When the usher escorted me into the auditorium, a feeling of deja vu washed over me. There was something familiar about the place. The room was no different from any other theater aside from its cavernous size. Walking past rows of empty padded seats, flipped upwards not in use, I looked towards the balcony. A shadowy figure stood out of view, looking down upon the scene as it unfolded.

Curtains pulled back, the stage sat vacant, devoid of props and cast. Leaning against the rear stage wall, a forgotten section of backdrop was turned sideways, its support brackets hobbled, unable to stand upright on its own. The painted plywood image depicted white fluffy clouds offset by an arctic blue sky. In front of the stage, a string of velvet ropes cordoned off the orchestra pit from the seating reserved for an audience. The latest production on hiatus, it wasn’t clear why I had been summonsed to the theater.

When we approached the pit, the usher turned and said “Wait here” before leaving the building through an emergency exit.

A few minutes later, a man emerged with a solemn look upon his face. He walked forward and sat down. His legs swung free over the front edge of the stage. Without saying a word, he patted the stage beside him and motioned for me to approach. I did as instructed and sat down next to my father.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“It’s been how long since we’ve seen each other and that’s the first thing you ask?”

The impatience in my father’s voice was underscored by disappointment, as if he expected a teary eyed embrace of affection to start off our reunion. There was a reason we hadn’t talked in years so if that was the case, he’d have to be the one to initiate it. Nothing cuts deeper than the betrayal of one’s own father. A series of unapologetic decisions made a lifetime ago left me distrustful of his actions and unspoken motives.

“I’m sorry, dad. How are you? Good? Great,” I replied dismissively.

“You’re still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad but I haven’t forgiven you.”

“Maybe that’ll make things easier. Pretty soon, you have a choice to make.”

With hands placed behind my head, as if preparing to do sit-ups, I pushed my shoulders backward to stretch. My back arched to its limit. A guttural moan echoed throughout the empty theater. It was loud enough that I almost didn’t hear him ask about my recent car accident. His question caught me by surprise.

“Still stiff from the accident?”

“How do you know about that?” I asked.

“I’m your father. Even though we don’t talk, I still keep tabs on you.”

“My memory hasn’t come all the way back. It’s like there’s this chunk of time that’s missing.”

“Your doctors called it retrograde amnesia. Happens a lot with brain injuries. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Some a-hole ran a red light and t-boned me,” I said, scratching my head. “Everything after that is a blur, until I showed up here.”

A single tear rolled down my father’s cheek as he stood. He looked towards the floor and turned away, shaking his head from side to side. The anonymous voyeur, still cloaked by the balcony, pressed his ear forward to better hear the conversation.

“I’m sorry to be the one that tells you this but…you died. Your injuries were too severe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “That’s not funny.”

My father turned to face me and said, “Think back, about ten years. You went to my funeral.”

I looked into the distance with squinted eyes, in search of recollections that supported his claim. Bits of memories flashed through my mind. They washed over me in waves. Giddy moments of an unadulterated childhood, far removed from the challenges brought on by adulthood. Regrettable disagreements over unresolved issues. Remembrances of sadness long buried in the past.

“Cancer,” I whispered. “You died of cancer.”

“That’s right.”

“So then where are we? Heaven?”

“This is a rest stop, somewhere between Heaven and Hell. And you’ve got a decision to make. Move forward or go back?”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Either move forward to Heaven or opt for reincarnation.”

“First, tell me. What’s Heaven like?”

“Can’t say,” replied my father as he looked towards the balcony. “There’s rules about that.”

There were a number of things I wished to have done different while alive; dreams that were never pursued. Believing I had a lifetime yet to live, procrastination delayed my pursuit of those goals. And now when it seemed too late to rectify the wrongs of my past, I was presented with the opportunity to restart life’s timer and try again. Reincarnation seemed too attractive an option to pass up. The only downside was that the life I had already lived would be forgotten.

“You won’t remember me at all,” my father pointed out. “You’ll be someone else’s son.”

“Sounds like you want me to join you in Heaven?”

“That’s not it!” my father barked before returning to a softer tone of voice. “This is YOUR decision. The only thing worse than a lifetime filled with regrets is spending eternity regretting a decision made in the afterlife. No pressure or judgement here. I’ll love you no matter what.”

“I’m not ready to give up on living. There’s too much I still want to get done.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all. I didn’t raise you to be a quitter.”

Tears dripped from our eyes as we embraced for a final time. It was the safest I felt in years. After he directed me towards the entrance at the rear of the theater, I retreated up the center aisle. Uncertain whether the proper decision had been selected, I looked back for one last glimpse of my father. With a hand curled tight in a fist and pressed against my heart, I pointed towards him with my free hand. An unknown destiny waited for me on the opposite side of the double doors, which I walked through with eyes wide open.

A few minutes after I exited, the usher returned. With fingers interlaced, he twiddled his thumbs as he walked to where my father stood.

“Was it worth it? Selling your soul so your son can live again. A son who isn’t even gonna remember you?”

“You’re not a father. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Enlighten me.”

“He’ll always be my son. You can’t take that from me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

“Whatever,” said the usher, pointing towards the emergency exit. “Time to go.”

The pair shuffled towards the side of the room and started to walk through the doorway. With a hand on the door, my father stopped and looked back towards the stage. A contented smile filled his heart. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exited the theater. After the steel door slammed shut, the audience of one stepped away from the balcony to observe another conversation.

In the intervening years, a lifetime passed in the blink of an eye.

When the usher escorted me into the auditorium, a feeling of deja vu washed over me. There was something familiar about the place. The room was no different from any other theater aside from its cavernous size. Walking past rows of empty padded seats, flipped upwards not in use, I looked towards the balcony. A shadowy figure stood out of view, looking down upon the scene as it unfolded.