Lately I’ve been thinking about heaven

Image by Mathias Krumbholz by way of a Creative Commons license. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Leviathan1983

Lately I have been thinking about heaven.

In heaven, I am 10 years old again. I live in a small town, surrounded by farms and forests.

It is summer.

I burst from my house at sunup. I cut across Mrs. Disten’s yard , careful to dodge her beds of hollyhock and zinnia and marigold because the last time I didn’t and she yelled at me and Mom gave me a lickin’ when I snuck in that afternoon.

I wear cutoff shorts and a pair of ratty old sneakers that fit my feet perfectly and nothing else.

The streets are lined with shade trees tall as monuments. Within their dark canopies, birds and squirrels and the Hampton Street Boogeyman create tiny rustling sounds.

I have two best friends, one slightly better than the other. Which one is which depends on who will do what with me when. One celebrates dreams, while the other celebrates the here-and-now. Usually it’s all three of us, our allegiances shifting with the pull of the earth.

We take off down a two-lane road that leads to the fields and woods. Behind us, the town awakens slowly.

The gas station opens first, Old Man Tucker wheeling out his whitewalls and cans of Sinclair motor oil. Then, in rapid succession, it is the post office, the drug store and Mr. Hendree’s barber shop. Not until nighttime will the VFW post, the grange hall and the movie theater throw back their doors.

We cut across fields of waist-high weeds. Before us, grasshoppers go tearing into the gathering heat. Ladybugs hover near clusters of Queen Ann’s Lace. Butterflies jitterbug from black-eyed Susan to thistle to dandelion.

We make for a row of trees that shelters a creek we call Oper’s. That’s “old person’s” because the creek flows very slowly. A rock fall as created a silent pool. It is home to a monster trout seen by many and hooked by none. We fish with our calves rubbing smooth stones furred by moss.

As morning gives way to afternoon, the heat becomes liquid, fueling big thunderheads that purple the horizon. We see faces billowing out of the stacks – presidents and movie actresses and that damned Sunday school teacher who makes us sing “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child.”

By late afternoon it is time to go home. We pass the wrecked crop duster, the elm struck by lightning because a witch is buried there, the copse of trees where the Privettes squeeze their ’shine. We go three ways with a promise to reunite after supper.

The shadows grow long. The air cools. The trees along Hampton Street come alive with noises as the Boogeyman awakens from his day-long slumber.

Then it is night and we are out again, chasing the spectral fireflies that float amongst the branches. Folks are lining up at the theater, and the VFW is jumping with badly played clarinets and trumpets.

Out in the fields, away from the trees, the sky unfolds before us. The ghostly tails of comets blend with clouds of stars that stretch into forever.

It is there, staring into God’s cool, infinite eye, that I recognize heaven for what it is: an innocence and purity and truth.

But more than that it is an acknowledgement that the world and our lives form a wonderful mystery we will never solve.

The night is strange and immense and beautiful.

I am in heaven.

This column was originally published in the April 2, 1997 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.

About the author:

Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”

Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.

As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.

Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .