Marcus’s head bobs, and he snaps awake from his nap. Safe and sound strapped in his child seat, he glances out the car window and sees nothing but white. His eyes widen, and he searches the windows but only sees white with hints of something beyond the fluffy substance surrounding the car.
His mother smiles at him and says, “It is called fog. The clouds came down to the ground.”
Clouds? How can the clouds surround them? Fear grips him.
He glances around at his mother and the other passengers, but no one seems worried or concerned.
Marcus relaxes. He had a good run, three and a half: almost four years. Marcus ate birthday cake. He rode horses, and his family went on long rides together and traveled. He lived a good life.
He wonders when they will see God. Will he come to visit each of them separately or as a group? He peers into the fog, trying to spot an angel. Hearing the adults chattering, he sighs with relief. His mother and father made it to heaven. He would miss them if they didn’t. Good thing they baptized him so he could go to heaven too.
Did they drive the car to heaven? How did they die?
The white clouds rushing by the windows start to lift. The ground reappears. First, Marcus sees the road zipping by. Then the ditches, full of grass. Fences come into view. The clouds clear off the fields revealing soybeans and stalks of corn.
Heaven looks a lot like Iowa, Marcus thinks to himself.
“The fog is finally lifting,” his grandmother states.
Marcus realizes heaven rejected them and gave them a second chance. His eyes blink as he struggles to stay awake, and then he gives in to the lulling of the road.
