Called To The Gates - 1. Called To The Gates

Called to the Gates

James Robert Hancock stood in line, his impatience manifesting as he shuffled from one foot to another. He was nervous and wasn’t quite sure where he was. The line was long, with men and women facing a massive golden gate. No one was talking, and James Robert wondered what would happen if he asked the long-haired rocker guy in front of him a question. He decided to chance it.

“Excuse me,” James Robert asked in an almost-whisper and gently tapped the man’s shoulder.

Turning partially, the scruffy man answered, “What?”

“Um … sorry to bother you, but do you know why we’re here?”

Shaking his head, the man said no. “I’ve been here for a long time; the line moves slowly. I’ve asked but no one seems to know what’s happening. We’re just standing here.”

“Thanks, buddy,” James Robert said. He looked at the man’s back and continued to rock from one foot to another.

Every ten minutes or so, the line would move up, but there always seemed to be over a hundred people before him. James Robert looked around, and while he didn’t seem to be outside, he didn’t feel like he was inside either. Looking up wasn’t helpful, the ‘sky’ was bright but there was no sun or clouds. Other than people the only thing he saw was a dark flying bird. James Robert wondered idly where it was going and where the light came from. To his right and left was green space that looked like parkland, but something wasn’t quite right. It seemed to be close, yet James Robert felt if he moved toward it, he’d have to walk forever to get there.

Hours must have passed, he thought logically, but he wasn’t hungry or thirsty. Other bodily functions seemed to have ceased as well. He never felt tired or bored, none of it made any sense when he forced his brain to focus on the current situation.

James Robert tried to remember things about himself. The anger started to bubble up as he became frustrated. “Come on,” he growled under his breath. “How old am I?” He continued to ask, but no answers were forthcoming. He began to rant aloud, demanding to know where he was.

“You are here before the Lord, James Robert Hancock,” a voice boomed. It had been so loud that James Robert jumped and covered his ears. He saw no one in front of him so he spun around, but saw nothing. None of the others in line appeared to have heard it. The people behind him stood quietly waiting. When had he arrived at the front of the line?

“What?” James Robert asked. He’d never believed in any God.

“James Robert Hancock, you are called before the Lord to answer for your mistakes.”

“Mistakes? What kind of mistakes? I’ve never done anything wrong.” James Robert screamed at the gate he was now standing in front of, “Come out and accuse me to my face!”

James Robert almost hit the man as he turned around. The newcomer was about six feet tall, dressed in blue jeans and a white Levi's shirt. On his feet he wore black cowboy boots. He had an easy smile that settled in his kindly hazel eyes. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it resonated in James Robert’s soul. “James Robert, I am the Lord.”

Looking at the quite plain man in front of him, James Robert smirked. “You? Come on, you can’t be the Lord.”

The Lord pushed his hands halfway into the front pockets of his tight blue jeans and grinned. He cocked his head. “James Robert, this isn’t Heaven, and there are legions of Lords to answer to. I am but one of many; the Lord of Music.”

The breath left his body as if he’d been punched; James Robert suddenly remembered that he was a singer. He thought about it for a few minutes. What mistakes, he wondered to himself. Am I dead?

Still smiling, the Lord answered, “No, you’re not dead yet. The mistakes made were against your own soul. If you ever want to enter here, you’ll need to change your ways.”

James Robert stared at the Lord. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. How do I get out of here?”

The Lord was still smiling, but the hazel eyes darkened and his voice was menacing, saying, “You leave when I allow it, James Robert Hancock.” Cringing inside, James Robert nodded quickly.

The eyes softened again. “You need to sing to enter here, James Robert. It must be a song with meaning. But if it isn’t sung properly, you’ll be sent … elsewhere, when it’s time.”

Staring through the massive gates, James Robert was sure he’d just seen John Lennon, Otis Redding, Keith Moon, and Louis Armstrong. Pointing, James Robert, stuttered, “Is that… was it? Oh wow, that’s Beethoven, isn’t it?”

Turning to look, the Lord said, “Yes it is. This is where all the greats are, completely whole again.” The Lord put an arm around James Robert’s shoulders and they started walking toward the green lawns. “If you want to spend eternity here, JR, then you need to start to sing … I mean really sing. Not just the crap you’ve been doing. This is your second chance.”

“But ….”

“No buts, JR,” the Lord interjected. “It’s time for you to go. But remember, I’ll be watching, and more importantly – listening.”

<><><><><>

James Robert awoke in a sweat, feeling more than a bit unnerved. As he lay in his queen-sized bed, he decided the experience hadn’t been real. “Just a dream,” he thought as he wiped his forehead and then dried his hand on the sheets. As he skimmed the cotton, he was surprised when he felt paper. Picking it up, he stared at it and gasped. He peered at the writing; it was sheet music for the pop song, “Hallelujah”.

In shock and panting, James Robert sat up gripping the paper in his clenched fist. “It wasn’t a dream,” he thought, “but how could it be real?”

He smoothed out the sheets of music, and leaving them on the bed, James Robert rolled to his feet. “I’d never sing that kind of stuff. Where the hell did it come from?”

James Robert had taken a peek at his Day-Timer before jumping in the shower, and discovered he had an appointment with his agent in two hours. Though he knew he should hurry, he ended up taking his time, and filled it thinking about the dream he’d had.

Hot water turned tepid as James Robert stood under the cascade. “What if it wasn’t a dream; what if there is a Lord of Music? I don’t want to be sent elsewhere.”

Once he’d dressed, James Robert drove to the offices of Only Stars Representation, to see his agent George Timber.

He walked into George’s office and dropped into the creased brown leather chair in front of the desk. “Hey, George.”

George looked at his client. There was no trace of a smile. “How are you, JR?”

“Good, man. So what’s happening? Any gigs coming up? It’s been a bit dry, George.”

“Patience, James. You need to work on your act. Add some stuff that today’s audience wants.” George sat back in his chair and waited for James Robert’s reaction.

James Robert heard the Lord’s words, “If you want to come here at some point, JR, then you need to start to sing … I mean really sing. Not just the crap you’ve been doing. This is your second chance.”

“George, I’ve been thinking about that. I think I need to change direction. I mean, I’m not Justin or a rapper, am I? And I’m not going to be them or be that famous, right?”

“What are you saying, JR?” Surprised, George leaned forward. “What direction do you think you should be taking?”

“More traditional; I need to find another type of audience. I’m a good singer, and I’ve got a voice.” James Robert suddenly felt passion about his talent. “I think I should be singing what’s inside of me, what’s right, something I can feel. Not this schlock I’ve been doing.”

George pushed a meaty, ring laden hand through his dyed black hair. “Like what? Are you saying you can write your own stuff? You can’t play an instrument, JR. Can you even read music?”

“Well, no … but I can sing, and you know it, George.” James Robert’s voice got shriller. “There are lots of excellent songs out there. I need to sing from my heart and soul.”

George started laughing then. He laughed long and loud. He continued until he was dark red, and James Robert got to his feet and started to walk out of the office. George tried to regain control. “Wait, JR … wait. I’m sorry. But I’ve never heard you sing from your heart. What kinda songs are you talking about?”

“Shit, George, like “Hallelujah”. Songs that mean something,” James Robert said. He flopped back into the warm seat.

George’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. “Hallelujah? Like Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”?”

“Yeah.”

“You think you have the soul to pull that off?” George said. “You ain’t K.D. Lang, kid.”

James Robert sighed.

George continued. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll find someone to help you build a new act … a soulful one, if you come in here next week and sing “Hallelujah” like it’s coming from your gut.”

“You think I don’t have it in me?”

“Honestly, JR, no… I’m afraid I don’t,” George replied. “But you make me cry or choke up even, and we’ll pay for the new act.”

“You’re on George.” Leaping to his feet, James Robert walked to the door. “Bring lots of tissues.”

<><><><><>

James Robert sat at home rehearsing “Hallelujah”, and knew it meant nothing to him. “I’ve seen so many people sing this song, and every time they bring tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat. How do they do it? What am I missing?”

Deciding he needed fresh air, James Robert walked to the local park. The scent of roses and lilacs rode on the breeze. He sat on a bench and watched people walk by him; some had dogs, some were on bikes or roller blades, they held hands and pushed tots in strollers – he watched them all. After a half-hour or so, he noticed he was being inspected. A little black-haired girl, well, she was short, and maybe she wasn’t so young. She wore a bright yellow bow in her hair.

When she noticed James Robert looking at her, she made her way to the bench and managed to climb on to sit there. He turned and smiled at her. She tilted her head to the right and shrugged. “You can’t just sing it, you know, James Robert.” Twitching, she smoothed her dress, over and over.

Surprised by her comment, he swung around and gaped at her. “What?”

Slowly, she turned her head toward him. James Robert could see the age in her eyes; he saw the small wrinkles there that proved she was no child.

She said, “You can’t just sing “Hallelujah”, it’s not that kind of piece.”

He chuckled, but a tickle of fear wiggled in his gut as he said, “No? What kind of piece is it?”

“You need to feel it, James Robert Hancock.” She leaned toward him and her black eyes flashed. “You need to stop singing with your head and use your heart and soul. Have you ever heard it, really? Or even read all the lyrics? No … well, you’d better.”

With a twitch, she jumped down to the sidewalk and stood before him, blinking, her head cocked to the left. “If you don’t, the Lord won’t take you, and your eternity won’t be spent jamming with John, Louis, Otis or Ludwig.”

Shocked, James Robert exclaimed, “Who are you? How do you know that? Tell me!”

A cry from his left caused James Robert to look away for a moment. Turning back, a starling sat on the bench, its beady black eyes regarded him and the yellow beak snapped twice before it flew away. “No, it couldn’t be,” James Robert thought.

Walking home, he thought about what the small woman had said. “I can’t just sing it. I need to make it mine, make it part of me. Sounds hokey, but, I need to do something if I want George’s help.”

<><><><><>

Over the next week, James Robert, read the words, thought about them, recorded them and listened to them; he did everything but sing them.

Finally the day that would change his life arrived. James Robert drove to his agent’s office. He was very nervous and worried.

George and his assistant Pam, and another staff member, settled in George’s office to hear James Robert sing. He sang with passion, depth and with feeling. He sang the song without music – a cappella – the way he thought it should be sung. James Robert felt each word, each hallelujah. His eyes filled with tears.

When he finished, he looked up. He looked at each of the people in the room. They certainly weren’t crying, nor did they seem particularly moved by the performance he’d given. George just shook his head sadly. James Robert left the office without another word and drove himself home.

“What the hell do they want?” He raged and stomped through his house. “God damn them! I sang that the way it should have been sung.”

He sat down and poured a large glass with vodka, and swallowed it in three mouthfuls. He finished the bottle in much the same manner, then a second. He put his head on the table and cried; he was drunk, filled with self-pity and doubt. James Robert passed out, and later that night, alcohol poisoning stopped his heart.

A starling flitted at the kitchen window when it happened.

<><><><><>

James Robert Hancock stood in what looked like an unmoving, never-ending line. He rocked from side to side, and from one foot to another, impatiently. Time didn’t seem to mean much to him, and he didn’t quite know why he was here. The answers to the questions he tried to ask were like quicksilver in his head.

As he stood in the line, the starling landed on his shoulder. It stared with its tiny obsidian eyes and said, “I told ya so. Now here you are, James Robert Hancock.” He watched it fly away.

After what seemed like days or hours, he was summoned to a tidy white room. The Lord of Music sat on a gilded chair and beckoned James Robert to sit on a similar but smaller chair to his right.

James Robert stared at the kind face of the Lord, and tears ran from his eyes. “I’m sorry. I disappointed you; I couldn’t make ‘em love how I sang the song.”

The Lord stood up and placed a comforting hand on James Robert’s shoulder. “Did you sing the song from your heart, JR? Were you satisfied with your performance? Did it mean something to you?

James Robert nodded glumly, and the Lord pulled him to his feet and smiled. “Then JR, you fulfilled what I asked of you, that you sing from your heart, with feeling.”

“Really?” James Robert looked up, hope alive in his soul.

“Yes.” The Lord held out his hand. “Come now, it’s time to go.”

“Am I dead?” James Robert asked as he took the offered hand.

“Yes JR, you are, but you’ll find that it means little to you here.” The Lord smiled and together they stood before the golden gates. With a wave of his hand, the Lord opened the gates and motioned JR to walk through.

“Thanks.”

James Robert looked around as he entered. What was this place? It looked like a beautiful little town, with trees lining the streets and flowers everywhere. He wandered along and noted the cafes filled with musicians and people laughing and talking. Smiling, he looked ahead and thought he recognized the two men in front of him.

Trotting, he caught up and fell in step with them. As they greeted him, James Robert realized he was walking with John Lennon, who was discussing the song “Roll Over Beethoven”, with who else but Ludwig von B.

The End