the staircase

Charles found himself standing at the foot of a staircase in an old house. The banister was dark polished oak and the stairs were carpeted with an oriental patterned rug. At the top, he could see an impeccably dressed dark-skinned man in a dark blue suit with a red silk tie. He was standing in front of a red rope attached to two short poles, barring the entrance to the room at the top, like at a theater. The door to the room was partially open and he could see a bright light beyond it, but not much more. A woman was walking up the stairs. Upon meeting the man at the top, she and the man spoke a short while and he unhooked the rope and allowed her to pass.

He took the first step up the staircase looking at that open door. The man at the top looked down at him unsmiling. At Charles reached the top his nervousness was at its peak. With hands sweating and his throat dry, he managed a whispered a hello to the man. The man returned a smile and a offered a deep hello. He said his name was Peter. Charles asked him if he could pass through the door. Peter gave him a soulful look and shook his head. “No, Charles, you cannot.”

“But, I was a good person in life.” Charles began to plead. “I went to church every Sunday. I had good friends and had an important and influential job for most of my life. I don’t understand. What was the difference between me and the person before me?” He asked. “Well,” Peter explained. “It is not what you have amassed in life, or the station one attains in society. It isn’t the size of a person’s house or the value of their possessions Charles. I have watched you throughout your life. Yours was a selfish life. None of what you had accomplished brought happiness to any other person other than yourself. Attending mass every Sunday is not a ticket through the door.

“Please go back down the stairs and out the door. Your challenge to prove your worth in your world awaits you. I wish you well. Remember to love and learn to understand others in your life.” Charles, with his head down, slowly made his way down the stairs. Charles paused as he stood at the front door with his hand on the knob. Emotions were rushing through him. His mind was swimming with thoughts and images of what could be beyond that door.

Opening the door, he saw a taxi parked at the curb with the rear passenger door open. Charles walked up to the cab and got in. “where ya going mate?” the cabbie said with a rough British accent. “I don’t know where I’m headed,” Charles said. “Don’t worry I got you covered.” The cab pulled away from the curb and meandered through a quiet English neighborhood. A half an hour later the cab stopped. “You’re here Mate, Enjoy!” the cabbie offered. Charles opened the door and stepped out. In front of him was a homeless shelter. There was a line of homeless waiting for the kitchen to open.