The Afterlife Needs Better Signage

How it begins

Margaret Stone followed the sign for REUNIONS and arrived in Accounts.

A man behind a desk looked up from a ledger.

'Common problem,' he said.

'I would call it a serious problem.'

'You're newly arrived.'

Margaret had painted signs for forty-two years. She knew the difference between a confusing arrow and a person using an arrow as an excuse.

The afterlife had excellent light, comfortable chairs and no apparent understanding of direction. Every corridor curved pleasantly out of sight. Every sign used a script someone had mistaken for welcoming.

The man introduced himself as Arthur Lane, volunteer guide. He looked eighty-two, which she appreciated. If everyone had become twenty-five on arrival, she would have lodged a complaint.

'My sister is expecting me,' she said.

'Eventually, yes.'

'When?'

'Time is different here.'

'So is signage. Neither is an answer.'

Arthur closed the ledger. A small smile appeared beneath his mustache.

'Would you like to see the map?'

He unrolled a sheet across three desks. The map contained a lake, seventeen gardens, a hall of welcome and nine arrows labeled THIS WAY. None pointed in the same direction.

Margaret took a pencil from the desk. It made a reassuring ordinary mark.

'Where are we?'

Arthur pointed to a place that had been erased and redrawn several times.

'And where is the exit?'

The question changed his face. Not alarm exactly. Something closer to the expression of a person hearing a familiar tune after years of silence.

'Most people don't ask.'

'Most people haven't spent half an hour trying to find their sister.'

He looked toward the corridor. A gentle chime sounded, followed by an announcement that comfort was available indefinitely.

Margaret drew a plain arrow. For the first time since arriving, she felt she might have found a use for the rest of her life, whatever they chose to call it here.