I took god with me to the moon, pointed back at Earth, said, "That place is filled with crazy people." And by the way, I don't believe in you.
I took god back home and admonished him for his poor grooming. "Do something about your hair—you're not Albert Einstein, you know. You really can't get away with it. And what's up with those dirty pajamas? You're here on earth now. Let's see some style."
I sent god out into the back yard, told him to pull some weeds. Poor old Lee is always out there with her cane, bent in half, trying to keep the unwanteds from encroaching upon the wanteds. It's a thankless battle, especially for an 85-year-old woman coming apart at the joints, coming apart in her gut, coming apart in her mind. "Get to work, god. You made the unwanteds. Let's get a little help around here."
I took god on the bus. No one would sit next to him, he smelled so bad. That's how it is when you haven't bathed in a hundred gazillion years. God fell asleep, even though it was a short ride. He fell asleep, resting his head against the window. When he finally sat up, his greasy mop of hair left a big round smudge on the glass, right over the etched lines that read KT hearts MJ.
I took god to the other end of town, dropped him off, told him to get some exercise and air out for a while. I was tired of being with god, telling him what to do all the time, trying to help him blend in, look like he belonged. And god was tired, too, I could tell. Tired all the time. Fell asleep at the drop of a hat.
I waited at home for god to show up, to return refreshed from his good long walk in the late afternoon air. I waited, and it got dark. I made some cheese tortellini, enough for god and me, and ate my portion alone, waiting for him.
At 9:00 I started to feel it. He wasn't coming, or wasn't able to come, or had gotten lost—or something. The line I'd set him on had broken, and god in his funny white hair and smelly pajamas was somewhere else now, with someone else, and I could eat his share of the tortellini if I wanted, and I could go to bed when I pleased, and I didn't have to worry anymore about guiding and directing him, or what people would think of him.
The house felt empty, and the extra torellini didn't do anything to help that. I fell asleep thinking of the moon.
|