In the middle of the gate stood a woman—no, a girl—with the darkest skin that I had ever seen. It looked like someone had taken the midnight sky and draped it over her body. The girl walked away from the gate and towards me. Her gait, bouncy and youthful. She had short black cornrows with golden beads that gently hit the back of her neck with every step. She couldn’t have been older than 14. She approached me, stuck out her hand and smiled.

“Come,” she said. “It’s time to meet your creator.”

Oh, that’s right. I still have to be judged. God wasn’t going to make damnation that easy, He was going to tease me. I wished I could’ve said that that was fine by me. I wanted to be tough and say that even in the afterlife, I showed no fear. But that wasn’t true. To be honest, when I first saw the gates, I thought that maybe I wasn’t all that bad. Maybe God had seen something in me that I wasn’t able to see in myself, maybe I would actually be worthy of obtaining the promises of Heaven. But it looked like that wouldn’t be the case. So, I nodded and took her hand as she opened the gate and led me into the dwelling place of God.

As we stepped through the golden threshold, I couldn’t help but gasp. Two of the most gorgeous brown-skinned women I had ever seen floated by me. They were angels, of this I was certain, but they looked like they could’ve been from my neighborhood. They had no halos, just hairstyles that illuminated their faces more than any shining circle ever could. One had dark dreadlocks that reached the bottom of her shoulder blades with gold loc cuffs scattered throughout her mane. The other had a honey blonde afro, crowning her head in all its magnificent glory. They radiated goodness and confidence, and it was breathtaking. As I looked around, I saw more of these holy women adorned with braids, twists, and the occasional headscarf. Even those without hair wore their shining bald heads like they were crowns.

The young girl continued to lead me through Heaven. I kept seeing all these beautiful dark women, only women. The young girl saw the confusion in my face and laughed.

“Only those with divine feminine energy are permitted to stay here. And only those who are loved by the sun suffer enough to make it here. If your skin can withstand the kiss of the sun, you are already halfway to Heaven.”

Halfway, I thought. If only I had been half as good as I should have been.

“Wait, so are you telling me that this place is only for black women?”

“Yes.”

By that point I was just angry at myself. Heaven was better than I ever thought it could be. I had always known black women to be the epitome of beauty, and now here I was in the midst of all the melanin one could ever wish for, but it was fleeting. I knew that I was just passing by.

The young girl gestured outward, inviting my eyes to feast upon the divinity that stood before me. Heaven had a warm familiarity along with the surprise of satisfaction. It looked like my block but without the bummy guys playing craps on the corner, and without the grown men hollering at teenage girls on the way to school. It looked like home the way I always wished it would be. I breathed in the magic surrounding me. Little girls with bobbles in their hair and bangles around their wrists sat on golden stoops, carefully braiding each other’s hair. Some played Double Dutch in the street and laughed big goofy laughs without apology, their wide noses spreading even wider across their faces. Teenage girls walked in trinities, their gold bamboo earrings dangling from their lobes. They played their music loudly and for all to hear. I heard a familiar chorus ring through the speakers:

Most intellects do not believe in God but they fear us just the same
Oh, on and on and on and on…

My hips started to move without hesitation. I could sing along to the lyrics without any pauses. My whole body remembered this song and danced as the highest form of praise and worship ever known. Soon all the women came to join me, from the little girls playing beauty shop to older women who moved like wisdom was set in their bones.

I looked into the face of one of the older women, trying to figure out why her deep wrinkles seemed to draw me in. She smiled, causing the lines in her face to look even more exaggerated than they already were.

“It’s me, child. Your grandmother.”

I reached toward the hand that I had not seen since I was an infant. I wanted to ask her how she had been, how she ended up here, and every other question about the glory that resided here.

But before I could open my mouth, she said, “I’ve been watching you from up here.” I immediately felt ashamed. She knew that after her death I did not grow up to be the granddaughter that she wanted; that her own daughter was neglected by me when she needed me most. I couldn’t find the words to justify the life that I had lived. There was no way that she could be proud of me; no way that I could stay here in a place reserved for people like her—the holy.

I wanted to apologize and tell her that if I could go back and change everything, I would, but the young girl looked at me with impatient eyes.

“We must go.”

That’s right, I thought to myself. This is only temporary.

So we continued on, and she led me into a room.