“talkin’ ‘bout heaven”

Dk Ama Alexis

you heard that?

sure did roll of thunder so long, sound like God was dragging sumn across the sky yup, had sumn a lil too heavy in His hands, i guess maybe it was a garbage can and He was putting it out on heaven’s curb ooh! i think it coulda been a dead body now, what kinda body you think is too heavy for God to lift? depends — what kinda trash you think He can’t throw away? mm, you right well lemme get off this phone while the storm going on outside, gotta save my battery too aight, later Nessa, love you bye sis, love you too, stay safe we originally planned for her to come by me during the hurricane, but it showed up earlier than expected. the rains swelled the river in two hours flat and the bridge gave out before she could make the drive. to make up for the distance, we texted with the slightest updates: how we were feeling, what food went bad, reports of the dead or disappeared. we knew many of them, called them friends, neighbors, family. practically all of them were on her side of the river, where the tilt of the earth causes the water to spill first and fastest during any kind of storm. we promised each other to start and end our days with a call. we wouldn’t talk long, careful not to drain our phones while the power was out. on the second night, i was getting ready for sleep when i heard it: thunder so loud, so powerfully deep and vast, it shook the walls of my building for what seemed like an eternity. it wasn’t raining as heavily as it had been, so the sound stood out even more in the witching hour. i wondered if any of my neighbors who had stayed behind were awake to feel its might, if they heard the clattering of silverware in their drawers and picture frames on their walls like i did. the roar eventually trailed off, and “Aquemini” blared from my phone, the galactic chorus disrupting the delicate silence. Nelle. i sat up to grab my phone from the opposite end of the couch, and i tapped the green button on my screen, cutting her custom ringtone short. “horoscopes often lie/ she bypassed a formal greeting, already knowing we both had the same thing on our minds. we mused on the earth-rattling sound for no longer than a minute before i ended the call. i sat and stared into the darkness of my living room for a moment before lying back down, swaddled by the only dry blankets i could salvage from the leak that had spread across my bedroom ceiling. somehow, the fatigue of trying to survive this emergency overpowered the bone-deep ache i felt from being so far from my sister, and unconsciousness consumed me almost immediately, our guessing game a silhouette shrouding my dreams. the following morning, howling winds and pane-battering rains ripped me from my slumber. my phone had fallen off my portable charger and died while i slept, so i scrambled with trembling fingers to reconnect it, anxious to hear Nelle’s voice again. finally, my screen lit up, then my blood ran cold. nine notifications waited for me: seven missed calls from her starting an hour after we said goodbye. one last “i love you” text. a news update that the river swallowed her entire side of town overnight after the storm picked back up, chances of survival slim. i called and i called and i called until my battery was in the single digits. nothing. my baby sis was gone from me. just like that. in her sudden absence, i realized a long roll of thunder sounds a lot like a house torn asunder, like a heart breaking, like a person becoming a corpse becoming debris.

• i can’t sleep through the night anymore. i haven’t been able to ever since i shuffled my way through those doors, a lone phantom among crowds of fellow drenched and displaced souls. anytime my eyelids get heavy, the guilt cuts my heart wide open and grips my lungs in a vise. the first time this happened, i clawed at my heaving chest, haunted by the memory of abandoning my sister when she needed me most. my neighbor to my left got up and sat with me, gracious and still, until my wheezing slowed to a quiet pant. when i finally settled, they suggested i try visualizing putting my demons to rest. they won’t stay down forever, but maybe they’ll leave you alone long enough so you can get some rest of your own, they said. since then, i have tried taking their advice with fitful success. when the lights shut off and grief begins to choke me, i squeeze my eyes tighter and try to envision different versions of a last conversation between us. one where we stayed on the phone until dawn broke on our faces, or at least one where she wasn’t left alone in her last moments. i know what it was, His stomach was rumbling or He coulda been cussing somebody out under His breath i know God can get angry and have a nasty appetite, but the God i remember from scripture has less to do with the recent years of floods and famine and plague across the globe. as far as i’m concerned, this is the work of gods of wealth and war, their Revelation-type beasts marked by bloodlust and bellies full of our people. my sister. all waterlogged and out of reach. when the Delta ended up underwater in ‘27, blues flowed up from the deep hollows of those left behind. over a century later, as their descendants, we have been forced to watch thousands from our generation rot as the rich fled to higher ground. by now, our blues so blue, they’re damn near a different color. if we touched them, guitars would bloat under our hands. if we tried to sing, it would sound a lot like sobbing. nah, the gate probably caught on the concrete when St. Peter opened it, lotta people coming through these days tuh! they got concrete on the streets of gold? funny enough, we were never much of a churchgoing family, thanks to Mama. she said she’d seen enough corruption on behalf of the cross for a lifetime, but she made sure we got the spirit in other ways. she taught us how to make worlds move with a psalm, a faithful tongue, and a candle — magic she learned from her Mama before her. she had me and Nelle read the Bible till we knew it backwards, forwards, and upside down. sometimes, she’d even have us watch a televised sermon off one of the local channels while she fixed us breakfast. still, you would find us leaving a pack of cigs at the four-way stop for the Man in Red and Black before you ever caught us in somebody’s pews. girl, ion know! but i do know: “i got a robe...” ha! “you got a robe...”

“all god’s chillun got robes”

“when i get to heaven, gonna put on my robe”

“i’m gonna shout all over god’s heavennn”

“heavennn...” every Sunday when we were growing up, Mama would take us grocery shopping for the week while the saints were tucked away at morning service. no matter what, she always started our trip with that song, and we never got sick of the ritual. the crisp, even harmonies moved us every time, and we’d act up in the backseat of our ‘03 Suburban, choreographing dances behind our seatbelts as we cycled through the rest of the song. we went harder anytime we caught glimpses of Mama’s eyes beaming back at us in the rearview mirror. those mornings felt like a slice of Paradise we didn’t have to die for, like we were in our own chariot getting called up to the clouds. when we scattered Mama’s ashes in the river two summers ago, we tried to play the song off Nelle’s phone, but the signal kept cutting out. strange since it was a clear, muggy day. it felt like Mama was already trying to send us a message from the beyond, telling us to do it for her just like we used to as kids turning our backseat into a mobile sanctuary. we held each other and sang through our tears as we watched Mama’s speckled remains drift downstream. it could have been wishful thinking, but it seemed like the sun shone even brighter as we ushered her departure with our voices. it has been a week since the floodwaters took Nelle, six days since the floodwaters started coming for me, five since i made it to this temporary shelter. we solemnly pass snacks, gauze, and prayers across the aisles of cots while officers stalk the perimeter, their fingers caressing their trigger guards. imagine treating a weapon with that much tenderness and attention in the face of those who lost everything. odds are we’ll be left to lose again, waiting or wandering with no end until the end rushes in to meet us. for now, i bide my time picturing Nelle, her smile like spinning wheels of light as we work our way through the verses and name everything within our heavenly inheritance. but when the sky parts and sends the downpour that calls me home to my kin, i will awaken into the dream of our reunion, humming our song with thunder at the back of my throat.

What does heaven/the afterlife/the hereafter sound like?

What does the sound of thunder make you feel? Powerful? Afraid? // Can you relate to the sound of thunder? Have you ever felt a roll of thunder within yourself?