Oh God - Part Seventeen

Oh God – Part Seventeen

“Schwartz, you haven’t even met any of your contemporaries yet. I would suggest you spend some time getting to know some people. It’s surprising what and who you may find here. First thing you know, you’ll be busier than you’ve ever been,” God smiled.

            Well, good idea thought Schwartz and started to look around. Low and behold, the first person he met was Tony Bennett. He didn’t even know Tony was dead, but here he was, singing away sadly while washing his face in a little hand bowl. His angel wings were all crooked and dirty and an old harp with several broken strings lay at his feet.

            “Holy Hannah!” exclaimed Schwartz, “If it isn’t Tony Bennett! What are you doing here? You look a total mess!”

            “I am a mess,” whimpered Tony, “it’s awful.”

            “What happened, Tony?”

            “The thing is that during my lifetime, I grew up with my boyhood buddy Sam Frank. We made a solemn promise that when the last one of us died, we’d meet up. Turns out he was designated to hell. So I begged my way into going down to see him for an hour or so. Turns out he’d never mended his ways and he had a little Bistro down there- wild place. We had a blast, just like in the good old days but when I realized what time it was I ripped outa there with my wings all bent and of all things, I left my harp in Sam Frank’s Bistro. I finally got it back, but look at the shape it’s in.”

            “A sad story for sure Tony, but maybe I can help. I remember seein’ Alf Loewen, the piano man down there a while back. I imagine he can fix up your harp. I’ll see if I can get him to help.”

            “Oh that would be amazing! I just don’t want St. Peter to be mad at me anymore.”

            “Aw relax Tony. Why don’t ya write a song about it. That’s what ya do ain’t it?”

            “Ya, that’s what I do. . . . ‘I left my harp . . . in Sam Frank’s Bistro . . .catchy first line Tony admitted.” He was happy.

            And Schwartz was happy too. The thrill of accomplishment rippled through his soul. He’d get Tony’s harp fixed an’ at the same time have a new recruit for God’s endless dinner table (maybe).