The Beginning

“He will see you now,” the woman says to me, nodding briefly at the office door. 

I rise to my feet shakily. What am I doing here?

            “He’s waiting,” the woman says, giving me a reproving look. I’ve frozen on the spot. “For goodness sake, girl, get in there. He’s requested you.”

            My mouth dries. “Why does He want to see me?”

            She sighs. “For the same reason He sees everyone else, I’d imagine. Now, please, go in. I’m busy.”

            For a moment, I consider running right out of there – though I’m not sure my legs will let me, or if, indeed, the woman will let me. I don’t know how it works. I’m not ready for this. I can’t do it. Why has He requested me, of all people? There are so many others – so many who long for this, who bombard Him with pleas and applications. How has He even noticed me?

            I still haven’t moved. The woman’s gaze lingers on me for a few seconds, until it finally seems to dawn on her that I physically can’t get my limbs to work. She sighs, exasperated, and rises from her desk. I barely feel her grip on my arms, all pincer nails and crushing fingers, pushing me to the door. I’m numb all over.

            “Come on, girl. Stop fretting. Most people would kill for this chance. Be grateful.”

            I say nothing. Her white hand grasps the door handle and wrenches it open.

            Suddenly I’m in a room. The room. I have no memory of entering, and when I jerk my head round I see that the door has vanished without a trace. The sight of the walls makes me squint; they’re a spotless shade of pure white, so immaculate that they look like they’re not there at all, like I could wander straight through them – like I’m not trapped. I press my hands against the place where the door once was, wishing I could sink through it, back to normality, safety, routine. I wonder if the woman is out there. Am I even in the same realm anymore?

            “Hello, Nicola.”

            I whip back round at the sound of His voice, a frenzy of shock pulsing through my body. As I turn, I am met with the sight of Him sat at a desk opposite me, fingers neatly interlaced under His chin, the absolute epitome of calm. His composure is baffling, seeming alien in my panicked presence, and it does nothing to sooth me – if anything, it does the opposite. Because, calm or not, He is here. The being I’ve only ever heard about. The one I thought I’d never meet.

            God.

Today, he’s taken the form of a privileged businessman. The clipped hairstyle, smooth face and pinstripe suit is pretty far from his speculated appearance, and I can’t help but stare, caught somewhere between horror and admiration. He stares straight back, eyes roving over my ruffled form, and it feels as though he’s taking me to pieces, staring into my very depths, examining me.

Suddenly, he smiles. It’s a surprisingly gentle look, but it still doesn’t lessen my fear.

“Have a seat, Nicola,” he says kindly.

I’m on the chair opposite him before I can even motion towards it. I’m vaguely aware of dimpled leather, of light glancing off the wooden table in front of me, but my eyes won’t leave His face. This can’t be real. I can’t be here.

“It’s all very real, Nicola.”

I flinch.

“You can read my thoughts?” I whisper. It’s the first thing I’ve said since I was summoned.

He laughs. “Of course not, I just know what you’re thinking.”

I swallow. My mouth feels like sandpaper - whatever sandpaper feels like.

“Why am I here?” I mumble.

He smiles and leans forwards, and I can’t meet his eyes. I know what’s coming.

“Life, Nicola. Surely you know that,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. Like I should be pleased.

Like I should want this.

I bow my head, and tear escapes from between my eyelids. He sees.

“Don’t you want to be born, Nicola? Don’t you want to live?” he asks, concerned, like it’s news to him.

I wipe my eyes hastily, but I say nothing. How can I?

I exist in a point before life. All of us do, in this realm. We go about our own routinely business, doing what we wish, until we receive the call. The call from God. That’s when we have to go and meet him, and he sends us to Earth. To be born. To live a life.

Lots of souls await the call with longing, with anticipation – even excitement. They eagerly wish to live – they want it. They want to be born as a child, to grow up, make mistakes, do all the things that we hear about in our pre-life. They say real life is like nothing else in the whole universe, that it is the very best thing.

They want all that I am afraid of.

“I see,” He says, nodding slowly. “You’re scared.”

I don’t say a word. I don’t have to.

“Tell me why, Nicola.”

I sniff quietly. Why? Why have I been terrified all this time? Why have I sat through my centuries-long pre-life with such fear stirring inside of me, my soul a well of all things unwanted so deep and dark that even I can’t remember where it stops, or, indeed, where it began.

“I have no idea how to do it,” I whisper, barely audible.

“What? To live?” He sounds troubled.

“Yes.”

His tone is inquisitive. “What are you worried about?”

What am I worried about? The words stir something inside me, something that feels hot, dark, and all-consuming; something that feels remarkably like anger.

“What am I worried about?” I hiss. “What if I do it wrong? This is a one-time opportunity, and I know that I’ll ruin it all – you can’t trust me with this! I don’t know how it will feel! I won’t remember who I am! How will I know if I’m making the right choices? I can’t. I just can’t!” My voice is lilting with hysteria; I’m almost shrieking. At God.

He surveys me quietly, frowning. It’s not disappointed look, more a concerned one. Somehow, that annoys me even more.

“Why does it matter?” He asks.

I let out a sound of disbelief. He’s supposed to be all-knowing!

“Because there’s no going back! I can’t return to pre-life, I’ll be stuck there, being scared and miserable – and it’ll all be worse, because I’ll feel it all in that human way. I’ll let people down, because that’s what people do, and waste it all, because that’s what people do too. And- and then I’ll die – and where will I end up? I don’t know anything!”

I stand up abruptly, though I have no idea where I intend to go. I am trapped. Shut up in God’s little toy box, patched up and ready to be shipped off.

“Sit down, Nicola. Let me talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you! I want to go back!”

“Back where? That realm doesn’t exist for you anymore. You are ready to be born.”

“Why? Why me? I’m not ready!”

God smiles again, and I want to scream at him.

            “You are ready, Nicola. You just don’t want to be,” he says.

            I pause. What does he mean, ‘I don’t want to be’? Does he think I liked existing like this, forever terrified at the thought of receiving the call?

            “There are others. There are souls who pray to you, longing to live,” I say hoarsely.

            “But they aren’t ready. They are still growing. Don’t you see, Nicola? Your fear is what makes you complete.”

            I stop, waiting for the words to make sense. They don’t.

            “What are you talking about?” I ask accusingly.

            He stands up and reaches across the desk, twining his fingers through mine and looking intently into my eyes. “Life is not for those who expect it to be wonderful. Life is not for those who would welcome it with open arms. Life is for those who are scared, who understand its difficulty, who fully appreciate the pain it brings, but who will do it anyway.”

            I stare at Him. “What?”

            “Life is not easy. Life is not something to look forward to. It is painful, hard, and by no means a pleasant experience. It is enough to break you, ruin you, and tear you apart. It is the longest and hardest thing you will ever do. But it is worth everything.”

            I find that I’m clenching His hands back, like they’re the only thing that anchors me to reality.

            “How can it be?” I ask, and my voice is dry.

            “You need the pain, my child, to appreciate the happiness. When you are living, and you are terrified, and you are shaking with desperation and sadness, you will all but wish to die. And when you are smiling, screaming with happiness, bursting open into the whole world, you will want nothing more than to live forever, because you will understand the true value of your bliss. The pain keeps you alive, Nicola.”

“But what if I don’t get any? What if I make mistakes?”

            His hands move from mine, cupping my face. His gaze penetrates me, and I know he is looking into my depths – down that well of fear, at all the things I fear.

            “Oh, Nicola. What does it matter? You are one soul, in one life, in one person who will die just like everyone else. No matter what impression you make, there will be a time in the years to come when you are forgotten by everyone - so it doesn’t matter what you do. This is a one-time chance – I’m giving you eighty-two years to use as you will. Stop trying to perfect what can’t be perfected. Just make of it what you will. That will be enough.”

            His hand seems to plunge right into the well, past all things buried, dark and twisted, and reach the very base of it all – the very beginning. And there, from the bottom, he casts an arc of light, which shines up, up, and up, through the distress, illuminating everything, scything through the fear and shattering it. For a moment, everything is fragments, like shards of glass reflecting an undying meaning.    

            I’m ready.

He says nothing, but there’s a mutual glance between us that lets him know I understand, that I’m prepared to be brave.

His hands fall away from my face, and his fingers interlock softly with mine. With an encouraging nod, He guides me round the chair, and I’m met with the sight of the door. No – not the door; it looks different – the glass has a blurred look, as though glazed with hot breath, and there are faint handprints littering the surface, dripping like candle wax. I can see a faint yellow glow rippling on the other side of the glass, and there’s a seeping noise that’s like music but not quite.

I have no idea what it is. I think it’s life.

As we reach the door, I turn to Him. I have just one last question.

“Who am I going to be?”

            He grins at me, and I can’t help but smile back. It’s a brave smile. The sort that has faith.

            “Go and find out,” He says, and He reaches for the door.

            The baby cries pitifully in the woman’s arms, but the sound is like music to her ears. Hardly beautiful, of course, but so real, so reassuring, and that’s what she needs right now. Though a child of barely a few hours old, the cries emit more meaning than anything she’s ever heard – they seem to scream out the words ‘I am alive, I am alive’ and that’s all she wants to hear, all she’s ever wanted to hear. Her child, alive, for all the world to see.

            A nurse approaches the woman’s side, grinning.

            “She’s beautiful,” she says, over the child’s wailing. “Have you thought of a name for her yet?”

            The mother smiles, answering in a voice enriched with love and promise.

            “Nicola,” she says.