Work Text:
Paradise Is Here
There are many definitions — presumptions — as to what heaven is, what happens when we die. Do we come face to face with nothingness, darkness, as atheists presuppose? Or are we setting down proverbial bricks we've carried, such darkness that has taken up home inside of us, in exchange for being enveloped in light?
~*~
“Aaliyah, I need you over here,” my mother says matter-of-factly, gesturing empty air with her hands.
“Of course, Mrs. Houston,” Aaliyah smiles softly, stepping where instructed. She looks near as youthful as she had when we'd pegged her for a role in Sparkle, even still.
“I'd like to think we're at the point you can call me Cissy,” Mother tells her, not making eye contact. My own eyes are practically bulging out of my head. I haven't heard her allow for being known on a first name basis by those younger than she is in a long time, even in death. There are some things even the afterlife doesn't change. Some of the roughest edges never dull. Maybe they were finally starting to.
“Oh, no Ma'am, I'm not comfortable with that,” Aaliyah chuckles softly. “That's not necessary.”
“Suit yourself,” Mama answers as I stand up.
“What are we singing today?” I hear Selena before I feel her behind me, hand on my shoulder. “We are singing, right?”
“Girl,” I drawl, turning to face her. “You think my Mama would let us skip a choir practice?” Moving my hands emphatically, I encompass the space surrounding us. “Here? In this Celestial Kingdom, of all places?”
“Right,” Selena nodded, simultaneously laughing that big, boisterous laugh of hers while touching a palm to her forehead. “Silly me.”
The corners of Mom's mouth lift into a slight smile. “Selena,” she says, looking her up and down, “I'm giving you Whitney's parts today.”
“Dang, Nip,” she chastizes, using an even further shortened version of my nickname. “What'd you do to get on Mama Houston's bad side this time?!”
“I don't know.” I shrug my shoulders, genuinely bewildered. “But if anyone can pull off my solos, it's you.”
Folks could say a lot of shit about me. They had no qualms in my previous life. Every facet of my personality, every shortcoming and misgiving was to be examined beneath the most unforgiving microscope. To be fair, I did have a lot of them back then. Not being a girl's girl, however, would never be one of them.
“Dude,” Sel gushes, “thank you. That's so sweet.”
“What songs are on the agenda today?” Aaliyah pipes up.
Mom picks up a little piece of notepaper with bits of her own handwriting scrawled on it. “We've got Touch The World, Love's In Need of Love Today, Dirty Man, I'm gonna randomly choose a couple that keep getting requested, and we're closing it out with Dancing In The Sky.”
“We only do Dancing when someone dies," I muse.
“We got another one coming?” Aaliyah frowns.
“Who is it?” I ask, but I feel a tug to my hand before I receive an answer.
*~*
I remember the date. Wednesday, May 24, 2023. I remember falling asleep. I hadn't meant to, my eyelids had betrayed me, falling shut just before taking in one last word jumping off the page in front of me. Spring. Everything comes back to life this time of year, I thought to myself. Then all I saw was dark.
Nam myoho renge kyo…
I recognize those words. Words that are not coming from me. There are no stirrings in the pit of my stomach, no intake of breath, my lips aren't moving. And still…
Nam myoho renge kyo…
I'm floating. Am I dreaming? Everything is fogged. Whitish. Light. Not beams, but light. Buoyant. I'm struck by how different I feel. As though I could dance as freely and easily as I had in my youth. Am I….healthy?
Nam myoho renge kyo…
Again.
Then I see.
At first, she's unidentifiable, but she gets closer. A form that I — and most everyone else — would recognize anywhere.
“Whitney…”
She doesn't say anything. Doesn't look anywhere near as exhausted as I remember. There are no circles under her eyes. Anguish has disappeared from their depths. She looks peaceful. Jovial. Free.
She nods.
I notice then that a shadow of shorter stature rests behind her, clutching one of her hands.
Her daughter.
They never were far apart.
“Where am I?” My voice is barely a whisper, though I think I understand.
“Home,” Whitney smiles.
“My babies….” I choke out, unable to bear the thought of another realm, of another single second where I am without my sons.
“They're here, Tina.” It feels as though Whitney is staring straight into my soul. I suppose, given where we are, she probably is. “Paradise is here.”
Extending her free hand, she pulls me to it. I hear voices, each one increasing in volume.
“It's Tina?! Tina's coming? She pulled me onstage with her once before I came here…”
Janis.
I smile.
“We know.” I see Cissy Houston come into view, take in the exasperated expression on her face.
“In New York,” Selena squeals, poking fun. I'd guess not for the first time.
“Y'all take your places.”
At Cissy's command, they fall in line quickly, and words and melody engulf me, pierce directly through to the middle of my chest as Whitney pulls me off to the sidelines. To my boys.
Oh-oh, I
I hope you're dancing in the sky
I hope you're singing in the angel's choir
And I hope the angels know what they have
I'll bet it's so nice up in Heaven since you arrived
“Mother,” they say in unison, and I clutch tightly to them both.
Paradise Is here.