Heaven Has a Heroin Problem

Gabriel pulled me over

said, “Son, where’s the fire?”

“Way down below I suppose!” I laughed nervously, fearing deportation.

But he just wrote me a ticket and told me to “take it easy on these golden streets.” I laughed, again nervously; and he assured me that it was no joke.

I appeared before the throne on the date designated by the citation. Except they called it “the bench” here. ‘Bailiff shook his head; but Jesus just smiled warmly: “Good to see ya again, baby (Jesus was from New Orleans). Ya know with all these cases, me and dad barely get out the courtroom these days. He has to make time just to be worshipped and I haven’t had a chance to tend sheep since the winter holidays.”

“You don’t call it exclusively Christmas? I thought that was a big deal?”

“Dude, I preach selflessness, who cares what people call it so long as they’re showing love to each other.”

“Speaking of Christmas, Y’all still getting competition from old St. Nick?” I asked thinking the name ironic.

“Santa Claus?” he replied inquisitively, “He’s got the cottage right past Mother Theresa’s.”

“He got in here?”

“Yeah, ‘one of the nicest guys ya ever wanna meet.”

I stared blankly but He didn’t notice.

“Whatcha in for today?”

“Speedin’” I said, trying to lack conviction.

“AGAIN? Goddamnit, man.”

I damn near had an outburst in the middle of the courtroom.

“Let me see what I can do. Pop’s in a baaadddd mood today. What with the shit hittin’ the fan on Earth, the population up here is increasing so fast - AOE can’t keep up with housing demands and we’re having to keep people in purgatory longer. The Old Man hates being behind schedule”

“AOE?”

“Angels of Engineering.”

“Ahh...”

Jesus approached the bench without so much as snagging his robe on the counsel chair. Smooth motherfucker.

He and God conversed for a few minutes. Our Father stared at me steely-eyed once in awhile and nodded and stroked his grey beard.

Jesus came back, “Gotcha off with some community service, bro.”

“Sweet Man, I really appreciate ya saving my ass on this one.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I saved your ass” he winked.

I threw the peace sign up at the bench and God just shook his head with a grin, but as I turned to leave Christ grabbed my arm gently and said “This is the last time I can help you out like this.”

I dropped the smile and nodded sternly to show that I took him real serious. I flew home obeying every traffic law on the way there – yielding to school buses and student flyers (even the ones who die young gotta finish their education).

I hung my wings on the rack in the garage and retired to my ruby bedroom. A diamond mattress isn’t as comfortable as one might think, but hey - it’s Heaven so who am I to complain?

I awoke the next morning to the rapping of knuckles on a pearl-inlay front door. It was Raphael, “Ready to start you community service?” He wasn’t asking. Towering over me with a buzzcut and sunglasses, he had a neatly trimmed moustache and an Eagle-Globe-&-Anchor tattoo on his left arm. Pretty sure he was in ‘Nam; I asked if he knew my dad and he said probably not. We jumped in his truck – American made pick-up.

My white robe was sweat—soaked by noon and we stopped for lunch at “The Cathedral” – a little Italian joint off of Golden Hwy-435. John Gotti was our waiter and I ate with a trembling fork. Raphael didn’t flinch, he was the untouchable here.

“He got in too?” I inquired quietly.

“Bribed the Judge” he grumbled.

1 pm rolled around and we were back amidst the emerald ditches spearing trash with golden tridents: mostly energy drinks and styrofoam cups from the corner store.

“Who would litter in Heaven?” I asked.

“Everyone who made it here is still human,” he smiled grimly, “’Cept now y’all got even less to lose.”

A century or so later, heavenly warming got so bad we had to be evacuated; and somewhere in the world are abandoned mansions full of valuable rocks. And empty golden streets with speed limit signs that mean as little to me now as they did back then.