Death of an Atheist

Death of an Atheist

Copyright © Matt Cairone 2014

All Rights Reserved

Max put the book down. He had lost track of time; he was going to miss his bus. Max shoved the book into his backpack, pulled out his bus pass, and darted across the street, glancing down at his watch.

That’s when it him. He never saw it coming. The driver of the truck stood over him. Max was bleeding in the street. The Coors Light truck was big, it was going too fast, and the driver couldn’t stop: Max was dead.

Funny, Max thought, it doesn’t hurt. It’s just cold.

Max felt silence. He saw a bright light, blinding. The light warmed him; the cold was gone; he was comfortable.

“Am I really dead?”

Max floated through a fog, a mist. He was suspended, light as a feather. A voice from behind gave him a start.

“Hey,” the voice said.

Max turned. On a small chair sat an Asian man with a Blackberry in his right hand.

“Hey,” Max said back. “Who are you? Where am I?”

The man laughed.

“You’re in the doorway to heaven,” he said.

“Heaven?” Max asked.

“Yes, heaven.”

A chair appeared.

“Have a seat, Max,” the man said.

“How’d you know my name?”

“Give me a little credit,” the man said, laughing.

“If this is heaven, who are you?”

The man laughed again. “People call me god. You can call me Frank.”

Max was confused.

“Wow, okay. This is the doorway to heaven and people call you god.” Max laughed. “This is one helluva dream. I don’t believe in god or in heaven. I’m an atheist.”

“I know,” Frank said.

“Okay, I’ll go along. So, Frank… may I call you Frank?”

Max regretted the sarcasm.

“Please.”

“Well, Frank, do you decide who gets in?”

“Yep.”

“Then this should be an easy one, right?”

Frank smiled. “Not necessarily, Max.”

Frank typed something on the Blackberry. He hit the send button and Max heard the swoosh sound.

“Who said believing in me was the key to heaven?”

“Well, it seems pretty clear.”

“Pretty clear from what?”

“From what they say.”

Frank shook his head. “Pity.”

“What’s a pity?” Max asked.

“What they say.”

Frank stood to stretch.

“You know religious people who are total assholes, Max?”

“Jesus, you’re blunt.”

“Answer my question,” Frank said.

“Sure, I do. Plenty.”

“You know any holy rollers who treat people like crap?”

“Sure. Lots.”

“Then why do you think believing the nonsense and spouting off about it matter to me?”

“Don’t know. I figured that’s the way it was.”

“Why, Max? Why?”

“Because I never imagined it any other way. I couldn’t see it any other way.”

“It’s not that way, Max. I never said so.”

Max scratched behind his ear.

“Well, how do you get in?”

“By being good.”

“By being good?” Max asked. “That’s it?”

“My rules are pretty simple, Max. Men hungry for power embellished them. So yeah, that’s it, Max. No assholes allowed in, Max, especially not the assholes who pretend piety. There’s a special place for them.” Frank half smiled.

“But I got hit by a bus. I didn’t have time to make things right. I didn’t have time to confess.”

Frank half fell out of his chair.

“What?” Max looked at Frank.

“What did I say? What’s so funny?”

“Confess,” Frank said, still laughing. “That’s one of my all-time favorites. Just say a few Our Fathers and a few Hail Marys and it’s all washed away. How convenient, Max. How convenient. That’s not from me, Max. That’s some man-made craziness.”

“You mean…?”

“Craziness, Max. What kind of a god would sit still for it?”

Max leaned in.

“There’s no easy way out at the end. Ya think I’m unfair? How’s that right? You got hit by a bus. Some other guy who’s screwed over everybody his whole life gets in because he confesses? Not on my watch.”

Frank leaned in.
“You didn’t believe in me, Max. You didn’t go to church. You criticized the religion men made, not its fundamental precepts. You protested the abuse in the Catholic Church. You spoke out against religious intolerance, about racial intolerance, about intolerance. You spit out the pabulum. You recognized the false word of god for what it is, the word of money hungry, controlling men. You didn’t think anyone cared.” Frank paused. “You were only wrong about the last thing, Max, only the last thing.”

Frank put a hand on Max’s shoulder.

“You were a good man, Max. You weren’t an asshole.”

Frank stood.

“You relied on yourself and you took care of people. You had empathy. Make a long story short, Max, you gave a shit about people.”

Max listened, his mouth open.

“You helped feed people. You helped keep people warm. You stood up for the weak. You embraced differences. You walked in another man’s shoes before you drew conclusions. You did good stuff, Max. Not because you thought I wanted you to, but because it was right.”

Frank offered Max his hand.

“That’s the kind of guy I’m waiting for, Max. Come on in.”