The Hereafter

[dropcap]L[/dropcap]ike anyone else, I’ve thought about the afterlife since I was knee-high to an iPhone. But thinking about the afterlife doesn’t make me any more certain about what happens. Though sometimes it feels good to wonder about it.

I know that some people believe we come back again. Could that be true? What if I come back as a cricket, or worse, a poop fly? A tiny invertebrate with no other charter in life but to loiter around cattle pastures and swim freestyle in mugs of morning coffee.

Other folks think we dematerialize into something like dirt. Will I become a pile of fine dust? Will I lay on the ground like a violated jar of Cajun seasoning powder? Will they build something on top of my soil in the future century? Say, a strip mall, or a sewage processing facility?

You know what I think happens when we finally kick the oxygen habit? I’ll tell you what I think. But first, I should admit that this is not my own theory. This particular speculation belongs to a five-year-old named, Angie. I once asked Angie what she thought happened when we’re finally taken out of production.

“I know what happens,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yes.” She didn’t even have to think about it.

“What happens?”

“Something so good!” She jumped once. “We won’t have to clean our rooms anymore. We’ll eat chocolate whenever we want, and watch movies. And bad people will be small.” She squinted through her pinched fingers. “This small. See?”

Yes Angie.

I think I do see.

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