, there was vomit on the steering wheel, vomit on the handbrake, vomit on the radio. You name it, and there was vomit there.
Some of it even ended up in the boot, which is still bizarre to me. If you’re reading this in America, then know that by “boot”, I mean “trunk”. If you’re reading this elsewhere, please disregard the “trunk” thing. I don’t want you thinking that there were any elephants involved. It was chaotic enough without a gargantuan, escaped zoo animal getting involved.
Besides, if an elephant got vomit on its tusks, it might devalue its ivory – and that’d end up being the real tragedy of the day. You’ve gotta love ivory. Admit it. Don’t lie. You can lie to your family and friends, but please don’t lie to me. I thought we had something special going on.
Without ivory, there’d be no pianos. Without pianos, we never would’ve gotten to hear ‘Imagine’, and it pains me to “imagine” what life would be like without that old ditty. Although when the famously bitter John Lemon commanded us to “Imagine there’s no Heaven”, he probably had no idea how tall an order that would be, when you’re actually in Heaven.
I smiled wryly, cursing that famous Liverpudlian imagination, and thought to myself, “Sorry John, but there’s definitely a Heaven – and I know that because I’m there. Heck, you might even be here too, if you managed to pull the wool over St. Peter’s eyes...”
I digress.
At this point, I just couldn’t believe that I was actually in Heaven, aka The Promised Land, aka Abraham’s Bosom, aka Disneyland Extra.
Once I was face-to-face with my maker (or “face-to-knee”, to be more specific – he’s as tall as the pictures make out), I felt so small, and was completely lost for words. This must be how leprechauns feel all the time, I thought to myself. It’s no wonder you rarely see or hear them.
After a short, star-stricken moment, I shouted up to Him the first thing that came to mind…
‘I’ve heard so much about you!’
He bowed his head politely and beamed a gorgeous smile, flashing his large, equine teeth in a way that reminded me of legendary Irish peace fighter Gerry Adams. I noticed that he had a few fillings towards the back of his mouth, which I thought was a bit weird. Then again, I suppose that sugary drinks would be as bad for you up in the sky as they’d be down on the ground. I guess that stands to reason. They might even be worse, considering the altitude and atmosphere and all of those other ‘A’ words that smart people know. You also have to bear in mind that this guy’s been around for a good few years – probably as many as the dinosaurs. We’re talking about some old teeth, here. There are probably very few things on Earth that they haven’t chewed.
He took me to an extremely fancy food court type of place, and over dinner, I managed to pluck up the courage to confront Him about why I never got the puppy that I prayed for every night when I was fourteen. He suggested that perhaps I was mixing him up with Santa Claus, and – being perfectly honest – I think that I probably was. It’s the beard thing, see. And the magic thing. And the fact that they’re both incredibly cool guys.
I suppose that when you think about it, Santy and God really do have a whole lot in common. It’s freakish, really. The most noticeable difference between them – and this is how I came to tell them apart – is that one lives in the North Pole (Santa) and one lives in Heaven (God). This can still cause momentary confusion, as both of those places are white, due to snow and clouds, respectively… but you’ll figure it out some day, don’t worry.
Even though I’ve pretty much got that little muddle figured out, I think I’ll still always mix up “your” and “you’re”, as well as Matt Damon and Ben Stiller. As far as I know, there is no such pro-tip or memory aid to help me out with those ones. If your interested in knowing which of the two played Jason Bourne, your barking up the wrong tree if your even thinking about asking me.
The food hall was packed with people of all colours, creeds and cultures. It was like a United Colors of Benetton ad, with everybody grinning in unison at the gastronomical treats laid out in front of them.
Despite having just died, I felt great. God told me that I could eat as much as I wanted, and for free. Apparently, currency was just “a cruel invention of man” and “has no place in the divine kingdom”. Who knew!
I asked him if I really went for it and gorged myself, would I get the dreaded “trots”, like how I used to back on Earth? He said no, because diarrhoea “and all that shit” (His actual words - haha!) is just for the alive people down below whilst they’re being tested. I didn’t really know what he meant by that so, being nice, I just said “amazeballs” – a word that he had somehow never heard before.
‘Oh, it’s a human word!’ I explained slowly. ‘They use it in England, and various other places. It’s kind of like “good”, but even better.’
He nodded.
How bizarre! I had just taught God something! This was fun. It was like a little cultural exchange. He was scratching my back, and I was scratching His – not literally of course, though this was not necessary. Neither of us had so much as a millimetre of itchiness, anywhere on our bodies – after all, we were in Heaven. :)
