The Green Room

Souls waiting for their turn with the host

If you are of a certain age, you probably watched late-night TV, programs such as The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. And if you’re really old, you can remember Jack Paar, who was there before Johnny, and Steve Allen, who was before Jack.

Allen introduced celebrities like Don Knotts, Tom Poston, Louie Nye, and Steve Lawrence and Edie Gormé to television audiences. There were also hosts Jay Leno, Arsenio Hall, Conan O’Brien, and David Letterman. No matter who you watched they all had a green room.

Each host had a green room, the room where the guests would wait until their turn. Often you would hear guests say, “when I was back in the green room” or, “when I was sitting in the green room, I met...”

What if?

I had this thought: suppose there is a green room in Heaven. A waiting room for our souls. Each soul has five minutes to tell their story to an audience of souls before a “final” interview by Saint Peter, God, or whatever may be in charge.

There could be five or 25 or even 100 souls sitting and waiting in the green room. Now what would each one be thinking about?

This is it. This is your big shot. You got to go out there and woo the audience and then talk to the man in charge.

What do you suppose some of these souls are thinking?

Keep in mind, a lot of humanness remains within these souls for they have not completely crossed over.

Eleanor

Let’s look at the soul of Eleanor McKenzie, a 60-year-old CEO, a woman who broke the glass ceiling of a sports box store chain.

Eleanor was a stylish brunette, slim, and outgoing, and physically fit, but she smoked way too many cigarettes. That contributed to her early death.

Let’s listen to Eleanor’s thoughts.

“Must I tell them that it’s all a front? I was totally scared most of the time. I spent most of my life as an actor, portraying a woman with courage, an imagination, and the ability to get things done.

I couldn’t wait to get home to my two cats, Cecil and Beanie. I would sit on the couch, drinking espresso martinis, a mixture of Kahlua, vodka, and fresh espresso, but I put a cherry in it.

I really never had a boyfriend. I would spend weekends watching old movies of Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. I would get up from my couch, imagining I was Ginger in the arms of Fred, as we danced across my living room.

Then I would sit on the couch and weep and ask God to remove my fears, but they never left.”

Bernie

Bernie Ofstroff had been a minor-league umpire. Then, he bought a bar, the 11^th Street Grill. It was a classy neighborhood bar with good seafood. He owned it for seven years. For the rest of his life, Bernie sold cars, Chevys. He passed over at 72 years of age.

Bernie’s biggest secret— he took bribes as an umpire which gave him the down payment for the 11th Street Grill.

To atone, he gave generous anonymous gifts to local sports organizations for children.

He never told anybody that he wrote poetry. He had boxes full of poetry that went unread except by Bernie’s own eyes.

Bernie’s soul sits in the green room, choosing a poem to accompany his long overdue confession.

Should it be short and humorous like:

Pig Postcard

We oink, we snort, we root, and we have no manners.

We wallow in our mire.

We act like our tails are not curled.

We sleep and dream of self-centered greed.

We can be lazy and extremely rude.

So, you see it’s all up to you.

You can be better than you are.

You can be a Hog!

Or should Bernie go with a more somber one?

A Hunter

We hunt and search and look and seek.

As if happiness is a prize.

It’s hard, tiresome, and painful.

Sometimes we find false peace or happiness, only for a brief time.

Then we go back to the hunt and the pain

We forget our true journey; we forget to seek truth.

And when we find the bounty that we search for,

the love within us and the happiness with God.

We seem surprised.

Maybe he should read both.

Sarah and Rachel

Two 10-year-old girls just met in the green room. Their souls take a human form because of their youth. They are frail and thin. They have smooth, bald heads. Their eyes speak a volume of emotions and questions.

Sarah is from New York City, and Rachel is from a small town in Iowa. Their hearts know each other as if they were sisters. They have already agreed to go on stage together.

Sarah asks: “What do you think we should say first? That we are happy to be here? That cancer is not a bad word?”

“I think that’s a smart thing to do,” Rachel agrees. “We should not talk about the pain until later. Tell them we learned that love really matters. We were loved. That was the best thing.”

“Love is better than ice cream and puppies,” Sarah says. “Maybe puppies are part of love.”

They know where there is love, there is no fear.

Bob

Bob Stewart’s soul sits in the corner, spiraling with fear.

“I did a horrible thing.”

He didn’t want to say it, but he would have to. He paced the green room floor.

“I molested my daughter. I only did it once,” he says. “I am not like the pervert who does it to kids he doesn’t even know. Every time I look at my daughter, I can see that animal that violated her.”

He sits on the green room couch, but his knee won’t stop bouncing. He puts his hand on it to stop it.

“I was a Boy Scout leader. I served on I don’t know how many committees at church… Did I do enough good? What do they already know? What do I have to admit?”

He starts to pace again. He doesn’t want to go to Hell.

“I should be punished. I don’t know what happened. Did I lose my mind? What I do know is that I wish it never happened.”

Mary Ann

Mary Ann Copcheck’s soul looks at the rest.

“My biggest problem is pride,” she says. “I was a defensive know-it-all, and I criticized. I always had an excuse.

I hate to admit how many times I said, ‘If you would have done what I said, it would be much better.’

I was a good mother. All three kids turned out to be really good adults. They’re successful, good-natured, and loving parents.

I worked part-time at the gift shop. I gave my time to feed the homeless. I knit mittens, gloves, and scarves to hand out on frosty winter nights.

I helped neighbors, and I gave to charities. I was a good friend. I always listened to the ladies in my book club when they complained, but they never took my advice. If they had, it would have made their lives better.

All those years I chaired the church bazaar, nobody thanked me for all my time, all the money I raised, my hard work.”

Pride goeth before destruction.

“The journey I was on would have been a lot easier and so much more joyful, if I didn’t have such an ego, full of pride. Maybe I understand.”

Bucky

Fred Buchannon, or Bucky as most people called him, is a barroom, shot-and-a-beer guy. Has a tattoo for each of his four children and a heart with his wife’s name, Patty. He worked as a welder for 20 years.

Bucky was hiking in the woods when a bee stung him. Unfortunately, he forgot his EpiPen. By the time they got the paramedics to him… Bucky had passed over at the age of 46.

When Bucky’s soul stands in front of the audience, he says, “I was a simple guy. All my life, I worked hard and played hard. I loved my wife and children. I did the right things. But I have a lot of questions. Why me? I haven’t finished yet. I still have to put kids through college. I want to see my grandchildren. I was just starting to understand about the Divine and the universe. I don’t get it. Why me?”

Benny B.

Now you take Benjamin Bottoms, whom his friends call “Benny B.”

“Here I am, standing in front of 100 seasoned souls and I’m not prepared.

I went to Sunday school, and I thought that Moses and Jesus lived in the same neighborhood. All the pictures showed them dressed in the same robes and sandals.

I missed the part that explained that Moses lived 1300 years before Jesus.

When it came to the Golden Rule, I missed that part, too. I did understand ‘Do unto others.’ If someone screws you, you screw them back.

I missed the whole part about being kind.

The seven deadly sins… I guess I missed that part, too. I never liked the phrase ‘Seven Deadly Sins.’ For me it is more like: the seven things that can really fuck you up.

I did not miss that part.

You take anger. You see, I thought if you acted… only acted… if you acted real pissed off, you could get your way. If you acted really, really pissed off, you could get control.

But sometimes the acting stopped, and real rage took over.

Then you were really fucked.

For me, anger therapy was drawing faces of the people you hated on carrots, then dropping them down the garbage disposal.

I missed the part of looking beyond the anger and seeing your fears. Fear is a thief that steals time, energy, and opportunities. Also sets the tone for prejudice. Fear tells you a story that is not true.

Fear can be like fake news.

Pride is a little tricky. There is a little bit of all the other six— anger, sloth, greed, envy, gluttony, and lust— within pride. A self-centered outlook is a survival skill. Pride helped me get by.

Later on in my time on Earth, I found I didn’t miss anything at all. It was just deeper in my soul. I had to go through all the human crap to find the soul that was learning the essential awareness of true life. Like a puzzle, but no one showed me the right picture before I started putting it together.

So, I stand here in front of 100 seasoned souls, surprised but not surprised.

Where else could I tell my story?”

Suppose you were one of the souls sitting in the green room.

How do you imagine it would be for you?

I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, click the little heart and feel free to leave me a comment. I love hearing from you.

If you made it through this long story, thank you!

God bless and have fun!

Larry

Books from LarryLand

I have four books now in print:

1. The Death of Big Butch, a novella about a father’s journey to learn about friendship and provide for his family set in one week in 1974

2. Coffee in the Morning, my collection of short stories inspired by life, dreams, and fantasy. (And it has a couple poems, too.)

3. Bookworm’s Magical Journey, my dyslexia-friendly children’s book that explores the concepts of reading via whimsical creatures in the forest. Illustrated by Joseph Swarctz.

4. Frog and Crow’s Conversation, a fable for children and adults about decision-making. I illustrated the book myself.