It didn’t look much like heaven, or hell, but I’d never been there before, so what did I know?

Besides, there were mirrors everywhere, and I’d already checked my own reflection a hundred times. Each time I saw a scrawny 12 year old boy looking back. Exactly as I remember myself looking, roughly 50 years ago.

I felt an awareness somewhere in my head that I should be panicking - or perhaps be celebrating - but instead I felt a calm sense of anticipation. I knew that all I needed to do was wait, and there was no rush here.

Everyone else seemed to be in the same situation. There were no white robes - we all dressed normally, though perhaps a bit dated. I’d already talked to a half dozen other people waiting.

We didn’t remember anything that happened recently. In fact, we didn’t remember anything specific at all - we just sort of remembered the broad contours of our lives. I was married, and had a family, and… I think I delivered automotive parts? It didn’t seem to matter much now.

A mirror in front of me glowed yellow, and I instantly knew I was meant to walk through it, which I did without hesitation.

I emerged in my childhood home, a ranch house in Northern California. My mother was in the kitchen, cutting a tray of jello into squares. She pulled one out, put it on a little plate, and handed it to me.

I ate the square. It tasted exactly as I remembered. My mother smiled at me.

A man sat at the counter beside me. I hadn’t noticed him until now, but I’m certain he didn’t just appear there. In fact, at the moment I ate the jello, I had the realization that this man had always been there, and was always watching. He was smiling at me too.

“Well done.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. I knew what this moment meant. I made it. The realization was euphoric. I felt no self-consciousness in them witnessing me like this - pure bliss.

After some time, I felt my normal rational mind return to me.

“What did I do to deserve this?”

The man pointed at the plate.

“You ate the jello.”

I pondered this.

“Who wouldn’t eat jello their mother offered them?”

He gave me a knowing smile.

“This confuses many people. It’s a truth which many don’t accept, but what matters for salvation is whether or not you literally ate jello as a child.”

He kept staring at me, watching my reaction.

“I… you mean if I ate physical jello?”

He nodded.

“Yes. By your teenage years. You were fortunate,” he gestured at my mother, “you first received the sacrament on your 12th birthday. This is your final form.”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. If I hadn’t seen what I’d seen, of course I wouldn’t believe it. But I now knew that this was true.

Yet a part of me resisted. Not the truth of it, but the unfairness of it.

“Why jello?” I said, with perhaps a bit too much edge to my voice, given who I assumed I was talking to.

The man’s expression changed, eyes narrowing.

“What’s wrong with jello?”

I could see my mother in my peripheral vision, her eyes glancing towards me in a quick flash.

I felt hot. I responded quickly, “Nothing, I love jello! I was just curious, because this wasn’t… well it wasn’t how I thought things worked, that’s all.”

The man’s eyes shot up.

“Oh, not what you expected? You thought perhaps it was devil’s food cake, or raspberry vinaigrette?”

He laughed.

“There’s always room for Jell-O, Scott. Never forget that.”

I never have.