Hereafter

by Anne O'Nonymous

 

What the hell, Joe Warren thought, a few drinks – two or three at the most – shouldn't hurt! He had often driven with more than "just a few" under his belt, only this time he was in high heels and a cocktail dress. A quick glance through the windshield showed a sky getting darker by the minute as the morning weatherman's promised evening showers approached. His chosen route home was a road already made slick by a preceding drizzle, and, around a curve, a deer was just standing there, peacefully waiting to be avoided. Of course, the inevitable crash and subsequent rollover occurred!

Oh, this happens too many times in a day to keep count! In Montana, Colorado, New Jersey and elsewhere. Automobile travel interrupted by deer is a frequent happening and gets little attention, except in small town local papers. This one was no exception – so, the world turns, the sun continues to shine, and another soul enters the afterlife.

…---… …---… …---…

"Oh great," thought Joe as he found himself walking along on a barren and lonely road, "now what." He knew something terrible happened to him. After all, we all know about going to the "Light," only Joe was now seeing what happens after.

It didn't seem too bad, the seemingly endless dirt road stretching out in front of him, mist shrouded as in some very bad horror movie using cheap special effects. He could barely make out the elm trees, or were they oak – maybe chestnut (he was never good at tree identification), spaced at irregular intervals along the edge of his route of travel. There wasn't another "soul" in sight. He was as alone here as he was in life -- lacking in company of any kind.

Joe started walking, curious to see where the road led. "So, this is death," he mused, with a wry smile, as he trod.

"Not quite, Joe."

Startled, Joe turned to see a very attractive blonde, approximately his height, walking beside him.

"Wh- wh-," Joe said, startled as he tried to collect his wits, and then continued, "Who are you?" He was damn sure she wasn't there one minute ago.

"Joe, you're dead. Now who would I be?"

An idea formed and he followed through, "You're my guardian angel!"

"Umm, close enough," she replied, then added, "I'm more you, Joe."

"So, are you what God sent to keep watch over me?"

"God, Goddess, whatever you'd like."

"When will I see . . . . Oh, my God, I'm the greatest s-s-s-," Joe stopped, unable to say that word, and fell into a fit of sobbing.

"Joe, let's talk as we walk. We've an important destination for you."

"I know! I'm a . . . a . . . a sinner of the worst kind," Joe replied, trying to keep from crying even more.

"No, Joe! Your sin was not being yourself. Oh, let's start over. My name is Angel – that's short for Angela. I'm sort of a guide, not an Angel! I was a nurse during a small pox epidemic and died treating patients, a little more than 100 years ago."

"Not an Angel? You could've fooled me."

They stopped for a minute, and Angela asked, "Joe, tell me: what is your vision of God. An old man with a long beard?"

"Something like that; a male in some way," Joe mused.

"God is a supreme being. Why should earth's 'gender' be applied? Male or female, maybe both, like you – wouldn't that be more like a supreme being? Knowing both sexes because She is both sexes. Think of God as everything – from the pebble on the beach to the world's largest mountain. The solar system. The Galaxy – it's all God!"

"You mean . . ."

"Yes, you, or a part of you, are God! We are all a part."

"But in the Garden of Eden, God made 'man' in his own image – therefore, God must be male."

"So where did Eve come from?"

"Good answer. So . . .."

"Wouldn't the 'she' that she was have to be there all the time?"

"Oh," was all Joe could say. "But, isn't there a part in the Bible that says men shouldn't dress . . .."

"Well, back in those days, the Goddess was venerated. Her male priests dressed as females, and were, in many cases, castrated. This was a Pagan religion, and Christianity couldn't handle it, so the prohibition against it."

Around him, Joe noticed the fog seemed to have lifted a bit. It was getting a lot brighter.

"Do you follow the Ten Commandments, Joe?"

"As best as I could," Joe replied, wracking his brain to remember if he ever broke one.

"Ever notice that they kept you from doing harm to others?"

"Em, not really."

"And that crash – it wasn't an accident, now was it? After all, suicide IS murder of one's self!"

Was that the truth? Did all his years of drinking and driving add up to repeated attempts at suicide? Why not! He was a pervert, a sinner, a monster! He was a cross-dressing freak that shouldn't be allowed to live.

"No, it wasn't!" he replied slowly, sadly, painfully admitting the truth to himself.

"That's a shame, Joe. In drinking and driving, you were doing harm to yourself in trying to put an end to a life that had so much promise. Was that why you kept to yourself so much? Avoiding social engagements and making friendships?" Angela asked.

"Who would want to associate with me – a sissy? I've never had a girlfriend, even in school, and I like girls, very much."

"So, you isolate yourself from everyone, even those who would be your friend, is that it? Because you enjoy something that does no-one, repeat no-one, any harm, you judge yourself to be up there with rapists, wife beaters and murderers in the sinning department, is that it, Joe?"

Joe was now miserable. It's hard to accept the truth of your life, even now that it was over. He nodded, adding, "If they ever found out about me, my lovely dolls, and how I liked to wear soft clothing, my life would have been over, anyway."

"There is no surety in that, Joe. You know, those girls in school, they did like you – thought you were a real gentleman."

"Please, I knew what I was -- just a wimp, a sissy! They wanted big, muscular guys with the big pr . . . , well you know . . ."

"Yeah, like Nikki Marshall wanted Brad Turner!"

The tears started again; tears because of a realization that the life of a very nice, gentle girl was needlessly gone. It was in Clark High School that he met Nikki, a cheerleader for the football team. She was a black haired beauty, way out of his league. Brad Turner was the star of the team; now, what was it he said – "The star of the team always gets the prettiest girl, so stay away, you wimp." He emphasized that statement by pushing Joe down a flight of stairs. Joe limped for a week after that incident.

"It was her, wasn't it, Joe?"

Yes! You happy now?" He had read of her death – strangled with a scarf by her husband when he thought she was having an affair. Dead after only three years of a miserable, unhappy marriage. His drinking started two days after he read of her "untimely demise" as the paper put it. Nothing else about her, but "Brad was this," and "Brad did that." Not one effing word about what she accomplished – damn!

"Where is all this torture leading to?" Joe asked through bleary eyes.

"Torture? You don't know what torture is, Joe! A young girl beaten, raped and left for dead; a woman forced to raise the child of a lazy husband who does nothing all day but complain; how about a child forced into labor as a sex partner for a man three times her age – that's torture!

"Joseph, all those years of drinking and then driving hoping for a fatal accident to occur. Trying to deny life to that soft sensitive person inside you. Keeping away from relationships you so desperately needed. You have tortured yourself far better than I could!"

"I'm sorry," Joe replied, his tears showing the sorrow he had shown all through his life, "I'm so very sorry!"

Angela replied in her softest, tenderest voice, "I know, Joe, I know." She abruptly changed the subject, "Are your feet okay? I mean, those are very pretty shoes – almost 3" aren't they?"

Joe stopped, pulled up the skirt, and stuck out one leg. He wiggled his stocking encased foot and replied, "Yes, I thought so when I got them. They were on sale, marked down to half price -- I just had to have them. They're 2-1/2" heels, but I can wear up to 4" comfortably."

They walked in silence for awhile, Joe still wondering about their destination. He thought about what was now past history, how he couldn't change Nikki's death and how hard it hit him. He truly loved her, and showed it by giving her up to a person he thought would be better for her.

Joe felt Angela take his hand and lead him to a pretty cottage at the side of the road. There was a white picket fence around it, several flowerbeds with a profusion of colored blooms. On the porch were two rocking chairs and a glider, and, hanging from a tree, a tire swing. It was a home he really desired – a dream come true. He wanted to just stand there and admire it, afraid it would soon fade into oblivion.

"Here we are, Joe," Angela announced happily.

Confused, Joe echoed, "Here?"

A smiling Angela asked, "Joe, I know the secret you have carried with you for most of your life!"

"To have someone to really care for. Sounds stupid, huh? I just wanted someone I could care for, hoping that maybe, in turn, she would care for me."

"Those dolls you so lovingly greeted, held, and talked to each day. Those charities you willingly gave to. You gave your heart out to so many, and asked for so little in return – not even a little love. You gave out so much, and it deeply hurt you when you got nothing but humiliation in return."

With watering eyes and tear stained cheeks, Joe replied, "Yes! I just wanted someone – was that too much to ask for? One person I could care for."

"Let's go inside, mom!" Angela said as she opened the door.

Joe missed the word "mom" and all that the word stood for.

"O-o-k-k-a-a-y-y," Joe answered with tremulous voice, afraid of what awaited him.

Inside, Angela called, "Girls, mom's home!"

Joe felt privileged as down the stairs came five of the prettiest teenage girls. He stood there, then looked down at the flowered A-line dress he was now wearing.

"Jo, I'd like you to meet your girls: Sandra, Toni, Anne, Beth and Paula. Girls, this is mom!"

A very happy Jo was smothered in hugs and kisses from all.

"Sandra was killed at sixteen by a boyfriend when she wouldn't put out for him. Toni was abducted, raped and killed by a neighbor boy. A car crash killed Anne – she was in a car driven by a fifteen-year-old drunk driver. An intruder stabbed Beth repeatedly, then raped her dead body. Paula died of a drug overdose forced on her by her own brother."

"I'm terribly sorry. What can I do to help?" was Joe's quick reply.

"Care for them, Jo. Give them all the wonderful love you've kept bottled up inside! Care for them as you would your children, as that's what they now are."

"I'll do all . . . ."

A rapping at the door interrupted Jo's answer.

"I'll get it, it's probably daddy," said Beth with a smug grin.

After opening the door, Beth stood aside to allow a very handsome gentleman to enter.

"Ah, my dear, you've finally arrived. I've been waiting what seemed ages for you to come," the man said as he bowed deeply, took Jo's hand, and kissed it gently and tenderly, "I would have waited an eternity of eternities for you, my most dearest and precious one!"

"N-n-n-i-i-k-k-i-i?"

"It's Nicholas now, sweetheart, my most precious love," the man answered as he grabbed Jo in a wonderfully tight hug, "now and for all our lives to come, and the eternity after."

"I… I … don't," Jo tried to get out.

Nicky grinned, and said, "Underneath the shirt, I'm still the girl you wanted in school. While you preferred dresses, I liked sweats and slacks – Brad hated them. Now, we can dress as we wish."

Sandra spoke up, "Hey, you two – mommy and daddy – how about a sandwich and a nice cup of tea, and we can discuss this later. We're all hungry."

-.-. -.-. -.-. -.-. -.-. -.-. -.-. -.-. -.-.

Angela smiled a most happy smile as she slipped out, leaving Jo, Nicky and daughters to their new life, thankful this turned out so well.

She had to make plans, very dark plans for the punishment of one Brad Turner!

(I've written some stories that I felt good about, but this one is a little too close to home. If you wish to comment, be kind – I need to go and have a good cry by myself.)

 

May the Light of the Goddess shine down on you and yours,
Annie O

  

  

  

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