Session Eight: Abel’s Letter from Section A1
LETTER FROM ABEL TO BARBARA (HEAVEN, SECTION A1, ROW SOLO)
Scrawled on the back of a foam finger that says “#1 Martyr.” Folded inside an empty nacho tray. The ink smells like eternity and sour mustard.
Dear Barbara,
So… it’s been a minute. You said you’d meet me here. Said we’d process “The Incident” once you arrived. Pretty sure “soon” means something different up here, but okay.
Anyway—figured I’d get a head start.
First off: the stadium is empty. Like, really empty. I was the first one in. Thought that would feel epic. But honestly? It’s mostly weird. Like being the guy who gets to the party before the host finishes putting on pants.
I’ve had time to explore. Touched every football. Wore every jersey. Did a full slide across the 50-yard line. Got a little rug burn, but healing’s instant here so who cares.
I may have burped into the PA system. Twice.
And you’d think heaven would have more ambiance. But the playlist up here? It’s just Bob Seger and Queen. On loop. Don’t get me wrong, “We Will Rock You” hits different when you’ve literally been rocked into eternity—but can we not with “Old Time Rock and Roll” for the 73rd millennium?
The food’s not bad, but the shawarma grill still isn’t lit. They keep saying it’s a “seasonal feature,” which is strange because we don’t have seasons.
I’m trying to notice my feelings like you taught me.
I’m journaling more.
Like… is it weird that every time I see a new vending machine I assume it’s Cain sneaking in?
Or that I swear the foam fingers are watching me now?
Also—mom and dad.
I thought they’d show up by now.
I keep imagining what they’ll say when they get here. “We tried our best”? “He was the good one”? “Sorry we let you both become offerings in different ways”?
And Cain…
I’ve stopped imagining our reunion. That way I can’t be disappointed.
Anyway, I guess I’m still here. Still in the upper deck.
First in line. First to fall. First to wonder if being first meant anything.
Let me know when you’re coming.
Section A1.
I saved you a seat.
– Abel
P.S. There’s a guy two rows over who swears he’s Enoch. He brought a tambourine. Please hurry.