Here we are, Day 23, one more week and I have once again completed my challenge. I was getting a bit heavy on you for a couple of nights; I decided tonight to give all of us a break and get whimsical. I won’t tell you what was going through my head, because that would be a spoiler. But I did just want to have a little fun with this one. So here it is, First Impressions.

And five more fabulous women.

• Aphra Behn, spy for King Charles II of England; turned playwright when he refused to pay her

• Emily Dickinson, simply the best poet that ever lived

• Martina Navritilova, Czech tennis player

• Florence Nightingale, nurse

• Rihanna, Barbados singer, actress, and fashion designer

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Lloyd thought it had been a good day. In fact, up to this moment, it was on track to be the best day of his life. Then…well, there’s something about dying that messes up that great day. Now it would just be the last day of his life.

He stared at the mangled body on the ground, half out of the car. That was him. It was hard to believe, but it was. Look at him. The prime of life. A fine body, at 55 still a man any woman would want, any woman would choose over other men. A man who had just, today, gotten free of that middle-aged…no, old…woman who insisted she was his wife. Not anymore. He was on his way home to that little 20 year old who couldn’t keep her hands off him, on his way home to let her know the marriage was on, and some dumbass…probably a fat, middle-aged woman...ran a red light.

He saw the other driver. Still alive, of course. On a stretcher, but still alive. Wow, look at that. A man. And not just any man, a man of about his age, in a business suit, sober and serious. Well, he supposed men could be bad drivers, though he always expected the worst ones to be women and teens.

Someone grabbed him from behind as he watched his own body loaded onto the stretcher. The scene faded out, and he lost consciousness. The world ended for him, and now…what? He was on his way to wherever he would go. He sent up a quick prayer to God, hoping prayers would still work after you were dead. Then he succumbed to the delicious feeling of falling asleep.

When he woke up, he was in…a waiting room? No, it looked more like the lobby of Olive Garden. He sniffed. It smelled like Olive Garden, too. This might not be so bad, if heaven was an Olive Garden. He could go for pasta every day…every hour, if they permitted. He patted his stomach and his mouth watered.

“Lloyd Martin.” A man with a clipboard waved his direction.

“That’s me!” Lloyd bounced to his feet in the move he referred to as his youthful step. He stumbled and cursed himself. What a doofus to make such an impression on his first day in heaven.

The man led him to a large room where a panel of men sat around a table with gadgets. Measuring tapes. Scales. Weights. All sorts of things to take the measure of a man. He stood with his legs apart and his arms out while they measured every direction. Probably for his gown. And halo, he thought as they put the tape measure around his head.

“Big head.” The man with the clipboard frowned. “Fat head.”

“Not fat”, Lloyd protested. “It’s all muscle in there.”

“Yeah. Okay.” The man mumbled and made another note. Lloyd craned to see what he wrote, but the paper appeared blank.

“So you want to sit with God?” A serious, important looking man spoke for the first time. “You want to serve God?”

“Very much”, Lloyd answered. “I’ve wanted that since I was five. Maybe before, but I don’t remember much earlier.”

“Why? What are your qualifications?”

“Well, let’s see. I’ve attended church…faithfully.” Lloyd crossed his fingers, hoping Christmas and Easter would count as faithful. “I tithed…once. I prayed. I was…I was…a good person. That’s right, a good person. I adopted a cat from the shelter; she was a good cat. I taught my son the Pledge of Allegiance and how to throw a baseball. I…I was a good…accountant.” Lloyd marked off his qualifications on his fingers. “And I had an unlimited balance on my MasterCharge”, he added helpfully.

“Uh huh.” The important man made a gesture, and the man with the clipboard moved toward him. “Let’s see. You are middle-aged, going on elderly.” Lloyd started to protest, but the man shushed him. “You are overweight…by at least 60 pounds. You have a receding hairline, three cavities, and several liver spots.”

“I am not overweight!”

The man with the clipboard waved the clipboard at him. “The numbers are right here. They don’t lie.”

“It’s blank!”

“To you. Not to us.” The important looking man stood. “Look at that beer belly.”

Lloyd put his hand on his belly, and for the first time realized it wasn’t as rock hard as he had believed it to be for so long. “Okay, so I put on a couple of pounds. Most of us do when we get older. You can barely notice it.”

“Face it, you look like the Buddha.” The man wrinkled his nose in distaste. “No, you won’t do. God has standards.”

“But…isn’t there anything? I’ll do…anything.” Lloyd was worried. It suddenly occurred to him that he might have promised more than he could deliver. No telling what “anything” might mean to God.

The man threw a couple of weights to him. He missed them, and they thudded on the ground. “Pick them up.” Lloyd did. “Work out.”

The men left, and Lloyd was alone. A line of workout machines appeared along the wall, which now had mirrors so he could see himself in them. He stared at the apparition, barely recognizing himself. Who was this fat old man? Where was Lloyd Martin? Maybe Lloyd disappeared in all those trips to Olive Garden, always agreeing when they asked if he’d like dessert.

He climbed onto one of the treadmills and started to run. He slowed to a walk, unable to keep up the pace. He switched to a recumbent bike and peddled slowly until the panel of men returned.

“Okay, let’s see how you did.” The measurements again, the clipboard again. The important looking man again. “Lost…one and a half pounds. Well, there’s no more time. You have to go for your interview now.”

The man with the clipboard pushed Lloyd through a door. He was alone on the other side. No, wait, he wasn’t alone. There was someone else in the room, probably someone else waiting for their interview. The figure at the window turned; she was a middle-aged woman, somewhat ordinary looking, sort of reminded him of his wife. He mumbled a greeting, but kept his back pressed to the door while he looked around.

It was a nicely furnished room, contemporary and tasteful. Light green curtains on the window, blowing in the breeze. The wall was a pale yellow, and there were yellow daffodils in a vase on the table. Not bad, not bad. At least they had a decent decorator. He hoped his room would be somewhat more…manly…though.

“Come over here.” The woman held out her hand.

He shook his head. “I’m waiting for my interview.”

“It’s started already.”

“We’re being watched?” He looked around for the camera.

The woman laughed, not unpleasant, but it sounded somewhat ironic. He moved toward the offered hand and stood beside her at the window.

“There. You recognize her?”

Lloyd nodded. “That’s my…my…fiancée. She…I imagine…she’s pretty broken up.”

“She’s laughing.” The woman pointed. “That’s her boyfriend. She gave him your Maserati. I’m sure she’s delighted that you died so soon after changing your will. It made everything a lot easier for her. No messy divorce, no fake tears…just clean and clear.”

“That’s not true. She loved me. She was…passionate.”

“Sure. Tell yourself that. Many a middle-aged man has managed to convince themselves a twenty-year-old swimsuit model has the hots for them, but do you think she would have been interested in you if you were a bus driver? Or a busboy?”

Lloyd groaned. It was hard to mistake the look of joy on Nadine’s face, a look that he hadn’t really seen before. She looked into the eyes of the young man next to her with a longing that he had only imagined she had for him. It was…

“Okay, so what? You’re a brutal bitch, and I probably deserve it. I’m going over here. I’ll wait for God on the other side of the room.”

“Wait for God? You’re waiting for…God?” The woman doubled over with laughter. “Waiting…for…God.”

“But…I am going to see him, right? I mean, this is heaven, right? I don’t see any fire, smell any brimstone.” Lloyd was confused.

“Oh, yes, this is heaven. And yes, you will see God. In fact, you’ve already seen God.”

“Oh.” Lloyd thought about all the people he had seen since he arrived. Surely not the man with the clipboard. “Oh! He must be…that important looking man…the one that asked all the questions. Now he’s testing me, right?”

The woman turned her back and looked out the window. She pointed at something in the distance. Lloyd couldn’t hold back his curiosity; he looked. She was pointing at…well, he wasn’t sure. “What?”

“Made you look.” The woman turned back to Lloyd and held his eyes. She kept him in a stare down until he blinked. “Okay, you blinked first. I thought you would.”

“What? What do you want from me? Okay, I give. You made me look. You made me blink? So what? So what?” Lloyd shouted, getting red in the face. “I just…I just want to be with God. What’s so bad about that?”

“You had your chance.” The woman turned and walked out of the room. “But you won’t do.”

A bell rang, and the door opened. The man with the clipboard entered. “Come on, buddy, time to go to your new room.”

“But…I want to sit with God.”

“You had your chance. You blew it.”

“That’s what she said. What does it mean?”

The man gave him a look of pity mixed with contempt. “Dude. You blew it. God…well, that was God.” He pointed at the door where the woman left.

“What? You mean…God…is a middle aged woman?”

The man nodded, sadly. “Yeah. Hey, I’m sorry, man, I really am. I left my wife in middle age, too. She was real nice to her next husband, nice like she had been to me. But me? I got a young cutie, who put me through hell. When she poisoned me, I thought…at least I’ll be able to sit with God. Nobody ever told me…told any of us…God is a middle-aged woman.”