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"What about her?"
“Who?”
This was a game that they played mostly on summer Sundays. After they’d attended the morning service at church, Jerry would take him to the candy shop that his mother used to take him to when he was much, much younger. Aesop had insisted that he’d grown out of his sweet tooth, and at 15, he had no business indulging in pear drops and marzipan. But he never complains when Jerry “accidentally” buys too much of his favorite licorice allsorts, and insists that he shares the bag, because “too much sugar wouldn’t do an old man like me any good”.
After the sweets shop, if the weather was nice, they’d go to the park. Find a bench to sit on, people to watch in the warmth of early afternoon. Jerry points at the back of a woman retreating into the distance.
“Her. With the lace parasol.”
Aesop pops an allsort into his mouth, chews on it thoughtfully. Squints at her, before shaking his head.
“I don’t think she’d go to heaven.”
“Any particular reason?”
“I don’t know. I like her less than the last person we saw.”
At that response, Jerry huffs out a laugh.
“Aesop, you have to have a good reason. God doesn’t send people to eternal damnation, just ‘because’. What else?”
Aesop thinks a little harder. It wasn’t like he knew her. Maybe Jerry did, and that was why he was pushing him. To bring out some hidden detail that’d make it make sense, to give him a reason to send her to hell. But at the end of it, he doesn’t see anything that makes her different or special, and he shrugs.
“Well, does God follow his own rules? I could make up a reason, if I was God.” Aesop finally replies.
“God is just and fair, Aesop. He takes into consideration the whole of someone’s life before he makes his judgments.” Jerry counters. “So, yes. He follows his own rules.”
Aesop thinks, privately, that if humans really were made in His image, there must have been something in God that made humans cheats and liars. But he doesn’t say it out loud, just nods in response.
“Well, what would you say? Do you think she deserves to go to heaven?”
“I think she does. She’s lived a hard life, Aesop.” Aesop gives Jerry a sidelong glance, before he rolls his eyes.
“Now you’re cheating; you know her, and I don’t. Obviously, you’d have a better reason than I would.”
“I was just trying to encourage you to look a little closer. Maybe you would’ve noticed the limp in her walk if you paid closer attention.”
Maybe he would’ve. He had been too distracted by the child that was leading her by the hand, a little maniac with a lollipop as big as his face. He wonders if he had ever acted that way when he was younger, but his mother had denied it whenever he had asked. And now- well, he’d never really know. She was gone, after all.
“Alright. One more person, and then we’ll go home. Since the last one was unfair, I’ll let you choose this time, to make up for it.” Jerry pats him lightly on the shoulder, with a smile.
That was easy.
“Okay. I choose you, then.”
“Me?” Jerry says, with a surprised laugh. “Alright. What’s my fate?”
Aesop contemplates. Drags out the silence, as Jerry looks at him, mouth quirked in an expectant smile, crow’s feet crinkled in the corners of his eyes.
“You’re going to hell.”
There’s a flicker of something in Jerry’s eyes, but it’s too quick for Aesop to catch, before his smile turns into a laugh.
“That’s not what you really think, is it.”
Aesop cracks his own smile.
“Of course not. You’re going to heaven.”
Jerry shakes his head with a chuckle, before he pushes himself off the park bench, and glances at his watch. He clicks his tongue, grabbing his coat from where he had slung it across the back of the bench, shrugging it on.
“Well, you can tell me your reason why later, Aesop. We’ve got an appointment to keep.”
And just like that, their sunny afternoon draws to a close.
----
One day, Jerry had disappeared. Weeks. Months. A year. Then, as suddenly as he had left, he had returned, stumbling back onto their doorstep.
He’d been a wreck, speaking of some sort of game. That he had survived, he’d won. Rambling like a madman. And all Aesop had done was lead him gently back into the house. Sat him down on the couch, nodded as he listened to his stories. Tended to his injuries. Put him to bed rest.
And poisoned him, slowly, day by day. In his tea, in his meals. In whispers, telling him that his life was nearly at its end. That he was too frail to continue on. That he had nothing left for him on this earth. That his life was a burden on everyone else’s- and that if he was a good person, he would hurry up and accept the death that was coming to him.
But, Aesop wasn’t nearly as patient as Jerry was. So, here, he sat at his bedside. Syringe in hand. Jerry stares at him listlessly, eyes glassy. Aesop takes his syringe in hand, and takes one of Jerry’s forearms. Carefully locates a vein, and inserts the needle.
And suddenly, Jerry becomes reanimated, thrashing about. Fear in his eyes. Uselessly, he tries to tug his arm away from Aesop, but his grip only grows tighter. Hands scrabble at his back, try to pry his fingers off the syringe, but it’s too late. He’s too weak, more corpse than man at this point, and at this point, an injection was more of a courtesy than a necessity.
“Aesop-”
One last plea, he’s sure. Jerry’s voice is ghostly, faint. A whisper in the breeze.
“Aesop, what’s my fate?”
An old memory resurfaces. Aesop’s mouth curls at the edges, an expression almost like a smile. He finishes the injection, places the syringe on the metal tray on the nightstand. Watches as Jerry slowly grows more and more still.
“I told you already, a long time ago.”
He takes Jerry’s hands into his own, and gives them a squeeze.
“Of course, you’re going to heaven.”