When I die I hope I go to a familiar place. I pray it’s as simple as falling asleep, waking up to laughter in the next room and I’m not able to get up quick enough.
Whenever it happens I hope there’s a house in the trailer park just for me, though anything will do. Because my heaven is stray cats napping on trunks of cars or weaving in and out of old porch lattice.
It’s shelves of VHS tapes and fresh oatmeal cookies for breakfast. There will be crayons and coloring books scattered on fuzzy green carpet.
For lunch I’ll put on my favorite pair of costume wings and sparkly jelly shoes. I’ll eat a peanut butter and jelly biscuit as I walk down the uneven gravel path again. An old radio will play gospel a few trailers down.
I may even pick a few dandelions for the centerpiece later that night. I’ll play in the tall grass underneath an oak tree with a book until the fireflies begin to dance.
Because heaven to me is honeysuckles, hand-me-down clothes, boxes filled with Polaroid pictures and the faint sound of windchimes on the back porch. It’s the hum of an old window unit in a dimly lit living room.
It’s the smell of fried bologna, eggs, buttered jelly toast and coffee that’s sat on the burner too long. It’s mud puddles and pink butterfly boots. A cartoon band-aid on both knees or a long car ride with a Bug Juice in hand.
When I go I bet my childhood church will be just down the road with its doors wide open. When I walk in I know I’ll still be too cold and that I’ll never remember my jacket. My grandmother and great-aunt will be playing piano together toward the front and they’ll still carry the same candy in their purses.
We will all talk way too long in the parking lot after because time never mattered anyways. Boiled cabbage and fried pork chops will be waiting on us when we get home, and the ice in our sweet tea will never melt.
I pray I lay down in my bed with white and yellow striped sheets. I hope the only light on is the ladybug nightlight and crescent moon peaking in through a cracked window. The lace curtains sway from a slight breeze. As the summer rain moves in I’ll hear laughter in the next room.
