Short story - "In the queue for the Pearly Gates"

It seems as though I’m in the queue for the pearly gates. The sun is shining down on us. In the far-off distance, I can see luscious green mountaintops. The air is still and quiet. It’s so peaceful.

The queue feels orderly and calm. There’s quite a few ahead of me and quite a few behind me. We all stand, one at a time, a bit of space apart.

Some people don’t look too happy to be in the queue for the pearly gates. One woman looks anxious and paranoid. She’s wearing a face mask and her eyes keep darting around as if worried someone will jump on her.

A man is talking manically to someone on his mobile phone, desperately trying to fill the time.

Another man is engrossed in his phone trying to distract himself with emails or news bulletins.

It’s as if they can’t bear this waiting time, as though they’re wanting to hurry through life and get through those pearly gates as soon as possible.

I decide to just stand there, soaking up the sun, trying to think of nothing. They call it mindfulness these days. The ability to clear the mind of any chaotic thoughts and just sit peacefully. Like you’re next to a calm lake with nothing to do but watch your fishing pole and see if the fish take the bait.

I let the sun soak onto my pasty white arms, let the Vitamin D pour into my cells.

I put the morning behind me – the work that I did at my desk before I came out. Instead I just stand, trying to think of nothing, breathing.

A doorman to the pearly gates walks down along the queue. He has a walkie-talkie and he wears a high-vis jacket. “Any over-65’s?” he bellows. “Over 65’s can skip the queue.”

Well that makes sense, I think. The man who has been chatting on his phone stops mid-track and smiles wryly. It is a smile of compassion, of understanding. We don’t mind that the over 65’s skip the queue. We are glad to let them. I make a mental note that I have another 20 years before I join the 65’s. What am I going to do with those 20 years, while I wait in this queue of life?

The over 65’s pass me, slowly. One has a walking stick. The other is so hunched over her zimmer frame that her body has taken on a sort of ‘L’ shape, rather than being upright.

65 is not old these days, I think. My parents are in their 70’s and they still seem sprightly to me. There was that one time my dad was really sick and he clung on to my hand in the hospital. I thought it was his last hour; it was terrifying. But he made a full recovery. 5 years in remission and out cycling daily.

I think of all the lovely things there will be inside. Delicious fresh fruits, luxurious desserts, rows and rows of chocolate – anything we want to pick.

But I’m happy to just wait here for now, to bask in the sunlight and enjoy the moment of mindfulness.

I look up to see a huge sign towering over us. You can’t miss it. Anyone could see it for miles. It must be at least 6 feet tall. Yes, if I was to stand next to it, it would tower over me. I guess they don’t want anyone to miss this place. I guess we’ll all have to come here eventually.

The queue inches forward again. I’m getting closer now.

I can see a nurse in uniform. Anyone working closely with sick people are at a greater risk. They’re allowed to skip the queue too.

Again the queue nudges forward. It’s a slow moving queue but it’s persistent. It does keep moving. Eventually we will get there.

The doorman with the walkie-talkie and the high vis jacket gives me the nod.

It is my time.

My time has come.

I’ve reached my destination.

I give him a smile of thanks, pop my pound in the trolley, whizz it through the sanitising station and I’m in.

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#Tesco

#EveryLittleHelps

#Lockdown