I had the damnedest dream, probably from hearing about a guy who had to re-live his life while he was dead for a couple of minutes. He felt all the pain he’d caused people from inside them. Ouch.
So . . . I was in this line. I could only focus on a few people ahead of me, yet I could see what the first person in line was stepping off into, somehow, from the corner of my right eye.
We were in the Getting-Past-Everything-Wasted Line.
An old woman was at the front. She stepped forward and waded through what seemed like three bathtubs full of water, swatted aside six animated paper towels, and walked on into a gorgeous golden glow. We all moved a step closer to heaven.
Everyone was sober. The big, beefy man in front of me had gone pale and the secretary-type in front of him was sipping little hysterical breaths of air.
The next woman in line dove into a sizable pool that swirled with indigo and turquoise waves topped with whippy little whitecaps.
I thought, “I’m gonna be in the Atlantic.”
It was quite a long time before we stepped forward. My astral feet hurt.
The next man was confronted with what looked like thirty cars stacked one on top of the other.
“Wow,” said the big man. “How’d he wreck so many and only be dead now?”
“The Man said anything wasted, not anything used,” the secretary replied. “If you had a legitimate wreck it wouldn’t be here.”
“Motor sports.”
“Excuse me?”
“Demolition Derby, that type of thing.”
I hoped they would stop talking again. Weren’t we supposed to be quiet?
Up the old man struggled to climb his heap of cars. God, this is going to take forever, I thought. I’m in hell.
No -- a voice in my head answered -- purgatory.
Finally, I was facing my own sea of wasted water. Not the Atlantic maybe, but an agitated Mediterranean with big dark waves. I was afraid I would drown. Then it occurred to me that I could drown over and over – - I was already dead. Hoo boy.
The urge to heaven was irresistible, though, so I jumped in. I could feel the enmity of the line intensely at my back. I could feel their scorn of my endless baths and flagrant dish washing ways.
When I caught a glimpse of the far shore I almost gave in to the muscle of the waves. I made it to the other side without drowning once -- although it took an eternity of stroking. There was a wall of white, writhing paper towels on the other side.
I climbed up into them, trying to push through as they wrapped around my face and hands and legs. The paper towels were going to kill me! One seemed as big as a sail, and small ones tried to corkscrew up my nose.
“I can’t breathe!” I screamed, and fought as hard as I could to break free.
Then I saw what was beyond -- a mountain of angry clothing, shoes, and stuff beyond imagining -- swarming with every bug I’d ever killed.
I awoke gasping.