The Garden

 

                The earth is a small grain of sand in a vast ocean cosmos. Hurtling around the sun it is always black on one side blue on the other and has been for a billion years. Except for Monday, when for a moment it was bathed in a great white light from shore to shore. One would be wise to assume a supernova or nuclear holocaust was at work but this light neither burned nor incinerated.

                People from all over the world awoke and those who were underground arose from the shadows and everyone looked up at a huge blank sky. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Nobody screamed and nobody spoke. They were not panicked. They were mollified but the soft glow.

                When everyone was attentive a voice speaking a thousand different languages to four billion people at once said, “I am God the creator. I have come to parlay with you. Soon I will share my truth with the world.”

                Then, just as suddenly as it had started it stopped. The sky returned to normal. An audible gasp encircled the globe. Some cheered and others cried. The Hindus and Buddhists were confused. The Jews, Christians, and Moslems savored a belief that they would soon be vindicated. The believers prayed and the atheists prayed hard. Whether they thought it was the end or a new beginning all expected change and were euphoric with anticipation.

 

                Misha was a local television news reporter in New York City trying to do a community garden story when all of this happened. She wasn’t much of a reporter and it wasn’t much of a garden, just a couple rows of carrots and sugar snap peas planted in a dusty lot. She was all alone. There were no gardeners, not even a camera crew. She had to take all the preliminary shots and put the camera on the tripod herself for her monologue. She was mid speech when the light show started.

                The whole thing knocked her off her feet and when the sky returned to normal she was ass down on a pile of dirt. As she struggled to get up an old man with a white beard appeared and gave her his hand.

                “Thanks.” She said wiping dirt off her butt and laughing at her own predicament. “I think I just had a stroke or something. Weirdest thing. Weirdest.”

She looked the old man on the face and he had very kind eyes. “I was out here doing a story for channel twelve. I thought I heard the voice of God and down I went.” The incredulousness overtook her and she kept laughing. “That was just me right? Did you hear God? Maybe I need to go to the hospital? I feel fine but obviously there is something wrong with me.”

She took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. “I’m okay. Back to business. My name is Misha Rink. I am doing a story on the community garden. Do you want to be on tv? Have you planted anything here? Are these your vegetables?”

                “They are. I am God.” Said the man who smiled wide and graciously.

                Misha stopped laughing. “Excuse me?”

                “I am God. I would like to be on television.”

                “If you are…” she wanted to swear but stopped herself, “…with me! So help me… I will…”

                “It’s alright. Don’t be frightened.” He assured her by taking her hand again.

                “So the light and the voice, that was you?”

                “Yes”

                “Did everyone see that or just me?”

                “Everyone, everywhere.”

                Misha knew at that moment that this was indeed God. All doubt left her. Her eyes grew large. “I have so much to ask you.”

                “Shouldn’t we save that for the air?” God asked.

                “Of course! Is now a good time? Let’s get out of here.” She gathered up her things maniacally and threw them into her car.

                She turned to God and asked, “Do you want me to drive? Or do we fly? Or can you just blink us there?”

                “You can drive.” He said.

                “You could just blink us there if you wanted to though, couldn’t you?”

                “Yes.”

               

                Once on the road Misha had to give God the run down. “I don’t want you to expect big things. We are like a sixth place network. I freelance and get little weekend spots. Saturdays usually. I hardly get paid. Not a lot of people are likely to see you. I don’t even know if I can get you on the air. I mean I would hope having God is a good enough reason to preempt a rerun of Friends but I wouldn’t count on it.”

                “Don’t worry” said God from the passenger seat.

                “I do get to do the interview though, right? I’m the one bringing you in.”

                “Yes Misha.”

                “Good.” Misha paused for a moment then asked another question. “Why me?”

                “I have my reasons.”

                “Sure you do. You move in mysterious ways. But, really I’m not the type am I?”

                “I speak through many different people. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Mohammed was just some guy sleeping in a cave. Look what happened there.”

                “There was Moses. Wasn’t he like a prince?”

                “Not quite. Good guy. Terrible sense of direction.”

                Misha cracked a wry smile. “That’s because of the forty years in the desert thing. You’re trying to be funny. I didn’t think God was supposed to be funny.”

                “Why wouldn’t I be funny? I made you and you are funny.”

                “Makes sense.”

                “Yes it does.”

 

                As they walked into the station Misha whispered to God, “I don’t know how we are going to make this work.”

                “It will.” God reassured her.

                People began whispering as they passed by in the hallways.

                “Do you think they know it’s you?” Misha asked. “You just look like a guy with a white beard.”

                “I look differently to different people. I look like this to you because this is how you think God looks. To Indians I look Indian. To Chinese I look Chinese. To each individual I look how they assume God looks.”

                One of the people in the newsroom asks aloud, “Is that Misha and Morgan Freeman?”

                They make their way to the programmer’s office and enter. “Bob, I have someone I want you to meet.”

                He doesn’t even raise his head when he says, “Not right now. There is so much going on.”

                “I know. This is the reason why.”

                Bob looks at God and knows who he is immediately. A devout Catholic with seven children, Bob knows his maker when he sees him. “My God.” is all he can seem to say.

                “I want to put him on the air right now.” Misha says. “Is that alright?”

                Bob nods in approval.

                “I need you to call the booth, Bob?” Misha tries to snap him out of it.

                “I go to church.” Bob blurts out.

                “I know.” God replies.

                “I go to confession every week.”

                “And you are usually honest.”

                “Sorry God.”

                “Don’t be. I already know. You don’t go to confession for me. You go for you. I don’t care one way or the other. If it makes you feel better then it’s fine. If it doesn’t then don’t bother.”

                Bob gives out a gulped, “Okay”

                “Misha and I would like to be on television now. Is that okay?”

                “Yes God.”

                While God and Misha get ready everyone is eerily silent. Before the broadcast begins Misha says, “I didn’t think it was going to be this easy.”

                “I did.”

                “I’ve never done this before, live in the studio. What do you want me to ask you?”

                “Ask me what you would ask anyone.”

                “I am really nervous.”

                God smiles at her and says, “Don’t be.” She smiles back and pretends to herself that she does stuff like this every day.

                The stage manager cues her and she starts. “Hello, I am Misha Rink with a news twelve exclusive. The whole world is abuzz with the strange happenings this afternoon. We have in our studio to explain the phenomenon is God.”

                Channel twelve may be a bush league station that no one usually watches but at that very moment every television in the entire world turned on whether it was plugged in or not and on every set was the face of God looking out.

                “Thank you for coming God.” Misha steadied herself. “I guess I’ll start by asking why you are here.”

                “My children, ever since the dawn of creation I have returned to earth at frequent intervals to check on your progress. I have tried to impart my wisdom as best I could because your welfare is important to me. Sometimes you have taken my advice and sometimes you have not. In the past I have tried to forward my message through one emissary or prophet. Often what has been related has been misconstrued or blatantly misrepresented. I am here because I want there to be no further misunderstandings. “

                “Why now?” asked Misha.

                “When you were primitive people throwing sticks and stones at each other I was not pleased but I did not worry that you might destroy the planet. You are all aware that this has changed. What’s more is that you are killing each other in my name and I will no longer be responsible for this madness. You have Sunnis killing Shias killing Hindus killing Buddhists killing Christians killing Jews killing Mormons in a vicious circle and I will not tolerate it. I am God. You may not kill in my name anymore. I have never condoned this sort of behavior ever. I have only ever told you to love and respect one another. The truth is you kill for yourself and not for me. I am just the excuse you use to justify your own behavior. Have I made myself clear?”

                The whole of the world responded with a, “Yes.”

                “Good.”

                “Is there anything else you want from us?” Misha leaned in with a follow up.

                “No.”

                “Any sacraments we need to follow? Commandments you’re particularly fond of?” Misha was grasping for more.

                “The rules you make are your own. I’m not here to tell you what to do. I try to help. I give advice. The rest of it is stuff you’ve invented for your own benefit. The commandments are just laws like you have in any town but they’re not my laws. That’s not to say some of them aren’t good but I didn’t give them to you. Some of the stuff you say I want you to do is weird and twisted. I am God and I do not care about your foreskin. That is bizarre. If you want to eat a pig, eat a pig. Women can wear say and do anything they want. There is no such thing as magic underwear. I never said an eye for an eye.”

                “I think people worry about a vengeful God. That’s why they do those things.”

                “I am not vengeful. I warn Lot that Sodom is going to go up in smoke and instead I’m the one making it happen. I warn Moses about the plagues and he plays it up to sound like I’m making it happen. I know it’s going to happen. I’m not the one doing it. I really don’t do anything. Forces of nature are just a part of living on this planet. So is bad luck.”

                “What about miracles?”

                “I don’t do those either. Who here has seen with their own eyes a miracle that cannot be explained in some way by science. Someone comes out of a coma after forty two years. It’s a one in a million chance. It’s not a miracle. A touchdown is not a miracle. You pray for stuff you have no business praying for. I’m not going to make you rich. I don’t care about money. Why does God care about your new diet or what school you get accepted to or whether or not you beat a red light? I don’t care. If you want to pray then do so for each other and not for yourselves. It’s selfish. “

                “if you don’t have any laws and you are neither an angry God, though you seem a little steamed right now, or likely to bestow favor on anyone why should we worship you?” Misha gets to the heart of the matter.

                “You shouldn’t.”

                This stuns the entire world.

                Misha tries to clarify, “You mean to say you don’t want us to worship you?”

                “No. I am not some megalomaniac. I am God. I am all powerful. I do not need you to bring me offerings. I do not need you to bow at my feet. I do not need hymns or chants. I am not vainglorious. If I wanted slaves I would have made slaves. Why would I give you free will and then spend eternity trying to strip it from you? You are not my plaything. I want you to be happy and I would hope that you are although most often you are not. I do not need anything from you.”

                “Then why are we here?”

                “I created the universe. Once you set those wheels in motion life becomes an obvious byproduct. I made stars and asteroids and comets and sometimes under the right circumstances life can arise. It’s science really. Some of you have been able to figure it out. Darwin was a smart human. I liked Einstein too. All of it is easily explained once you know what you’re working with. The trick is where did it come from in the first place? That’s me.”

                A noticeable concern crossed Misha’s face. “Then what is the purpose of life?”

                “The purpose of life is to be lived. Cherish every moment of it. Appreciate it in yourself and in others. Every living thing is special, plants, birds, people, cockroaches. People are just proteins and enzymes and peptides taken to their logical conclusion. I remember when the smartest thing on this planet was salamander. They weren’t developed enough to have any concept of God. For a while though they were the chosen ones. I have made thousands of worlds that are filled with life. Each is beautiful. Those that can appreciate it should. I do not always have the same worry with them that I do you. You should know how lucky you are.”

                “There are others?” Misha’s voice stammered with shock.

                “Of course there are. It’s science. Everyone wants to think they are unique, that they are alone in the center of the universe. They aren’t. It’s the same story on planets all throughout the galaxy.”

                “And what about heaven?” Misha was almost afraid to ask.

                “You have this. This should be enough. This is your moment in time. I know that you often equate heaven with some end game. There isn’t one. Just imagine how crowded it would be. Every living person since the dawn of time sitting on a cloud? It’s absurd. Hell doesn’t exist either. You have right now. You should take care of it.”

 

                The joyful mood that preceded God’s broadcast did not follow him into commercial break. The mood of the world ranged from dour to bleak. He knew that he had said many things that they did not want to hear. Few faces looked up at God and Misha as they left the studio and climbed back into her car.

                “Where to?” she asked as she started the motor.

                “Same place you found me is good.”

                “Do I really need to drive you?” Misha was visibly upset.

                “I would like it if you did.”

                “Why did you do that? Why did you say all those things?”

                “I had to.”

                “You could have just told us to be nice to one another and left it at that.”

                God turned in his seat to face Misha and she turned to him as well with her face hanging down.

                “The thing is I didn’t tell anyone anything that they were not already well on their way to figuring out for themselves. In fact many of you already knew the truth. The problem lies with those who will not let go of their mythology. If I had left them with half of the truth they would still be fighting over who knows me best, who has my favor, which ones get the best seat in heaven. They are much too powerful and before long they would drown out reason completely.”

                God reached out and placed a finger under Misha’s chin pulling it upward. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” He smiled at her and she returned it with a strained smile of her own.

               

They drove back to the garden in silence. Once there God said to Misha, “The Garden of Eden is a parable. It is not about defying the will of God or making me angry. It is about the burden of knowledge. It is about that moment when mankind evolved into a being capable of complex thought and reasoning. Before they ate from the apple Adam and Eve were no different than the braying asses that live to eat tall grass and rest under shady trees. Intelligence may have cast them out of their tranquil home but the struggle of humanity also provides for great joy that no animal in a cage could ever begin to fathom. A garden is a prison if you are trapped by its constraints. Mankind may have been cast out but tomorrow when birds are singing and children are smiling the meaning of the pleasure you find will be worth more because it belongs to you and not to me.”

                With that being said, the old man with the grey beard and kind eyes went back to his carrots and sugar snap peas. Misha circled the block to see if he was still there but he was gone.  She could have stopped and tried to do the story she had started in the first place. She didn’t feel that she needed to anymore.

What Two Dollars Can Buy

            Aaron was leaning over, pencil in hand, when he stopped. “Concentrate.” He said to himself. “This is important.” He cleared his mind and drew a deep breath that he held. The first number that popped into his head would be a keeper, then the next one and the next until he had the six he needed. He carefully filled in each correlating space on the betting slip, making sure not to mark outside the lines. When he was done he examined his work. It looked good, he thought, and he was feeling confident when he handed it to the cashier.

Ticket in hand he read the numbers. He wanted to see if they sang to him. People who have been extremely lucky always say that they had a sense things were going to go their way. Whether they survived a plane crash or found a million dollars they always knew it was going to happen. Aaron wanted to know if he was lucky and as he peered at the black ink drying on shiny paper he thought that just maybe he could hear something.

Twice a week for the last six months Aaron has purchased a two dollar lottery ticket at the same gas station and mailed it home to his girlfriend Jenny. He always encloses a little letter with news about what he’s up to and whatever ridiculous musings he might have. He tries to woo her too, just a little. Jenny is not the kind of girl that likes too much mushy stuff and if he went off the deep end she would think he’d lost his mind. That being said, she does like to know that Aaron loves her and he doesn’t mind saying it.

He calls her too, nearly every day. Everyone in America has a cell phone. The thing is he doesn’t have cable. He can’t afford it. It’s not that he would spend money on it anyways. What some people call frugal other people call cheap. Aaron is one of those. So, he has all the time in the world to write. Also, it’s the only way he can send her the lottery tickets.

He promised Jenny when he left that he would send one before each drawing and that she could check to see if they’re winners when she gets them. It’s a little dream whose cuteness should have waned some time ago, but as long as Jenny likes getting them Aaron is going to send them. Hope is like oxygen. You can’t live without either one.

Aaron and Jenny both grew up in the same Midwest small town. They didn’t really start fooling around until after high school. It was the best thing ever, but after three years Aaron still lived with his mom and Jenny still lived with her sister and her kids and life seemed to be going nowhere.

Neither one of them could keep a job, not that there were any to speak of. There was seasonal stuff that was alright. The rest were just minimum wage crap jobs that wouldn’t be so bad if only people realized that when you pay seven dollars an hour you’re gonna get seven dollars an hour’s worth of work.

Eventually, Aaron got frustrated. He used to joke that Nebraska was an Indian word meaning both shit and no shit, as in “There ain’t shit in Nebraska, but shit.” He decided to make a run for it and begged Jenny to come with him. Although she wanted to, the thought of leaving her sister and nieces was too much. He sold everything he owned, borrowed as much cash as his mother was willing to part with, and moved to the city.

Aaron decided to go it alone. He figured if he could get settled in and start making some good money Jenny would change her mind. If he couldn’t give her a future in Nebraska then he would do it somewhere else.

The first job he found was driving a taxi. He knew he was never going to get rich doing it and looked around for other work on the side, but he liked driving a cab. He worked as much as he wanted and he got to spend most of his time sightseeing along with his fares. He never got tired of it.

It did have its ups and downs. There were fare jumpers and a couple of guys threatened to rob him. There was a whole assortment of freaks too varied to mention individually. There were nice people and assholes. Sometimes they’d tell him stories he didn’t want to know. Sometimes he didn’t want them to stop. Some nights he made hundreds of dollars. Some nights he barely paid for gas.

All the while he saved like a miser. He lived in the smallest apartment in the worst part of town. He ate nothing but ramen and oatmeal. Sometimes he would steal fancy teabags from hotel lobbies, but other than that he only drank the cheapest coffee. He wanted to make sure that he had enough money when Jenny moved in.

He had it all planned out. They would get a new place in a nice neighborhood. She could take some time to get adjusted and feel out the place without having to worry about getting a job right away. They’d be together and it would be perfect. Jenny always said that there would be heaven on earth if people just spent a little time trying to ease each other’s burdens. He didn’t want her to have to worry about anything.

It was her worry that had him out so early on a Tuesday morning. He was on his way open a bank account. Since his arrival, Aaron had saved up over five thousand dollars that he kept hidden in a shoebox in his apartment. A couple of nights earlier he got home and found someone had broken in. They didn’t find the money, but Jenny freaked out all the same when he told her and he thought she was right to do so.

He got off at three in the morning, but couldn’t sleep. At home he tidied up his place, finished his letter to Jenny, and counted his money. For some unknown reason he could not unwind. That’s why four hours later he was back behind the wheel of his cab. It’s also why he was feeling lucky. There were forces at work in the universe. He felt it. Aaron decided to run a few errands and pick up a few fares along the way.

Aaron sat in his car and tucked the lottery ticket into the envelope, which he placed on the dash. He’d mail it from the bank. The money was stuffed under the passenger seat with some fast food wrappers and an empty mountain dew that had always been there. He never bothered to clean them out.

With a couple of hours to kill until the bank opens he thought he might get some early morning traffic. There’d be a bunch of businessmen in a hurry to get some place or another. They were lousy tippers, but he didn’t have to worry about them getting gangster with him. Aaron tries to be selective about who he picks up but cab drivers are horny guys at a bar. When they’re desperate they’ll take anyone home. At least in the daylight he doesn’t worry so much.

He barely even noticed the two guys get in the back of his cab. Perhaps it was because they looked so ordinary. He didn’t even glance at them when he asked where they wanted to go. This occurred to Aaron as strange and he paused for moment to wonder who he had let in his cab.

Aaron would say later when recounting this story that he knew that they had a gun before he ever even saw their faces and it was true. He claimed that he could feel the gun’s presence as the man behind him withdrew it from his coat pocket as if he had some kind of sixth sense. It is certain he knew it when he felt the hollow end of a pistol in the back of his head.

Aaron tried to stay calm and obliged when the men directed him to park in a tall dark alleyway. Although outwardly serene, inside was a tremor growing with intensity. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he began to feel himself leave his body. He imagined that this is what daredevils must go through. It was a powerful high. He was kind of numb, but also super aware at the same time. In a weird way he had never felt so alive.

He handed over his wallet and lied face down on the concrete next to his car just as they asked. He didn’t make a sound as they tore through the car looking for anything valuable. He knew he was going to be alright. This is what the bizarre premonition had been about. He was going to be lucky. He just had to figure out how to land the plane.

After much commotion one of the men came over and kicked Aaron on to his back. He knelt over him and put the gun in his face and demanded, “Where is the money?”

The other man counted up their haul, “I only have nineteen dollars here.”

“I don’t have any more money.” Aaron pleaded. He knew they hadn’t found his savings. He weighed the odds. They may not kill him for nineteen dollars. It wouldn’t be worth it. They’d probably have to kill him for five thousand.

“Fuck you!” said the man with the gun.

“I just came on shift.” Aaron tried to reason. “It’s 7:30 in the morning. Who do you think I picked up before you?”

It was a logical argument and one they had not thought of while planning their caper. They guy with the money began to curse and beat the side of the cab. The man with the gun had a twitch. He looked to his partner and said, “I’m going to shoot him.”

“Wait, no!” Aaron pulled his hands in front of his face as if his fingers could somehow miraculously stop bullets. “I have something.”

They ceased their machinations for a moment, intrigued by what it was that Aaron might have tooffer.

“I’ll have to get it for you. You’ll have to let me up.”

The man with the gun said, “It better not be a gun.”

This struck Aaron as being funny and there was a lilt in his voice when he replied, “Man, if I had a gun in there don’t you think you would have found it? I mean you tore my car up. It was a mess to begin with. It’s definitely a mess now.”

The guy without the gun told him to shut up and get it, whatever it was. Aaron leaned in through the driver’s side door. He saw the trash poking out from under the passenger seat. He was still tempted with the thought of buying his freedom. Instead he reached for the envelope on top of the dash.

Most people who are killed by guns are killed by someone they know. That’s why they want to kill them. When a stranger kills it is because he doesn’t know the victim. Aaron was smart enough to realize that if these guys knew who he was as a person that they would be less inclined to shoot him. That, of course, is supposing that they do not get to know him well enough to want to shoot him.

Aaron held up the envelope. “It’s in here.”

The guy with the gun said, “We don’t take checks.”

Aaron smiled when he reached in and presented the red, white, and black ticket before them. “This is what I got.”

“It’s a fucking lottery ticket.” proclaimed the gunman’s sidekick, not amused.

“Yes it is.” proclaimed Aaron. “It is a ticket for the upcoming drawing. You wanted everything I have. With this you have everything.”

Aaron kept talking. “I buy a ticket every drawing and mail it back to my girlfriend in Nebraska. That’s where I’m from. We’re poor. We buy lottery tickets. That’s what we do. I came all the way here just to find work. I haven’t made any money. It’s tough for everybody. You know it is. The whole world’s gone to hell. This ticket cost me two dollars. Maybe it wins and it’s worth fifty million. Maybe it doesn’t.

The thing is you have got to believe in something. Right now what I believe in is going home and seeing my girl. It’s funny. Today is actually my last day in the city. I tried, but I can’t make it here. Not like this. My mom’s wiring me a bus ticket and by noon tomorrow this place is in my rearview mirror. And, I’m going to marry Jenny. That’s my girlfriend’s name. Rich or poor is not that important, not really. Family is and I can’t wait to see mine. That is if you let me go.

Keep the money and the ticket. I don’t care about any of it and I’m not going tell anyone. Do you think I want to hang around and deal with the police? Over nineteen dollars? Take the ticket. Take it. You need it just as bad as I do.”

The guy lowered his gun and reached out with his hand.

His friend tried to stop him, “You can’t take his ticket.”

Aaron placed the ticket in the gunman’s hand and said in an almost gentle voice, “I want you to have it.”

The gunman had a gracious yet bewildered look on his face as he thanked Aaron. The two men walked out of the alley at a casual stroll, as if nothing had ever transpired between the three of them to cause any concern.

Aaron kept his word to the robbers and left town the next day. He had been lucky just like he thought he would. He didn’t win a million dollars, but when he told this story during his first job interview back home in Nebraska he got hired. It was a good job too, with benefits and everything. He married Jenny. They have their own place and a family together. Aaron would often say that two dollar ticket saved his life and provided him with a future still unfolding, so it was a winner.

He never did check to see if anyone had won that week’s drawing. Every now and then he would wonder if the two thieves had claimed the jackpot. Either way, it was alright with him.

A Great Whatever (blog story) 34

Life never lets anyone have it all. Even the truly happy have dark corners in which they fear to tread. The best you can hope for is that the balance is in your favor. Heaven forbid that the scales should tip in the other direction. The last year had been the most difficult of your life, but you felt cautiously optimistic that things were going to work out.

When Heather told you she was moving out it obliterated your hope. You hardly heard a word she said. The blood rushed to your ears. The sound of your pounding heart drowned out the muffled words as they left her mouth. You thought you might pass out. The pressure was so great. You sat at the kitchen table motionless, speechless until long after she had left.

It surprised you that you were not angry. Instead the pain manifested itself as nausea. No one at work doubted you when you said you had to go home because you had the flu. You went home and curled up into a ball in your bed, gently rocking back and forth, trying to soothe your discomfort. You hovered all day between awake and asleep.

When you dream everything is fine. Your mother is alive. Your father is happy. Heather loves you. When your eyes open your stomach cramps with so much force that you gasp for breath. You clutch the pillow to your face to stifle your groans as you wait for slumber to return.

Noise in the hallway causes a panic. It’s late at night. There are several voices talking and the sounds of objects banging around. This is your fear, that all of this is real. Your back is to the door as it slowly turns open and a slender beam of light stretches across the room.

Heather whispers, “Mark, are you awake? I brought some people to help me get my things. We’re going to need to get in here. Can you get up?”

You turn to face her but she is silhouetted. “Okay,” is all you can muster to say before her darkened face retreats.

You find yourself standing in the living room in your shorts and an old tshirt while strangers you’ve never seen before place items in boxes. You do not even check to see what it is they are taking. That is not what you care about.

You only get to see passing glances of Heather. She is deliberate in her attempt to not look at you directly. She has decided you are no longer part of her life. There will be no reconciliation. You won’t be friends. The coldness causes you to shiver.

You find yourself fixating on one guy. Your eyes follow him everywhere. You see how Heather looks at him as they pass. You strain to hear as they speak softly to one another. Is this the guy? She never said she met someone else, but you know she did.

This is your anger. He did this. She did this. You are standing all alone half naked as your house is stripped clean. She is just going to go on with her life as if none of this ever even mattered.

Heather’s voice rings out, “I left the keys on the table.” The door shuts behind her and she is gone. This is all she had to say. You cry for the first time all day.

Moses

I speak for my audience

Of an uncertain people in an uncertain place

At an uncertain age

Brothers and sisters conjoined at the hip

Of self-doubt fumbling for misplaced roadmaps

As children we had clear expectations and clear courses

And clear minds and clear skin

That things were going to be a certain way

If we did things a certain way

If we wanted things a certain way

Our lives would have meaning and purpose

Just like our parents and grandparents and everyone before them

It was all laid out before us

And still we got lost

If only we’d studied harder

If only we’d gotten that job

If only we’d married our high school sweethearts

And had four babies and three jobs and two mortgages

And one divorce

We could be like everyone else

But we didn’t

We set ourselves adrift on a sea of sand

We ran screaming with delight as we escaped form middle class homes

With middle class values

And republican ideology

We imagined ourselves as free

Free from the certainty of back to school lunches

The perceived drudgery of picket fences manicured lawns

Old age and death

We kick flip Ollied through somber shouting matches

With well-heeled kin

Then set our own course through the wilderness

We aspired for inspirations

Dreamed of dream catchers

Tasted the future as succulent ripe fruit

We waited for nothing and then nothing happened

There are six billion people on this planet

Only a handful get to live the way they want

The rest of us compromise and struggle

We buy discount toilet paper and happy hour shots

We work crappy jobs for lousy pay and scratch off our lottery tickets slowly

To draw out the suspense

Those fools who fooled themselves

Into doing everything they were told are doing no better

With their daytime drama talk show chair throwing petty

Bickering family bullshit

The only thing they have are their beliefs

That they have a purpose

That they are following the path

We have just our unsatiated needs

That we fulfill as best we can

We all want to see Canaan

We deny our envy

But it would be nice to believe in something once and awhile

Wistful little cherubim

Innocent and beautiful

Guardians of sacred sanctuaries

Men dressed like boys and women dressed as girls

Cram themselves in into creaky sodden places

For jovial juvenile explorations of liquid psyche

They seek the sweet sanguine laughter of strangers

In parting flicker tape memories

We are none of us virgins

We are none of the whores we aspire to be

We are too anxious to give ourselves so freely

Though we talk about sex and allude to sex

And conspire for sex and whisper for sex

But never so often never so long

There is a recalcitrant reluctance that feeds our loneliness

Sweaty symphonic beats glisten on eager brows

And damp cheeks and red lips

We friend each other this way

Where cotton meets silk

Pressed against one another

Struggling to be understood

These are my false gods

Dj’s and bartenders and five dollar cover charges

We will lose each other in these crowds

Then find each other only to be separated

By other friends with other agendas

Tomorrow we may text and rendezvous in a quieter place

Where we can fantasize about happiness and true love

And doing it in the afternoon and all the things in life we fear we are missing

Tonight we can only steal glances across a parting multitude

Streaming towards exits

On the sidewalk I will stare at your programmed phone number

Intent clutching praying

Till a voice breaks my trance

Moses knows us every Friday Saturday night

He waits outside when we enter and he waits for us when we leave

With camels and newports  stumbling down the street

He waits because this is where he is

He really isn’t anywhere else

Moses knows us as friends

That’s what he calls us when his chaffed hands grab ours

Shaking vigorously wet red variegated eyes peering

Three tooth grin emerging

It is easy to like someone happy to see you

Moses knows us for a dollar

And whatever change we have

So he can get that meal

So he can buy his medicine

So he can put gas in his car

To save his pregnant wife sick mother crippled brother

He needs so little

We have so much

Moses knows us for the trouble we’ve caused

Foolish hooliganism

Foolish banter

Foolish boasts

About the projects we’re on

And how we are going to set the world on fire

With 5 million candle watt intensity

Moses knows us as great men

On the same step of the same stoop

Crouched in the same doorway

Cupping the same smokes to light a match as he does

Moses knows us because Moses once was us

What happened to you man?

It wasn’t always like this

Between you and I

At some time in your life you had an idea

There was a purpose

There was a plan

There were vo-tech courses and rent to own furniture

There was a woman in a tiny apartment

Who folded things and checked your finger nails for grime

She loved you

Why did you give it up?

Is this really easier?

I don’t want to be like you

All this wandering scares me

The days are shorter and shorter and go by faster and faster

With supersonic velocity 59 millimeter rubber wheels on a 15% incline

I am afraid to grow old with nowhere to stop

The dirty yellow cab is coming take me home

You can hold the door and help me in

But I don’t want you to lead the way

We are both lost in the desert

And it would do me no good to follow your path

Everyone knows Moses never set foot in the promised land

Religion

     As a child I was obsessed with life’s great questions. Why are we here? What is our purpose? There are no concrete answers. Mankind looks to the heavens to fill a void that knowledge cannot traverse. Herein lays the basis of all religion.               

     I was eight years old when I asked my devoutly catholic grandmother what became of the souls who did not know of Jesus. After all, Christianity had only been around for two thousand years. Surely there were pious men and women who lived before Christ. Should they all be sent to hell for not worshipping a God they’d never met?               

     She struggled with an answer, but assured me that good people always go to heaven regardless of their beliefs. I should note that my preciousness did not make me her favorite grandchild. Faith requires absolute certainty. Believers do not like to be confronted with issues that require flexibility.

     When I grew older I learned as much as I could about the different religions of the world. I am not an expert on any of them. I have a passing knowledge not a scholarly degree. What I have been able to gather is that at some very basic points they all preach the same thing and hold the same purpose.                

     Since the dawn of time religion has been mythology, nationalism, and codified law. We use the stories to explain away our fears and weave elaborate fables about our origins. We identify ourselves by our beliefs as separate from other people. We use it as the basis for how we treat each other and behave in an organized society.               

     Religion is a concept created by humans, derived to fulfill human need. As such it cannot help but be corrupted by human pettiness. For the same reasons my grandmother would not attend my uncle’s wedding to a Baptist, wars have been fought, people have been subjugated, and tyranny has been allowed to fester.               

     This is why am convinced that all religion is baseless and all Gods are false as we know them. This is not to say that I do not have a moral compass and cannot differentiate between right and wrong. I take these things very seriously. The difference is that I do not honor justice because I fear for my soul. I do so because the concept of justice is the most noble of all human inventions. If I have a religion then it is based in the value of humanity.               

     If there is a God and there is a heaven, I do not know what they are. If my soul is in danger of being put on trial I cannot conceive of a judge. What I do know is that in this world of living people my actions carry weight and provide consequences. I am beholden to my fellow people to behave in a righteous manner. In a world where we are so close as to one another that even geography is not an obstacle the idea that all lives our intertwined and we live for the benefit of each other is not fantasy.               

     There is however great merit in these fables, even if in practice their spirituality is waning. Judaism is a chronicle of perseverance. Christianity provides us with the golden rule. Islam teaches structure. Hinduism is a quest for moral certainty. Buddhism seeks personal enlightenment. Each of these concepts is valid and none should be in contrast with another. They stand as a testament to the greatness of the human species.               

     I believe that for us to survive on this planet we must embrace the fact that none of us know what is the true religion. We cannot afford to be resolute about that for which we are all of us unsure. There is no man or woman alive who knows with any certitude what lies beyond the veil of life. Therefore, we should worship the life we know is real and find merit within it.

A Great Whatever (blog story) 33

     Most bombs go off without a warning. There is no countdown. You don’t hear a burning fuse. There is no anonymous call to warn the innocent. There is just a loud bang and it’s over. If you pay close attention though, you can see the warning signs. Some are obvious. Some are not.
     When Sunday afternoon turned into Sunday evening and Heather had still not returned home you became concerned. You did not feel any panic. You were just curious. You called her phone. It rang, but there was no answer. You left a message on her voicemail. You shrugged it off and began to make diner for yourself. Then while hunched over the sink a bolt of electricity shot down your spine and made you stand straight up.
     You grabbed the phone and called again. This time it rang once and went to voicemail. She had declined your call. You immediately called back. This time it rang until you got the voicemail again. You were looking for her mother’s number when you got a call from Heather.
     The first words out of your mouth were, “What’s going on?”
     “What do you mean?” She replied in a hushed tone.
     “I called three times.”
     “I know. Mother is sleeping. I didn’t want to wake her.”
     “Aren’t you coming home? You have work in the morning.”
     “I took Monday off. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
     “You didn’t tell me.”
     “I forgot.”
     This confused you. Heather never forgot anything and she never missed work. “Is everything alright?” It all sounded like a lie. You strained to listen for any noise in the background that would expose it as such.
     “Yes, everything is fine.” She continued to speak in a soft voice. “I can’t really talk. I’ll be home soon. Love you.”
     She rushed off before you could reply. You could feel your heart beat fast in your chest. None of this made sense. You sat at the table and stared at the phone in your hands. You wanted to call her mother. You wanted to make sure she was really asleep and Heather was really there.
     If you were wrong Heather would think you didn’t trust her. Just thinking that she is betraying you is a breach of faith. Your mind wanted to go places you did not want to tread. You decided to believe her, but trust cannot be manufactured. You either have it or you ignore that it’s gone. You chose to be oblivious.
     That didn’t help you sleep any better. You lied in bed listening to the ticking clock. The click-clack grew louder and louder. It drowned out the sounds in your head and you counted along, one, two, one, two, until the alarm rang.

A Great Whatever (blog story) 32

     The distance between two people is hard to measure when you can’t use a map. You and Heather are still very much together, and there are moments of passion and closeness, but they are only moments. Sometimes you wonder if she is there, or if you are there, or if it would make any difference if you weren’t.
     You are spending a lot less time together. You are working earlier and staying later. She is spending more nights out with her friends. You are spending more at home with your father. Sometimes, she is the last to bed and the last to rise and the two of you will spend a whole day without passing a single word back and forth.
     One day when you are home alone together you decide to see how long it will take before she initiates a conversation. Between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m. you circle each other. Not once does she make a sound. Finally you crack because it is painful to miss someone who is standing in front of you.
     Over diner you quip that Milo has a blood lust for squirrels and how you’re worried the dog might be the reincarnation of a serial killer. She ignores your funny aside and instead talks about herself, her friends, and her job. When you try to steer the conversation to the two of you she seems uninterested and returns to her food.
     The next Saturday you take Heather on a drive out to the suburbs. She spends much of the time on the phone with her girlfriends and is speaking to one of them when you drive down a remote tree enveloped road. You pull into the driveway of a little house, all by itself, carved out of the forest, and turn off the car.
     “Hang up the phone.” You whisper to her.
     She does and asks, “Where are we?”
     “What do you think?”
     “About what?”
     “This house.” You are restrained in your excitement. “In six months I can afford this house. I talked to the owner and he wants to sell. He doesn’t even live there anymore and he is willing to let it go cheap.”
     She scrunches up her face and squints. “It is so small.”
     “The first house is always small. It’s two bedrooms, one and a half baths, nice kitchen, and has a porch out back. It’s bigger than our apartment. There’s plenty of room for you, me, and the dog. There is even enough space for one regular sized child or two little ones if we have them back to back.”
     She sighs and says, “I don’t know, Mark.”
     “You said we needed a house before we could get married. This is a house. It’s clean. It’s relatively new. We have the woods. It reminds me of your parent’s house. Well, maybe their garage, but we can live here for a couple of years and trade up.”
     “It’s so far away from the city.”
     “It’s twenty two miles. I can commute. You can commute. Or, you can get a job closer to the house.”
     “I can’t quit my job. I love my job.” She is not interested in the house at all and tries to rationalize her decision. “Besides, I’d go stir crazy out here. There is no one around. It’s so isolated.”
     “I thought that is what you would like most about it.” You are crushed and finding it difficult to conceal. “I just want to get married. We have been engaged for a year. We have been together for a lot longer than that. It feels like we are stuck in a holding pattern and I want to land the plane. I’m afraid we’re going to run out of gas and crash if we don’t.”
     She strokes the back of your hair and comforts you. “It’s okay. I love you. I just think we need more options. Who knows what else will be out there in six months. We can look again then.”
     On the ride back you are alone with your thoughts. Heather spends the entire time with her face buried in her phone, texting her friends. The seed of paranoia that you have been keeping in the dark is starting to see daylight. You want to know what she is saying to them. Is she ridiculing you? You plead with yourself to not overreact.
     You have been so desperate to conform to the idea of what she wanted. You wonder what else you can do or if there is anything you can do. You had your hopes so high. You thought she would be overjoyed not underwhelmed.
     The next weekend Heather went to see her parents. You stayed home. She wanted some alone time with her mother. She said you’d be bored because her father was out of town on business and you’d have no one to talk too. You agreed halfheartedly.
     While walking the dog you took the time to figure the mileage to her parent’s house. Then you factored in the pace you and Milo kept on an average jaunt. You combined the two in your head to conclude exactly how long it would take the two of you to reach her. There is no way you could make it. She is too far away.