What Happens Next?

It happened on a sunny August afternoon. It was the warmest day that week. I still remember the rays of sun on my skin, the breeze, sweeping my hair back. I still remember my parents, how they laughed and joked. I still remember my little sister, her jacket flapping in the wind. I still remember how Mommy told me to remember to look both ways before I cross the street when I offered to get my little sister an ice cream cone. I still remember how I scoffed at her remark, still remember how I thought I didn't need any coaching crossing the street.

But little did I know.

Little did I know that crossing the street was the worst decision of my life.

Little did I know that I would never see my family again.

Little did I know.

And when I almost made it to the other side, I remember thinking triumphantly that I didn't need Mommy to hold my hand and lead me across the street anymore. I remember how proud I was.

But then it happened.

The car was speeding towards me, fast. I was horrified, rooted to the spot. I couldn't think, I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe---

And then it was over, as soon as it began. 

My conscious slipped into darkness.

* * * * * *

I didn't know what time it was when I woke up, nor did I know where I was. My head throbbed with pain. I sat up, and found myself in a plastic chair in a big, carpeted room. The wall was wallpapered with blue and white stripes. There was a desk, and behind it sat a lady, her hair all up in a bun, writing something on a notepad. 

 It looked a little bit like the dentist's. I gulped. I didn't like the dentist.

"Ah, you're awake!" the lady said, standing up, smiling, "How's your head, Sweetheart?"

"It hurts," I replied, honestly, although as of right now, I was too fascinated by the scene around me to care about my head, "Where am I?"

"Oh, you're in the Waiting Room, Sweetheart," the lady told me gently.

"But why am I here? I want my Mommy."

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm afraid your Mommy can't come here. No living mortal can."

"Living? Does that mean I'm dead? Since I'm here?"

The lady looked at me and chuckled.

"You're quite intelligent for someone your age. Yes, sweetheart. This is the Waiting Room to Heaven." 

Right then and there, I burst out in tears, sobbing, which made my head hurt even worse.

"Shh, shh, sweetheart," the lady muttered, patting my head sympathetically, "It's okay. You'll see your mother again. You just have to wait a little while."

At the word wait, I looked up.

"Will I wait in this room long?"

"Only until the doctor is ready for you."

"The doctor? Is he a dentist?"

The lady laughed, a musical, melodious laugh.

"Of course not. Don't be afraid. It's easier than most health checks and way easier, trust me, than dentist appointments. You'll be fine."

"But--"

"Hush, now little one, you best go back to sleep."

I argued no longer. Already a fuzziness was coming over my head, and I had to drift on right back to a deep, dreamless sleep.

* *  * * * *

"Melanie Ford?"

I awoke to the sound of someone calling my name.

"Yes?' I asked drowsily.

It was a tall, bald man, clad in a long, white robe. He had a white mustache and beard, twinkling blue eyes and a pair of glasses on his nose.

"We're ready for you."

And then my moments of panic began again. Would he give me a shot? Or worse, if I didn't pass his "health check" would he think I'm not worthy of Heaven and send me to-- I dared not finish the thought as I followed behind the doctor. We came into a large, comfortable-looking white room with a nice, cozy sofa.

"Well, Melanie, sit down," the doctor smiled at me.

I smiled uneasily back.

"Don't worry," he told me, "This test is easier than most others you find at hospitals and dentist's and such. It won't even hurt one bit. I'll just ask you a few questions and we'll be done."

I nodded nervously, my palms sweating.

"How old are you, Melanie?"

"I'm seven."

And the questions went on. About my family, my cat, my life, basically everything.

And after he was done, he smiled, satisfied, putting his pen down.

"Very good, Melanie, very good."

He nodded curtly to me before opening the door--

"Wait!" I called.

The doctor turned.

"What is it?"

"Can I ask you a question?'

"What question?"

"What happens next?"

"That, my dear, depends on God."