Vincent Marcos walked disconsolately down the street thinking about the spat he'd just had with his wife as he left for work. They had occurred more frequently in the past few years and he took it as a sign that they had left the rails at some point.

For the most part their life together was a pleasurable existence of similar interests, joint activities and financial balance. Whatever had soured that picture had done so slowly and insidiously.

He also thought about how he seemed to have lost touch with the emerging world of his two children, Allen 17, and Tina 20. At forty years of age, he figured he should be the man in charge, the rock, the captain that holds the answers and steers his family's course with a sure hand.

At forty years of age Vincent Marcos was none of these any more; he was a hapless drifting husband and father with a heavy burden of depression over his domestic and work failures. Recently, life seemed to love to deke Vincent at every turn leaving him completely at sea when focus and conviction mattered most.

This latest tiff with his wife, Maria, grew from a disagreement over the innocuous subject of a grocery, shopping day, to a much larger and darker conflict over personal traits and marital commitment. Vincent had fled under a barrage of accusations, seeking the less volatile but equally discouraging setting of his workplace.

Now here he was at the bus stop, thinking again how life was using every mean tactic to thwart his happiness.

On the commitment side, the affair had been a monumental error and to make things worse, Maria had somehow known; a facet that women seemed to intrinsically possess. The mistake cost him his job, a position of potential growth in a busy advertising company.

It had forced him to find the only available employment with any kind of recompense, behind the counter of a hardware supply store, at less than half the money he was previously earning. Vincent reached the bus stop and began pacing as he waited for his ride, his mind totally focused on his plight.

A man came along and stood in Vincent's path, leaning out and watching for the bus. Vincent made an annoyed grunt and changed course, pacing slowly back up the street, kicking at the autumn leaves gathering on the sidewalk. He turned once more with a small flourish, his jaw set and his determination grim, determined to take life by the throat and give it a good shaking.

The man had moved forward, once again in his way as the bus arrived, and Vincent's foot slipped off the curb, arms flailing to keep balance, resembling an effort to fly—which he did—straight down the street on the front of the screeching vehicle.

******

The bright light made him squint and he raised his hand to shade his eyes. He paused, glancing at the sleeve of his jacket. Instead of the tweed sports jacket he'd put on that morning, the sleeve was part of a full-length robe in a soft, whipped cream white, lightweight material. Everything was white.

Vincent opened his eyes wider, finding that the light didn't bother him any more and he sat up, looking around. The room was large and had no ceiling but it seemed to have a dimension and when he began to walk around, he discovered that there was no sensation of anything solid beneath his feet.

Two large white chairs sat facing each other with a small table between them and aside from that, there didn't seem to be any other furnishings or decoration in the odd space.

"Welcome to our Reflection Lounge." The voice startled him and he looked about, puzzled. There was no one in sight. "Why don't you take a seat by the table." The deep resonance of the voice filled the strange space with a comforting vibration and Vincent automatically obeyed, choosing a seat and sitting down.

He searched the surroundings but saw nothing and when the voice spoke again it was right beside him in the other chair.

"Vincent Marcos, welcome." The figure was slightly blurry in appearance and with the all white robe, difficult to separate from the chair or the room.

Vincent could detect a silver beard and the clearest blue eyes he'd ever seen. "Where am I?"

"Our Reflection Lounge." The figure beamed a brilliant smile and the room seemed to grow brighter still.

"Who is our, and where is this place?"

"Ah... I see now why you are confused. You don't know yet."

"Know what?"

The figure pointed to the top of the table and with a sharp intake of breath Vincent gawked at his morning at home and the ensuing argument with Maria and then his pacing at the bus stop and finally his slipping off the curb where he was slammed by the bus.

"You died in that unfortunate accident, Vincent."

"Died?" He blinked several times and saw the image on the table dissolve into a grey, smoky scene of images from his past, speeding past in random batches and then the brilliant glow he'd seen when he first opened his eyes.

"Yes, Vincent. We won't bother looking at the aftermath... it's a little unsettling. Let's just say you didn't suffer too long."

"Died?" Vincent was still staring at the blank table.

"It's all right, Vincent. You are perfectly safe now. Nothing can ever bother you again."

"You're telling me I'm dead?" The figure nodded. "And this is- this ... heaven?"

Another smiled beamed across the fuzzy features. "Well, not exactly. As I said, this our Reflection Lounge."

Vincent made a face and held up his hands. "Well just what is this lounge place? And who are you?"

"I am Meditatio. I welcome all newcomers and answer all their questions. As the name suggests, our lounge is a stopover where new arrivals may look back on their lives and reflect on decisions and choices they made and discuss them with me with a view to explaining the reasons why."

"Why? I mean if I'm dead what difference can it make?"

"It allows you to resolve conflicts in your mind and with understanding, accept the facts of your earthly existence. Once that is accomplished you will move on."

"Move on? To where? Heaven?"

"Well, not exactly. There are several stages of preparation that come first." The figure smiled again and the room brightened noticeably. "Let's look at an example, Vincent. It will give you an idea of how this stage works."

The table again showed an image that, at first, Vincent couldn't place and then his eyes widened and he pointed. "That's where I lived with my grandparents!"

"That's right. Now watch and reflect, Vincent."

The image showed a teen-aged Vincent, drying dishes for his grandmother as they talked together about his parents. He saw the concern on his grandmother's face and the appearance of disgusted anger on his own as he flung down the tea towel and stomped out of the kitchen.

Instead of following his departure, he saw his grandmother stop washing and just stare down into the sink, a solitary tear making a tiny splash in the dishwater. His throat constricted and he felt his mouth dry up. He never knew how his behaviour affected her; he wasn't even concerned. All he wanted was his own way and by storming out he made his selfish statement.

The discussion had centred on the fact that his parents were having a financially difficult time and that his living with his grandparents was an attempt to give them some relief and let them find their feet again. Vincent of course, only saw it as a way to get him out of their way.

He watched as his grandmother dried her hands and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron then she gave a mighty sigh and sat down at the table with her head in her hands. Through the kitchen window Vincent could see himself marching angrily across the lawn and down the street.

"That was a moment that changed your grandmother's life quite dramatically. You didn't know of course but it was right after that that she fell ill with acute depression and was no longer able to look after you."

Vincent stared at the table. "I remember. She got sick and I went back to my folks."

"And after that?"

He looked bleak. "She passed away and then my granddad a few months later."

"Yes. You could say his was due to a broken heart."

Vincent's head snapped up. "You mean...?" The figure nodded slowly. "But I didn't know. Why should she die just because we had an argument?"

"Your grandmother was suffering from a very long term of cancer, Vincent. You didn't know. She didn't want anyone to know. She didn't want to be coddled."

"Are you saying...?"

"I'm just providing you with the opportunity to reflect on your actions. It's not a blame game, Vincent. It's just a chance to see whether you agree with how you lived and affected those around you."

"But that's not fair! Nobody can do all the right things!"

"Absolutely. That's why getting upset will change nothing. All this gives you is a report card of your time on earth, it's not a case of pass or fail, it's knowing what you couldn't know and how it drove your life."

Vincent slouched back in the chair. "Why show me this? Why let me see things that I couldn't change anyway?"

"Ahh, well that's the point, Vincent. You could have behaved differently. You made those choices. But as I said, it's simply an opportunity for reflection."

"It's crappy that's what it is. It's bad enough I'm dead without finding out I might have killed my own grandmother."

Meditatio rose feather light and clasped long fingers in front of him. "I am going to leave you here for a while, Vincent. You can summon other areas of your life by simply thinking about them or you can ignore the opportunity; it is your choice. I will be back later to accompany you to the next stage."

Before Vincent could respond, the figure was gone and he began to curse but found he couldn't and the surprise of that fact drove him to try a few more profanities with the same result. Great, he thought, I can see what a jerk I was on earth but I can't swear up here for some reason.

The up here part made him stop and think. Swearing seemed inappropriate somehow. Where exactly was this lounge? Maybe he was in the waiting room of a different place than he thought.

He got out of the chair and wandered around the room, discovering that while he couldn't come to the end he didn't seem to have moved any further away from the table than he originally was. Annoyed, Vincent sat again and thought about another part of his life, and watched as it materialized in the tabletop.