Larry King…Dead

“You were born Lawrence Zeiger in Brooklyn, to Jennie Gitlitz and Aaron Zeiger.”

“That’s right. My father died of a heart attack when I was nine and a half – I was -- that was a blow to me. I took it as leaving me. I was very hurt. My father died, that killed me. I mean that...”

“Yes.”

“And I died too, didn’t I? I mean, what am I doing here?"

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

“I don’t know… I mean, I’m dead, right? I remember the hospital, Lilliana gave me the swab, and even though it's uncomfortable she did what she had to do and was very pleasant and nice the whole time, great ‘bedside’ manner. Then the blood draw...Nicole who was in training was who actually drew the blood but you would have never known she was new because she took her time and did it perfectly, no extra blood or pain.”

“It’s very kind of you to praise the people who cared for you at the place you died. Most people don’t. It’s like, ‘We hate that place and everyone in it! Why couldn’t they keep me alive?”

“Well, it was no picnic. I had COVID, I couldn’t breathe. And I remember the tube going down my throat. They think that, ‘well, he’s drugged up and unconscious, he won’t feel a thing,’ but I’ve got to tell you, it was horrible. I wasn’t exactly out of it. I felt like I was kind of gagging. Then I realized that I couldn’t talk. The next natural thing to do is to try to talk with your hands and hope that some sort of gesturing will get your point across. No dice. I was restrained. But I know those guys were doing their jobs, trying to keep me alive. I lived through a heart attack, quintuple bypass, kicked a three-pack-a-day smoking habit… but I was old. I guess I was ready to go. And I really feel much better, now… ironic, I suppose, since I’m dead.”

“Oh, you’ll find that being dead is a great feeling. Really. I’ve been dead for a few thousand years, and I don’t miss anything about my life before.”

“Oh? What did you do back then?”

“Mostly told people they were going to die horribly if they didn’t get their act together and start worshipping God. I called down pestilences, smote people, that kind of thing. Nobody really liked me. Those ancient Jews were stiff-necked old goats.”

“I'm a Jew.”

“Yes, yes you are. Different kind of Jew, to be honest. ”

“Will I meet any of the old kind? I’m curious.”

“You could, I suppose. Although not a lot of us show up around here.”

“So, is this – I know this sounds naïve…”

“Larry, everyone is naïve when they first come here.”

“Is this the Pearly gates?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. Everyone comes through here on their way to… Somewhere Else. We meet them here, interview them, sort of get a feel for what they are feeling, come to a consensus about what they should do with this next little part of Eternity.”

“So you get to know them. Don’t you – and don’t take this the wrong way – aren’t you hooked into God, or something? You know: the omniscience.”

“Well, yes, I suppose I am, or could be. People over on Earth tend to think weird things about the afterlife. It really doesn’t work that way. How would you like it if your producers had stood right behind you, looking over your shoulder at everything you did?”

“I wouldn’t. I like to do things my own way.”

“Right! So do I. We’re kind of on our own, each one doing their job.”

“How did you get this job?”

“I interviewed, just like we’re doing now. It turns out that this was a good fit for me. I like it much better than pronouncing doom and destruction on people.”

“Does it take long for you to get an idea about where people should go, what they should do?”

“It takes as long as it takes.”

“But don’t the dead people stack up? I mean, isn’t there a huge line of people out there? There are three or four thousand Americans dying down on Earth every day, who knows how many worldwide. It’s got to add up.”

“It all works out. There’s always enough time here.”

“And – sorry to repeat myself – what am I doing here? I mean, I kind of figured that I’d be at the Other Place.”

“Ah. What makes you think that?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly been a stellar person, you know.”

“Yes, I do know, or I could know, if I needed to. That’s why we’re talking. Go on.”

“I've been fired, arrested, crashed into John F. Kennedy, been so broke I had nothing left in my pocket but two bucks, I've had eight marriages to seven different women.”

“Okay, Let's talk about your marriages for a second. You have...”

“No, let's not.”

“Seven women. Why seven?”

“I've never been able to explain why. It's hard to get at it. Look, I'm a Jewish kid from Brooklyn. I never lived with a woman, you know, out of wedlock.”

“So, you just kind of...”

“I don't think I ever stayed overnight at a woman's house, truth. If I met someone I like – I kind of liked them, I got married.”

“And how did you treat your wives?”

“I took care of them. I paid my debts to them if I owed them things. I'm not -- I didn't keep in touch with them, but I was not unfriendly with them.”

“What was the shelf life of your longest marriage? How long did you last with these women?”

“Probably the longest was six years, before I met Shawn.”

“Six years.”

“Shawn was almost 23.”

“So you respected the women in your life, even if you were jealous and had a bit of a double standard, and eventually you found one who could put up with you for over twenty years. You also earned an Emmy and started a foundation to save lives. You see, it can balance out. Not everyone’s life does, but generally, people – they find some kind of balance between the good and the bad. Some are able to pile on even more good, and others, more bad.

We see them all here. That Other place you mentioned? I’ll tell you a secret. You ever get back to Earth for some reason, don’t let it out.”

“What is it?”

“No such thing. Figment of the imagination. A bad joke that humankind whipped up based on no discernible evidence, kind of like what that last American president did. Mortal life can be miserable enough. No need to create another place worse than that on purpose. Men are that they might have joy, as the saying goes.”

“Well, good. So you interview everyone? You must hear some interesting stories. Have you met…”

“God? Didn’t I tell you that I called people to repentance, rained down plagues? Yes, I’ve – we didn’t sit down and have a beer – but I’ve spent some time with Him.”

“And Jesus?”

“I thought that you were a Jewish kid from Brooklyn.”

“Well, he’s kind of a big thing on Earth, you know. And I may be Jewish, but I’m curious, too.”

“You’ll have to be patient, then. Right here and now – that’s about you. You can hobnob with the bigwigs later. Listen, why don’t you come around the table and sit in this chair? The interviewer’s chair.”

“I mean – sure, I’d love to. But – really?”

“It’s what I’m feeling. What about you?”

“Well, yes – it’s like I’m a kid, five...six years old again, I'd listen to the radio...”

“Yes.”

“...with my brother. And I knew then that I wanted nothing more than to be on the radio. I never – never stopped wanting to be on the radio.”

“And that’s what you’re feeling now?”

“That, and I'm panicking.”

“It will be like when you were on the radio. This is still the communications business, Larry. These people coming in here, they feel as lost as you did. They need to understand, to share. To communicate.”

“I never stopped communicating my whole life.”

“So why stop now?”

…

“Hello, welcome! You’re Mark Benedict, architect. You were born in Phoenix to Lara and Carl Benedict.”

“Uh… yeah. Am I dead?”

“Yes, but as you can see, that’s not your whole story. We’ll talk about that.”

“Okay… hey, aren’t you – ?”

“Yes. I’m Larry King… dead.”