Mai: I ran up the stairs, out of breath, praying I wouldn’t be too late. My wristwatch warned of the slipping minutes. I stumbled sweaty through the door, only to discover a man in a dark blue suit calmly poised in his armchair. Oddly, it reminded me of the leather armchair I used to read in at my childhood home.  

Emily: “What makes you think that time does not apply here?”, he questioned with no visible frustration. 

Mai: “I’m so sorry for being a bit late,” I said defensively. “The subway stalled underground, can I please still audition?”

Emily: “Yes, the M train these days can be quite unpredictable,” he responded, his even expression blankly unreadable. 

Mai: I paused, slightly baffled at his specificity. “Is that the train you take?”

“Sometimes”, he vaguely declined to expand. 

I looked around the office for the first time—the barren walls and empty desk betrayed nothing about the man before me, did I have the correct address? 

Emily: “Please take a seat sir, some coffee before your audition?” The tall man excused himself and disappeared down a hall, and I realized he had not yet introduced himself. 

Mai: I scanned the room for a name placard, business card, anything. However, adorning the far wall was a single painting, strikingly resembling my grandmother’s home by Lake Michigan. A solitary piano stood by the corner where I sat down on the small bench in front of it. I had not even removed my jacket when a startling piano note sliced through the silence. My skin tingled in slight panic as the high-pitched notes continued to fill the room. Surely this was some tasteless joke. “Hello?”

Emily: Suddenly the man reappeared from around the narrow white corridor. “Oh, did the piano startle you?” he gestured to the now-silent instrument. I nodded slightly and he simply stated, “It’s a collector’s item, a self-playing piano, last of its kind,” he boasted. 

Mai: He offered me a coffee, but even the hot beverage didn’t assuage me. My hands were trembling, which wouldn’t help my audition. Had the temperature of the room dropped? Never mind, I reassured myself, the man had a knack for an eerie presentation.

Emily: “Now let’s hear your performance,” he motioned grandly to the small carpet in the center of the office. 

Mai: My throat was dry in the cold room; praying my voice wouldn’t crack, and began the monologue that I’d memorized. “To be, or not to be, that is the question…” I swiftly used the appropriate intonations for each part while gesturing gracefully, but could not pick up any glimmer of praise or criticism in his statuesque face. Then, as I progressed into the climax of the monologue, the piano behind me began to play again. Only this time, I heard an enthusiastic round of applause. I cautiously regained my confidence momentarily, only to realize that my auditioner was watching me passively, arms crossed against his chest. The applause abruptly faded when I met his cold, electric blue eyes. 

Emily: “Please continue Ms. Barnes, I should so love to hear the rest of your brilliant performance,” he encouraged. I resumed mid-line, but a terrifying thought immediately crept into my mind. 

Mai: How in the world does he know my real name? Everyone knows me as Serena Holmes, my stage name. Clearly this man possessed a troubling amount of my personal information. Unnerved, I peered into the auditioner’s inanimate eyes, and it was as if I was staring into a mirror, reflecting my perplexed expression. I further realized that the man had not taken a single note, his notebook untouched, unlike any audition I have ever experienced. Did he not approve of my presentation? Did I confuse some lines? Either way, his bizarre silence did not provide a slice of explanation. 

Upon barely finishing my monologue, I glanced at the man expectantly. He stood from his armchair and tossed the empty notebook on the desk.

Emily: “Well, I am greatly honored to have witnessed your last performance of Shakespeare, you are now successfully assigned to the Divine Literary Department.”

Mai: I stared back at him, my mind desperately trying to decode his strange statement, “my last performance”??? And what department was he talking about? 

“Well, I certainly intend to continue with my Shakespearean pursuits, Sir, as I am too young to retire.” 

Mai: But before I could elaborate, the man spoke, 

Emily: “You will arrive at the department in a few days, but we are confident you will find it engaging.” 

Mai: The situation was disturbing, to say the least. I started to question how I had even ended up in this unworldly audition, in this bare room at an address I could no longer recall. Furthermore, I had no distinctive memory of anything but my present moment. And what follows now? Was I planning to see friends? Shockingly, not a single name resurfaced. In fact—I could not even remember the production for which I had just auditioned. And just like that, I was ushered out into another nameless room, with a blue banner hanging overhead, reading… 

Together: “Welcome to the afterlife. Please take a seat in the waiting room.”   

Process

We started writing a story by alternating lines back and forth—Emily would write one, Mai wrote the next. It was a fun exercise to find out where the story would go! Then, inspired by the two voices, the auditory notes in the story, we decided a podcast would be the best way of putting it together. “Stairway to Heaven” is just a fun Easter Egg!