interview with an angel, part 1

some nights i lie awake just waiting for my mind to wind down. it never seems to matter that it almost always dwells on the same tired thoughts: missed opportunities, life's regrets, junk like that. l'esprit de l'escalier. more like l'esprit du lit.

well, a few nights back i began thinking about this pseudo-autobiographical story i'd started writing a while back. i had outlined pretty much the whole thing, but made progress only on the first part. so, since it seems i can't go a week without posting here (maybe a good thing?), below is part one of 'interview with an angel'.

In a stereotypical coffee shop, the early morning sun shines on every species of professional imaginable, ordering or drinking their caffeinated concoctions with biscotti, bagels, and even donuts—pedestrian as they may be. The din of people maneuvering the tables and sitting in their chairs, walking and talking, eating and drinking, carries the feel of a race car engine revving just before the race has begun. On the edge of the dance sits a well-dressed man, sitting relaxed with his attention on the morning's sudoku, and occasionally his watch, but nothing else.

At a glance, he appears indistinguishable from any of the other patrons. But there are several subtle differences. He seems to be in no hurry, or rather he is just where he needs to be. The drink next to him happens to be a Bloody Mary. Also, he’s literally glowing. Not with a blinding glow, but the kind of glow that onlookers dismiss as the sun coming through the window, bathing him. Still, he looks less like the angel he is than a middle management corporate beast of burden.

And despite his faux smile, “finally” is written plainly on the angel's face as he rises to greet the man who's just entered the shop. The newcomer looks the very definition of dapper. He carries himself as if he were under the spotlight in a Broadway play. Everything he does is just slightly exaggerated: his canvassing of the shop until he sees the angel; his near strut to the angel's table; his two-handed hand shake. He removes his coat and carefully lays it folded over one chair, then checks that his tie and suspenders are straight and that his shirt is properly tucked before taking the seat next to it, directly across from the angel.

Where the presence of the angel is dissonance among the crowd, this man is antithesis to the crowd; a wondering eye my hesitate when falling onto the angel, but the man demands attention.

“Sorry I'm late. I swear I must've walked into five other places looking just like this one—on this block alone, no less.”

The angel waves dismissively. “Not at all. Before we begin, would you like a drink?”

The man rubs his chin as if in deep deliberation. “You know... This whole thing has gotten me feeling nostalgic. I'd absolutely love a Comfortable Screw.” The angel hands the man a highball. He takes the familiar drink, not phased in the slightest that the angel seemed to pull it out of air. “Oh, thanks. Yes, that's delicious. Thank you for not totally mucking it up.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't imagine how one can mess up a Comfortable Screw.”

“Well, as often as I'd order one, I'd get a Slow Screw or a Screw up against the Wall, or anything in between—anything but an actual Comfortable Screw. That's why I stopped ordering them all together.”

“I suppose I see—”

“Ha... I just realized what that must say about me. How fitting.”

This surprises the angel, who's only expecting mindless chit-chat. After replaying the last few seconds in his mind, he pulls out a small notebook and begin making scratches on the first page in angelic shorthand.

“Excuse me—it seems that we're just going to jump right in. I know that you're expecting a traditional interview, but let me explain how this will actually work. You will tell me about yourself, no more and no less than you're prepared to disclose. However, be aware that we will make our decision based on what you say here in light of any and all information we have on you. I may prompt for elaboration on any given point. I may not. Do you understand?”

“Sure. That all seems very reasonable to me.”

“Then you may begin whenever you're ready.”

The man puts his drink on the table and leans in towards the angel, as if to physically enter his confidence. “Well, first I just have to satisfy my curiosity. At first, I was just surprised that I was given this opportunity, until I realized that this opportunity was in fact an interview to get into heaven. I have to ask: is this interview process some kind of special mechanism for cases like mine or is this pretty much standard fare?”

The angel sets his pad and pen down and takes a drink before answering. “We’ve only started interviewing entrants very recently—I’d say not longer than a century. It was the first initiative enacted after the organizational restructuring. For several reasons that I can’t go into with you, we’ve needed to become more selective of the people allowed into heaven, hence this interview process. So, to answer your question, it is standard for every potential entrant to justify their entrance to heaven. The actual interview is customized to be culturally appropriate for each individual, but remains fundamentally and functionally universal.”

“Well… If anything my curiosity has been piqued even further. But I'll respect your need for discretion.”

At that, the angel trades his drink for his pad and pen and jots down a few quick scratches. He did not expect that answer, as evidenced by his raised eyebrow, the only crack in his composure.