Falsified

The gates swung shut with a sonorous clang and St. Peter turned to the line.

“Next.” A man stepped forth from the head of the milling throng and approached.

“Wow,” the man said gazing at the tall gates, “I’m finally here. It’s a long wait on line.”

“Name?” said St. Peter.

“Those gates sure are pearly,” the man said. “I expected bars so you could see through. Like in the movies I guess. But these are pretty. Imposing but tasteful, you know?”

“What is your name?”

“Oh, sorry,” the man said. “You know I kind of expected you to have wings.”

“I’m not an angel,” Peter said. “I’m a saint and I need your name.”

“Right a saint. Saint Peter,” the man said, nodding. “No wings but that’s a nice halo. Beatific.” The man and the saint stared at each other for a few moments.

“Your name?”

“Oh, right,” the man said, nodding again. “Hamilton. Michael Alexander Hamilton.”

St. Peter ran his finger down the page of the book in front of him. The book was huge, a vast tome. It was bound in gold chased leather with parchment leaves crawling with calligraphy and illuminations. St. Peter turned a few pages looking for the man’s entry.

“Paper records, huh?” the man said. “I’d think you guys would move to a computer system. That’s quite a line to process.”

“Yeah, well when we started it was all on papyrus scrolls,” said Peter. “So this is actually an improvement. Here you are.” Peter’s finger moved up and down the page and he muttered as he read.

“No murder, no rape, not much blasphemy…stole a candy bar when you were seven.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Church going man…” Peter’s finger stopped and he looked up. “A little more lust than we care for.”

“Yeah you got me there,” the man said, “but I never cheated on my wife. Not in thirty-five years of marriage.”

“It says here you were married for thirty-six years.”

“Uh, yeah…I’m counting the engagement.”

“Everything looks alright here,” Peter said. “Michael Alexander Hamilton, you may pass.” The pearly gates opened and the man walked through into a golden light filled with harp music. The gates swung to with a sonorous clang and St. Peter turned to the line.

“Next.” A man stepped forth from the head of the milling throng and approached.

“Name?” said St. Peter.

“Hamilton,” the man said. “Michael Alexander Hamilton.”