Heaven

He sees me from across the college courtyard, and suddenly important things don’t matter. I let him approach me, compliment me, invite me, and I accept. No one invites me anywhere. I think either he must be crazy or I must be dreaming.

I let the dream lead me by the hand. When I ask him where we are going, he only smiles, a surprise in his eyes. He checks his watch, then bids me hurry. And we take off running down the cobblestone paths.

We stop in front of a church, an ancient looking castle of a chapel. The bell tolls twice and then again, no one is around to hear it. The giant stone doors are unwelcoming, like the gates into hell, guarded by gargoyles and dead men with their eyes upturned to us…as if we are unworthy.

I don’t want to go, but he turns to me and cocks his head, telling me to come. I’m afraid.

“Yes, there’s a million terrifying things that await us beyond those unholy doors, aren’t you excited?”

Come to think of it, that’s a very good point. So in we go to some forbidden realm I’ve never been to before.

The church is old and ill-maintained. The dust kicks up as we step on the marble floors. The wooden pews remain unvarnished, and the candles were all used up centuries ago. But I’m left in awe at the sight of the giant cross on the wall above the lonely altar, and the tired statue of a man nailed to its frame, and I wonder why it is that those who congregate here kill their god.

He takes my eyes away from the altar, and averts them to the high ceiling. My breath is stolen by the paintings in the sky. Angels sing their songs and welcome me, their radiant white wings showing in unseen light, they’re dancing in the clouds and calling me to them, I don’t feel afraid anymore.

“That one’s mine,” he says as humbly as he can while pointing to an angel in the corner. I can tell he’s trying not to brag, but he’s so silly he can’t help it. I can’t believe he actually painted it, it looks real enough to come alive.

“It looks just like you, what are you trying to say about yourself?” He only smiles and blushes. I find out we’re both art majors, revolutionaries with ideas and theories. Everyone’s going to change the world someday, but we have plans.

His watch goes off, and his eyes light up, something’s about to happen. He averts my eyes once again from the ceiling to look at the giant windows. Stained glass stories of saints and prophets and little children line the frames.

“When the sun sets, they all come to life,” he whispers in my ear. I think he’s crazy in a beautiful way.

Then something happens which I cannot believe. The sun hits the windows in a sharp angle, and the blinding glare hurts my eyes. But as it subsides, something glitters in the panes, and he points to the ceiling again.

They’re alive. They’re dancing on the rooftop. The Angels and the Saints and the mortal men and women are shimmering and sparkling in their glory halleluiahs, falling into the sun, smiling down on us. Watching over me. The colors make their wings shine like stars and the shifting light makes them flutter in my eyes. The Angel next to me holding my hand reassures me that I am not dreaming. This is heaven.

“It’s beautiful,” I exclaim.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he replies. I turn to him with my hands on my hips.

“Is that the best you can do?”

And he take me in his arms and kisses me like a dream. I’m taken someplace else far away, electricity simmers through my veins and then an overwhelming calm settles. He lets me go after a long moment, apparently he can do much much better.

“C’mon, hurry,” he says to me, “the vampires will get us if we stay.”

I pull back on his hand. “So protect me.”

He squeezes my hand a bit tighter, and nods slowly. “Okay.”

Heaven is with us this night, and how wrong it might be being together in this place, it feels so right. The sun’s getting ready to set, the vampires and monsters await. I don’t want to stop.

I don’t even know him. I think I love him, this isn’t fair.

He lays silent in my arms on the empty pew, his soft breaths brush my cheeks so close to his. His tousled hair falls over his resting eyes, like an angel, I think to myself.

I come to though, this is wonderful, but I know better. Angels are paintings on a ceiling, and sun is light burning the eyes. Never make decisions at night, things look different in the morning.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing now, he likes it too much to care. But when he wakes up, he’ll see differently. I don’t want to be here when he tells me it was a mistake.

It’s not fair. Nothing’s ever fair. The dead man on the cross cries tears of blood as I walk away sobbing. The sun is gone. The Angels are sleeping. He’ll be okay.