by Elliot Chan

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He read a small sign planted at the entry: The Auditions for Level Two. Luke hesitated to approach the long line, after all, there were a hundred people queued up, begging, screaming, and crying. It was a terrible cacophony, but where else was he supposed to go? 

“Argh! Help!” cried an old lady at the end of the line, clasping her neck with her gnarled fingers. Her eyes bulged from her sockets, her tongue limp at the side of her mouth — she was choking. “Ack! Help!” 

Luke jumped into action, grabbing her from behind in the heimlich maneuver. He squished his cheek into her soft fur coat and shook her like he had seen people do in the movies. He learned everything from the movies. 

“Ahh! Let go of me!” the old lady cried. “Let go of me.” 

Luke dropped her back down. Whatever ailment she had was gone. She turned and glared at him, annoyed, but also slightly pleased with herself. “It’s not real,” she said, dusting off her coat. “Goodness gracious.”  

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Luke, picking the thick fur from his mouth. “It was very convincing.” 

“Why thank you, darling,” the groundhog-esque lady replied, “it was a walnut.” 

“A walnut?” 

“Yes,” she said, “I really shouldn’t have been eating it without my dentures. What was I thinking?” 

Another chorus of painful shrieks from further down the line jolted Luke. Odd, nobody else seemed bothered. “What is going on here?” He asked. “What is everyone doing waiting here screaming?” 

“It’s for an audition,” said the groundhog lady, adjusting her outfit as one would a giant lumpy blanket in the middle of a sultry night. “If the Gods approve you’ll get to —”

Just as she was about to finish speaking, a serious-looking young woman, her dark hair so long that Luke mistook it for a dress, arrived next to him on the other side of the line divider. Holding up a clipboard and pen, she said sternly, “Name?”

“Who? Me?” asked Luke. 

“Yes.” Despite her beauty, her icy demeanor froze all of his attempts at charming her. Not that Luke was known for charming, especially a gal that could be a ghost. “Your name.” 

“Luke Bogart,” he said. 

“Luke Bogart,” repeated the long-haired specter, jotting down his information. “Well, listen, Luke Bogart, if you touch another newlydead again, I will have to kick you down to Limbo.” 

“Huh?” 

“Don’t tempt me,” she said, looking up from the clipboard, “I’ve heard the line in Limbo is really long this eternity.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” said the groundhog lady, forcing an innocent laugh. “This is my son, he is a bit of an idiot.” 

“So it seems,” said the haunting beauty. “Keep an eye on him. You don’t want him to blow his chance to get to Level Two.”

“Wait!” Luke stepped forward between them. “What is all this about? Level Two of what?” 

“Of Heaven,” the specter replied. “Paradise, Nirvana, the Promise Land, whatever you want to call it.” 

“And we are currently in…” 

“Level One,” she said. Her face touched by compassion, like a light layer of lotion. “You are an idiot.” 

“And this is a line up for an audition?” 

“Yes, the Judgement Floor,” said the specter, rolling her deep dark eyes, turning to the groundhog lady, “please educate your son.”   

“Yes, yes.” The Groundhog lady shifted back to face Luke but kept presenting to the specter. “It’s all an exercise of self-discovery, dear, so that you can continue to the next Level and learn more about your past and hang onto your memories. It’s a lengthy seven-level process before you can finally be free from all your earthly shackles. ”

“Very good,” said the specter, “I’ll leave you both.”  

Luke watched her go, dazzled by the way she floated away. 

“Look,” said the groundhog lady, exhaling a long breath of relief, “you seem like a good kid. You probably made some mistake and ended up here, but listen. You see that?” She pointed to another queue a jump and a half away. That line stood vacant. Black retractable dividers ran parallel to each other, making perfect right-angled turns to extend the space for nobody.

“Go there, get some coaching” she said, shrugging deeper into her big coat. “That’s all I can help you with.” She turned to face the back of the balding man in front of her, closing herself off to further questions. 

Luke glanced ahead and behind him. The line had neither progressed nor increased. Without any concern of losing his spot, he stepped back to read the sign again: The Auditions for Level Two. 

“Of heaven?” He asked nobody in particular, scratching his head. “What even…” 

Just moments before, Luke had been on his way to meet his mother — his real mother — for lunch. She always had something warming up for him, a free meal that came with its own set of lectures. Her words would sting with reminders of his unreliability and the unattractiveness of tardiness. Only his mother would ever put up with his behaviour, and at her age, she didn’t have much patience left at all, so really, there will soon be nobody left. He loved his mother and it upset him to disappoint her, but he — middle-aged, unmarried, and unemployed — did. 

But all that was supposed to change. The reason he was late this time was that he was arriving with good news. Luke had just got off the phone with his new employer. He got a job offer busing tables at a diner. It felt like the pivotal moment in a movie where the protagonist finally takes control of his destiny. Naturally a cynic, Luke hated those movies, but now that it was happening to him, he was hopeful. If he put in the hours, he could work his way up to serving — not waiting — but serving. He’d be cooking meals for his mother soon. Repayment. A sweet thought, but first, he needed to find her and get out of this place. 

Luke studied the empty line beside him and then shuffled back to the groundhog lady. “You said coaching.” His voice barely audible above the din of the crowd. “What do you mean by coaching?” He extended a hand to tap her shoulder, hoping to capture her attention. However, before his fingers could make contact, the woman stiffened, her body freezing in place. “Don’t touch me!” Her voice sliced through the air, sharp and commanding. “Didn’t you hear what the lady with the hair said? Do you want us both banished to Limbo and lose our spot in line?” 

He withdrew his hand, as if avoiding a venomous bite.

Then, only tilting her head the slightest, she said, “It’s a live performance of your death.” 

“Death?” Luke echoed.

“Yes,” she said, “that’s what we are performing in the auditions. It’s an experience everyone has, so it’s standardized. Now go figure out how you died, so you can reenact it for the Gods.”

“Who are the Gods?” 

“I’m sorry, dear, I really want to help, but I need to do this walnut thing,” she said, eager to get back to choking, “okay?” 

Luke backed out of the line and made his way to the empty queue. Usually, because of his lateness, when he saw an empty line at the bank or the airport terminal, he would duck under the dividers and forgo the needless walking. However, just as Luke bent down to sneak under, a commanding voice filled the space, petrifying him in place. “Getting ready for Limbo are we?”

He winced. The woman with the long black hair was standing behind him. He rose to meet her deep dark eyes. She pointed to where the dividers opened. “We don’t cut lines here in Level One.” With a forced smile, Luke complied, walking back and forth along the entire length of the queue in a zigzag pattern as she observed him. Back and forth. Back and forth, all the way. Maybe it was his imagination, but he sensed her interest in him, mirroring the coy and aggressive interactions typical of the first act of a romantic comedy. No! Dangerous! He snapped back to reality — or something close to reality — he couldn’t fall in love with this specter. This was not a romantic experience. This was a psychological thriller. He picked up his pace. He just wanted to distance himself from her. 

Finally, he reached the end where a black curtain opened into a small, dark room. He entered hastily disappearing from her sight. He breathed a sigh of relief. The room was akin to a black-box theater that might host avant-garde art installations or offbeat improv comedy acts. For those reasons alone, he went no further. “What am I even doing here…?” he muttered to himself. 

A single spotlight illuminated the stage, revealing a figure of a joyful man. “There he is!” The man glanced down at a cue card he held in his hand. “Luke Bogart. My five hundred and fifty seventh pupil! Ohhh… death by smoke. Interesting. You know, when there is smoke, there is fire.” He laughed. “Come forth, Luke. May this rehearsal commence!” 

Luke stayed back. “Who are you?” 

His coach held up his hands to block any further questions. “I’m your acting coach. All you have to do is follow my lead and I will guarantee you access to Level Two. After all, I have a perfect record,” he said, pulling out another cue card like a magician and scanning it hurriedly. “Yes, interesting… you were on your way to see your mother, how sweet. But there was an… explosion. Wow! Oh no!” 

“What?” This was the first time Luke heard of that. He jumped onto the stage to chase more details. “Wait, what? An explosion? Where?”  

The coach extended his hand to stop him once more. His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “Allow me to show you,” he said, clearing his throat. With a theatrical flourish, he transformed into a caricature of Luke, mimicking his blocky movements and grumpy mannerisms. “I’m going to be late,” he berated himself, dropping his shoulders and walking in place like a sad mime on a treadmill. “But she’ll be happy this time. No more: ‘Always late. Always late.’” He mimicked the squeeky voice of an old lady. 

“Hey, stop that!” Luke shouted, chasing after the man. “Stop!” 

The coach picked up his step and scurried away like a cat. “These are your lines,” he said, breaking the fourth wall, “please pay attention. Repeat after me. ‘Always late. Always late.’ It appears you are mocking your mother. No judgment. Just the facts. Then you hear a bang! BANG!”   

The coach jumped, extending his arms out, his cue cards scattering across the stage like confetti. But for once, Luke was not startled. 

“Can you pause for a moment, please?” 

But the coach had gone down to his hands and knees. “Mom? Mom?” He knocked on an invisible door and sniffed the air like a hungry dog. He broke to address his pupil, “Are you paying attention, Luke? I need you to nail this, you understand? I’m not going back to Limbo. No no no! I’m not going to bend over backward for anyone again. Now pay attention.” 

Luke had turned away. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “Sorry, please, stop. Just tell me, how can I get out of here?” 

 “Smoke…” said his coach, acting — jumping back into his performance, as a last ditch attempt to inspire his apathetic apprentice. “Mom! Mom! Open up!” 

“Hey,” said Luke, charging back onto the stage like a mad bull. “Stop it! Show me the way out.” 

“Your aggression is unseemly,” said his coach before erupting into a scream and dashing back and forth on the stage, miming the act of pulling a fire alarm. Nothing happened. He grabbed an imaginary chair and threw it at an imaginary door. Nothing happened. “Help! Fire! Fire!” Nothing happened. 

Luke could do nothing more than watch as the coach coughs, hacking dramatically, falling to his knees, crawling around in a circle like an infant, muttering, “Mom… help… fire…” Then he dropped belly down to the floor as the one spotlight extinguished like a blown candle. 

No applause followed. The coach leaped back to his feet. “Scene!” 

Luke was stunned by what he had witnessed. What kind of art project had he stumbled into? “Okay, very good,” he said as calmly and patiently as he could, “now, where is my mother?” 

The coach’s expression hardened, his frustration palpable. “Look, I know it’s all very strange and it’s going to take some time to accept, but you need to nail this performance. Okay?” The joyful man was gone. “I need you to break a leg. Comprende?” 

“Where’s my mother?” 

The coach’s hands shot up, his knuckles white with tension. For a second Luke thought he would strike him. “You don’t know what it’s like to have an opportunity to move up a level. I would die for another chance. I’ve been through hell and back. It took me five million rounds in Limbo to get back to Level One — a perfect record — and I’m going to have to coach a million more of you ungrateful newlydeads successfully before I can get back into that line for another chance to perform for those Gods. If you ruin my record and cost me, oh boy, you don’t know what I’d do.” He paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “You know, I am not your coach and I never was.” He turned and hurried off as quickly as he could. “Not your coach, not helping you. May the account show a clean record for me. Please leave. I’ve never met you. Adios!”  

In a manic frenzy, his coach collected the cue cards on the floor and disappeared behind some curtains that fluttered and then stilled. He waited for a moment, half-expecting an encore, but all that greeted him was the distant clamor of voices from beyond the theatre walls. He listened closely. Could one of those people shouting be his mother? 

When it was evident that the coach would not be returning, he went back into the vast, cold, dark void, shouting “Mom! Are you here?” In a rush, he stumbled over the dividers for the empty queue and knocked over one of the stands with an audible clank. Worried that it would evoke the wrath of the clipboard holding specter, he fled the scene before she appeared. 

“Mom? Mom?” He hated that his tone mimicked that so-called acting coach, as he sprinted up and down, searching the lineup of tense faces for his mother. 

  Then he heard a voice from the front: “Luke?” 

He recognized the woman waving to him, even though she was covered in soot. 

“Mom?” He was out of breath. “Is that… you?”

“Of course it’s me,” she said, wiping her face, but only smudging more dirt and grease across her cheeks. “I’ve been here forever. You on the other hand are late as usual, huh, Luke? Always late. Always late. Look, I’m almost up,” she said, gesturing quietly to the only person in front of her, a man who looked like an Elvis impersonator. “I’m a little nervous. I’ve been watching him. It’s going to be a tough act to follow. Wish me luc —” 

Luke cut her off. “Why…? What…? How…? How did you die?”  

“Oh,” she said, a little taken back, looking down at her feet. Her excitement died. “I left the burner on and one thing led to the next, and then a gas explosion. Let me demonstrate.” With a slow turn, she faced Luke again, her expression morphing into one of shock. “Oh… Noo….!” Her hand extended in slow motion, as if reaching for salvation. The echo of her voice reverberated through the vast, empty space. “Boom!”

As she finished her dramatic demonstration, a beefy man behind her applauded, nodding with approval. “Bravo,” he jeered. Luke shook his head disapprovingly. He couldn’t even begin to process the trauma.

“Too much?” she asked her son. “Or —”  

“Mom,” said Luke, in no state to critique her performance. “We need to get out of here.” 

“Oh Luke” she said, “I’m sorry that this happened to us. I didn’t mean to blow up my home right when you were arriving. It’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever made as a mother.” 

She paused, her tired hands wringing the blackened floral apron she was still wearing. “But look at this… huh? This is interesting, isn’t it?” Her cheerful eyes scanned their surroundings with a mix of disbelief and fascination. “We have a chance to move up to Level Two. I heard in Level Two you get to watch your life in reverse. Cool, huh? Like a video cassette in reverse. You like movies. I could watch you grow young, Luke. Pretty lucky, no?”

Luke’s heart was aching. He gritted his teeth so he wouldn’t cry. 

“Bart here was telling me,” she gestured to the big beefy man behind her. Bart waved lightly. Luke nodded. “Most people start out in Limbo and need to work their way up. We are lucky to start here. Level One.” She shook her head in wonderment. “For so long, we thought that it was what we did on Earth that got us to heaven. Turns out, being good only got you to the audition.” 

“I’m not doing any stupid audition, mom!” Luke snapped, his sadness boiled into frustration. “We need to get out of here. We need to have lunch. We need to…”

As he spoke, the long black-haired woman appeared behind him once more, her presence interrupting their conversation. “Is this man bothering you, ma’am?” she asked, her gaze fixed on Luke.

Luke’s mother shook her head wildly before turning back to her son. “Oh no, that’s just my son,” she replied with a hint of amusement in her voice. “He’s just being dramatic, as usual. He’s a good actor when he wants to be.”

The specter’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Luke. “Is he?” she asked skeptically. “What’s your name again?”

Luke lied through his teeth. “Bob.” He didn’t even care this time if he upset this gothic beauty. The thought of reenacting his death or any other scene from his past filled him with fiery rage. All he wanted was to escape. He had been on the verge of turning his life around, but now it seemed all for naught. “I’m Bob. And I’m dead! My mother is dead! So leave me alone.”

“Okay, Bob,” said the specter, “Calm down. Breathe. I’m going to give you one chance to walk back to the end of the line, okay? We saved your spot behind your other mother. Okay?” 

“Why does it matter?” Luke said, the words passing through his gritted teeth like flood water collapsing a dam. “If we’re all dead, why does any of this matter?  

“You don’t think this matters?” asked the specter, pulling out the clipboard and pen. “You don’t care if you’re throwing away your opportunity for Level Two?” 

Luke pursed his lips, unsure what to say next. 

“Come on, Luke,” said his mother, “get back in line. I mean… Bob. Sorry, I always forget his name. Silly me. It’s like when I forgot the gas and the stove. Oh boy, I’m messy. Like mother like son. Don’t kick him down to Limbo. Please, lady ghost, angel, please don’t.” 

“No more,” said the specter, silencing Luke’s mother. “Another word and I’ll banish you as well.” 

“Don’t threaten my mother!” Luke puffed out his chest, uncharacteristically brave. Unusually insane. A true hero’s moment. It always worked out for the characters in the movies. Well, the feel-good movies, at least. Hell, eitherway, he had nothing to lose. “She’s been through enough.” 

“Please, Luke…” his mother whispered to him through the edge of her lips like a bad ventriloquist, “shut up…” 

The specter was not threatened, she moved forward to eclipse his bravado. Her big black eyes dart up and down. “Your mother has put up a lot for you hasn’t she?”

Luke held his stance. 

“Why don’t we make a deal?” The specter continued, her tone as mysterious as her presence. “I’ve been watching your mother practice her slow motion death,” she grimaced and then chuckled, “I’m not sure how the Gods will feel about it. It’s fifty-fifty she’ll make it through. But since you’re so adamant on not auditioning, and it sounds like you are going to keep causing a fuss here on Level One,” she said, her voice brightening up for a moment before she made the proposition, “why don’t I send your mother upstairs, and in return, you’ll sacrifice yourself in Limbo. How does that sound?” 

“No dear,” said his mother. “No… don’t do it. Go to the back of the line. No. My slow motion death just needs a bit more work, but I can get it.”

Just as she said that, a thunderous, yet devine voice beckoned: “Next!” 

The Elvis impersonator ahead of his mother shuffled forth. With a rock of his hips, he became the unwitting star of the show before disappearing behind the final set of black curtains. Luke’s mother reacted in horror, her hand flying to her forehead in a melodramatic gesture. “Oh… Nooo…!” she wailed, her voice echoing theatrically through the empty space. Her over-the-top reaction, eliciting a round of applause from Bart and his big clapping hands.

When Luke turned back to the specter, she was staring right through him. His deepest darkest thoughts were exposed. “You can save your mother from unnecessary grief and back-breaking anguish,” she said. “All you have to do is agree.”

It was true. His mother had done a lot for him. Caring for him. Cleaning for him. Cooking for him all those years. He wanted to make it up to her. He could do that now. 

“Level Two is much nicer than this,” the specter added. “I heard there are chairs. I think your mother deserves it.” 

“Don’t do it, Luke,” his mother pleaded. “Get back in line. You have no idea what Limbo is like.” 

“I’ll be fine,” said Luke. He turned back to the specter, leaning in so close that he could almost kiss her if he had consent. “I’ll take your deal.” The specter pulled away, repulsed by his smoky breath. Maybe she wasn’t attracted to him. That kind of hurt too. “Mother, please, enjoy Level Two for me —” His mother, so old, so frail, so hopeful, so patient. Yet, somehow, this sacrifice doesn’t seem like it’s enough. “I can’t believe this is even happening. I can’t believe I’m dead.” He chuckled to himself, looking down the line. “I can’t believe we are all dead! It’s so dumb. This is so dumb.” 

“Yes, you are,” said the specter, jotting down his name on the clipboard. “Done.” 

“Noooooo!” He watched his mother scream in slow motion, and then everything faded to black.

*

When he opened his eyes, there were no credits to the end of a film. Instead, he was once again in the middle of a big dark void, waiting in line. “Oh for Chrissakes…” He said to himself. “Excuse me.” Luke addressed the man ahead of him. “Excuse me, what are we waiting in line for this time?” 

“I’m not sure,” said the pasty man. “I just got here, but I think…” He coughed uncontrollably for what felt like a few minutes. Luke waited patiently until the man regained his composure. “Oh… man… sorry… It’s bullshit that tuberculosis follows you into the afterlife. Anyways, yeah, I think, when we get to the front of the line, there is going to be a stick that we need to pass under while moving forward. And if we make it through, we come back to the end of the line here, and ummm… yeah, we avoid going to Hell, essentially. And we do it all over again and again.” 

“Limbo,” said Luke. 

“Yeah… limbo,” said the sickly man with a shrug. “I mean, I don’t know what Hell-hell is like, but if this is Limbo, then Hell must be a conga line or something.” 

Luke exhaled a long slow breath, surveying the crowd in this line up. At least, there was no screaming, crying, or shouting. There was an acceptable calm here. “Is this what you thought after life would be?” He asked defeatedly.

“No,” said the ailing man with a laboured laugh, “no, this is not what they taught us, was it?” 

“You know,” said Luke, clenching his fist and punching himself lightly on the leg. He allowed it all to go. He didn’t want his mother going under a limbo bar over and over again. He hope she was enjoy herself, watching him grow young somewhere on Level Two. Maybe one day, he’d be ready to reenact his own death. Until then… “This is somehow better than I thought it would be.” 

The sickly man nodded with him. “Yeah, this isn’t so bad. I guess you could say we had a low bar for the afterlife.” 

Luke stared at his new pun-happy companion with disdain, but the weak little man seemed so pleased with himself that he just couldn’t be angry anymore. “My name is Luke,” he said.

“Josh.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

“You too.” 

A long pause followed. There was no movement in the line. 

“You want to talk about how we died?” asked Josh, breaking the awkwardness. 

“Not really.” 

“Okay…” said Josh, allowing another wave of silence to follow. “Seen any good movies?” 

The End

Copyright © Elliot Chan 2024

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