Coming Home

That smell! It is awful!I slowly open my eyes to find myself in a dark room, the smell of urine, weed, and perfume fill the air. My head is pounding as I sit myself up, noticing that I am covered in vomit, though the corners of my mouth are shockingly devoid of it. I reach for my glasses, finding them bent on the nightstand. "Wha-what happened?"

I look through the cracked lenses and hear that the shower in the bathroom is running. There are dark curtains pulled over the window, though rays of light shine out on the vent beneath it. I sit up noticing empty bottles of booze littered around the room. I don't drink. Not normally at least. I don't know what happened. The shower turns off. I feel around for my keys and wallet, but they are not there. I stiffly stand up, turning on the light, the yellowish light shining through murky glass casts haunting shadows around the room. The bathroom door opens and a woman who looks to be in her late forties or early fifties steps out, notices me, and grimaces.

"What happened? Who are you?" I ask.

She snorts, and says, "Course you don't remember me. I'm Tamar."

"Tamar? And how do we know each other?"

"Your friend hired me to have sex with you.Said you were lonely. Said you split up with your wife a couple months ago and could not get laid since. Don't know what he was talking about—"

"Wait? Friend?What friend? I don't remember anything. Last thing I remember was going to a motivational speaker event in the Dells, trying to get my life together. Lost my job a week before that, and I have—what is today's date?The event was on the 13th of March."

She began to laugh uncontrollably, "It's the 21st. God, what did you get yourself into?"

"This friend, what did he look like?"

"Tall, handsome, dark eyes, and black hair.Looked comfortable, like he knew where he was supposed to be at all times."

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember.

"That sounds familiar. I think I met him at the event. And he paid you to have sex with me?"

She nodded. "Yeah. One thing that I thought was weird is that you seemed more interested in my pleasure than in yours. Funny.Sweet."

"Whose vomit?" I ask, looking at my shirt.

She shrugged. "A lot of people came through here last night. I suspect it was one of the girls who had her hands all over you."

"How much did I drink?" pointing to the empty bottles.

"Hmm, well you did have a fair bit. You were already drunk when he hired me. You also were high on something?"

"Weed?"

"Hon, whatever you were on, it was stronger than weed."

"Uh, okay." I hold my head, the headache gaining strength.

"So, what sent you on this bender, hon?"

I look up at her. "God if I know. I have been having a very rough time since filing for divorce, and then I lost my job in part due to not being able to keep work separate from personal life."

She nodded, her eyes glinting in the yellow light."Well, how about today you start over? Start by taking a shower. Get out of those clothes. Do you have clean clothes?"

"I don't even know where I am, let alone if I have clean clothes," I moan.

"Well, you’re in Vegas for starts. When you say the speaker was in the Dells, which dells is that?"

"Vegas! I was in the Wisconsin Dells eight days ago."

She purses her lips, then grins. "Oh, boy! Well, we'll have to get you back home then. Go on, take a shower, I'll take your clothes to the laundry."

I squint at her. "Why are you doing this for me? Why did you stick around?"

She laughs again. "Because you've been done dirty. Even in your wasted state, you were a gentleman, and because you remind me of my son."

I sigh. "Gotcha. Well, if you swear you're going to the laundry and not just leaving me here without clothes, I am in your debt. I don't know where my wallet is though."

"Don't worry, hon, I've got you."

I enter the bathroom, stripping out of the soiled clothes and passing them to her. I turn on the water, which is chillier than I'd hope, and I stand in the water for a while.After a bit, I scrub down, and then I get out, drying off with a rust-colored towel. I look out, but Tamar isn't back, so I sit down on the lid of the toilet and wait. After about half an hour, I get up and look for something to wear. "She lied," I mutter. Just then, the door opened, and Tamar returned with clean clothes—though the shirt is stained yellow from the vomit. I realize I misjudged her, because she also brought coffee and a McDonald's Egg McMuffin and hashbrown. I thank her, quickly dress, and then sit down at the little coffee table by the door. I sip my coffee, though it is still hot, and I eat my sandwich and hashbrown. I cannot help but notice how amazing this all tastes, as if I were eating for the very first time.

"So, Tamar, what got you into, uh—"

"Sex work?"

"Yeah."

"Long story, hon. Needless to say, I went astray years ago, made some poor choices, got knocked up, got into drugs, lost custody, got clean, and then had nothing else to do given all that I had done, so stayed a sex worker."

"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

"Fifty-nine. Do I look it?"

"I'd have said late forties, early fifties."

"Damn, hon, you're my new best friend."

"Do you have trouble getting clients?"

"I fair pretty well. Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Uh, well I was married for five years to a woman I have nothing nice to say about. She used me and abused me, and then six weeks ago, I guess, I filed for divorce. I guess I just woke up. Started seeing a therapist for the trauma, but in the process, I let my work slip, and they fired me. I feel like God has just given up on me."

She smiled. "Maybe, hon. Maybe.What faith are you?"

"Up until about a month ago, a Christian. I don't know what led me here, but it was probably my public renunciation of Christ that did it. He's cursing me."

"Ah haha. No, hon, I highly doubt he is cursing you. Not that I believe in him myself. Grew up Jewish. Named after King David's ancestor, Judah's daughter-in-law. I guess I have a fitting profession—"

"Oh! Cause Tamar pretended to be a temple prostitute?"

"Exactly. That said, I identity more with King David's victimized daughter. She was also named Tamar, and though her story ends with her being silenced, she is the only woman in the Bible to protest her sexual assault.I like that. I like to think I am avenging her."

I nod. "When do we have the room to? Cause I think I want to head out and figure out how to get back home."

"Oh! I did talk to the front desk. Your friend rents on a month-by-month basis. Must be some sort of big shot, though with as seedy as this place is, not a very tasteful big shot."

"Will you help me get home, Tamar? I just want to start over. I don't want to keep falling."

"Sure, hon. Come out, my car's outside. You're going to come home with me."

I stand up, and we head to her car.

"Something tells me you are not this way with most of your clients. Hell, I'd assume I was about to be robbed if I had anything worth stealing on me."

She chuckled. "No, hon. You're a special case."

We get in her car, and she drives off. We are on the road for half an hour when she pulls into a parking lot of a large, brown, nondescript building. It is clearly not an apartment building.

"What are we doing here?"

"Getting you help, hon."

We get out and walk up to the building. She punches a code into the keypad, the door unlocks, and we walk inside. The hallway is rather sterile, and I start to think I do have something worth stealing, but I'd rather not forcefully donate any organs if I don't have to.

She leads me down the cold hallway until we reach a door at the end, which is more ornate than the rest of the hall.

"Come on in, hon."

She opens the door and we enter a library with a roaring fireplace, an antique desk, and a large desk chair that is turned away from us.

"Thank you, Tamar," the man in the chair says, as he swivels around to face us. His face is aglow in the fire light, and his eyes are a dark gray.

"Who are you?" I ask for the second time today.

"Why, I'm God! You have some things you'd like to say to me?"

"Uh, what is this? Tamar, what's going on?"

"Just breathe, hon. You'll be fine."

"So, uh, God. If you really are who you say. If I am meeting you, does that mean—"

"That you are dead? Quite."

"I don't understand," I say, tears welling up.

"Well, how do I put this. After you left your wife and lost your job, you did in fact go see a motivational speaker. That is where you met a businessman, known as Anoar Friend. You got drunk with him after the event, and he said he could take away your problems, if only you'd come out to Vegas with him. There you tore your way through town, until you ended up in the motel room, overdosing on vodka and painkillers."

I touch my face trying to determine if he is telling the truth.

"Then why don't I remember dying."

God laughs. "It's not something you remember. It just happens. That said, it took you a bit longer to come to as even in the afterlife, drugs and alcohol can impact your memory of life. At least for a short time."

He picks up a remote and points it at the TV behind me. I turn around to see an image of the motel room, and there I am, lying on the bed, a woman lying on the floor next to me, both of us apparently dead. I guess it was her vomit I was covered in.

“Who’s she?” I ask.

“She’s a lady that Anoar introduced to you and supplied you both with the vodka and painkillers. She was an addict, though not a prostitute, and Anoar promised her more if she had sex with you.”

I turn to Tamar, "You're not a prostitute, are you?"

She shakes her head. "No, hon, I'm not."

"Then who are you?"

"I'm Death. I take the form of one who would not appear completely out of place where you died."

"But-but you said I was concerned about your pleasure."

She laughs. "Yes, it's cute. We did not have sex, as you have probably guessed by now, but as you died, you saw me as a prostitute, and you were so worried I wouldn't enjoy myself."

I frown. "I guess. But you said other things that don't line up with you being Death. Things about how you got into sex work." I turn to God. "Am I really dead? This could just be a dream, right? I just passed out again."

"No, son, this is not a dream. When Death appears to people, they take the form and backstory of someone that would fit in. While you were out there, Tamar was a fifty-nine-year-old prostitute with a son of whom she lost custody due to her drug problem. It’s all a part of the illusion that must be maintained until we can bring you here. Of course, some people know they have died, and therefore there is no need for this ruse, but for those that don't, to avoid them getting stuck in limbo, we ease them forward."

I slump against the door, which feels warm to the touch. Warm and sturdy, like I am coming home to a place more familiar that life itself.

"So... what now?"

"Well, you rejected me in your last days—"

I look down, dejected. "So eternal damnation?"

"Son, we don't do that around here. You just have to decide what you want out of life. You rejected me, and I will accept that if you so choose, but I am in the redemption game. If you want to move forward with me, you are welcome."

"And I can just join you?" I ask."I can just go to Heaven?Just like that?"

"If you want. You have as long as you'd like to decide."

"Oh." I turn to Tamar, "You said you didn't believe in God yourself. That's... obviously not true."

She gave a toothy grin. "Would you have accepted it if I said, 'God doesn't hate you, after all, he sent me?'"

I watch her closely, then say, "No, I suppose not.It's just…a lot. And I am not going to be condemned for my sins?"

"Sin is more of a burden in life. Once you are here, it will be the weight of those sins that you feel, and whether you think you deserve an afterlife of peace.That said, I should warn you, it isn't strictly Heaven you would go to. It's more complicated, but rest assured, you'd be at peace."

I slink down to the floor, finding myself on a shag carpet that reminds me so much of my youth. "I-I don't know what to do, Tamar. I guess I can accept I am dead, but I have done some really shitty things to a lot of people, and I went out in debauchery. Do I deserve peace?"

God sighs. "Well, that's something with which you have to wrestle. But we are here for as long as you need."

I look at him. "Don't you have more important things to do than to help me process my death?"

"I'm God. I'm everywhere, attending to billions of souls every instant. I am also personal, and I am with you here, as I am personally with everyone."

"You know what I will choose then? Salvation or damnation, right?"

"There is no damnation. Only contemplation. I have sat in a room like this for tens of thousands of years because someone couldn't decide if they wanted to come home. This is about as close to damnation you get. No one ever completely rejects me, so they sit in rooms like this for thousands or millions of years. But some are not content to accept the gift of eternity."

"So could I reject you? Be done with it? Be damned?"

"Yep. But you would merely cease to exist. No fiery torment. Just oblivion."

"I bet the atheists like that. Do they just cease to exist?"

God pauses, "Yes, some people do, but it is the ones who have accepted they are dead, and have nothing they want to see after this. There was once a chess grandmaster who died, and he and I played chess for several thousand years while he tried out every possible combination. In the end he said his life was complete and he had no more things to do. After that he was gone. So, what is holding you back, son?"

"I... I don't know. I just feel like I don't deserve what comes next."

"Then we'll sit here until you decide.Already, your body has been found, and your family has been notified. If you'd like, we can watch your funeral."

"Um. I guess.I just worry I will never make up for my destructive ways."

God smiles, warmth radiating from his fiery gray eyes. "This is Hell, you know? Until you can come to terms with who you are and your humanity, you will be in hell with me and Tamar. But you won't suffer. Your days of suffering are over."

My heartbeat slows and then I am completely calm."It's not so bad, I guess.What comes next?"

"Whatever you want."

I stand up and approach the desk. "I guess I am scared. I don't feel like I deserve you, but here you are welcoming me home.I accept I am dead. I accept I am not going to be tormented for eternity.I accept that I don't know what the afterlife looks like, but I am ready to see it."

He takes my hand and shakes it, and then there is light all around, and birds singing. The smell of fresh cut grass fills the air, and I hear a voice.

"You’re home, son!"