Jesus, Buddha, Santa, and Mariah Carey walk into a bar
Hey guys! Here’s an excerpt from what I wrote tonight for NaNoWrimo. Mind you, I haven’t done any editing on it, because right now, it’s all about getting the words down, then fixing it later. This story originally opened with my dad and how he prayed before every meal, despite being an alcoholic and the following piece is my own experience with The Big Guy:
…I never went back to that church.
Before I knew what was happening, one day, I was saved in gym class by the redheaded freckled girl in my grade who always wore a skirt. She wore culottes in gym, though. Little did I know a few years later, this weirdo would steal the love of my life from me, but that’s besides the point. She held my hands and made me say a bunch of stuff, while feeling really really sorry, for what, I wasn’t sure.
“I know I’m a sinner, and a dirty little shit, not fit to walk on this Kingdom, but through the grace of that hottie Jesus, I am saved, Hallelujah.” I looked up and screamed “Christ,” for good measure. (Ok, I didn’t yell that out, but I should have.)
That weekend, Red convinced me that taking a ride in her church’s white school bus out to a compound of trailers was a good idea.
I think she was Baptist, but when I say Baptist, I mean the kind where 9-year-olds speak in tongues and wave handkerchiefs in the air as the preacher tells you you’re going to hell. I was terrified, I’m telling you, the little girl next to me was an Albino 70-year-old in a kids body and eventually some geezer was going to soul suck me and I’d never get the chance to have sex.
I said to myself, what the shit, I thought Red over there saved me last week during a game of dodge ball. There better not be any fucking snakes.
Then the people in charge said we had to split up from the boys to have the youth lesson of the week.
I shit you not, the lady put on a video clip of a South Park episode, where Jesus fights Satan, and another clip where Jesus and Santa fight via Mortal Kombat tactics in a mall, slaughtering bystanders. I officially lost my shit, I looked around and realized I was the only one laughing among the other teens. I turned red as the church lady went on a tirade about how evil TV shows are today, how dare they pit Jesus against Satan and make fun of it, there’s a real war going on out there, the war for SOULS.
They also agreed that Santa was in fact evil and Jesus would obviously win in a real fight.
…I guess my childhood didn’t really foster a great religious experience. In college, I read about Hinduism, Buddhism, half-heartedly tried meditation, and then there was my favorite, the Tao of Pooh.
Nothing stuck though.
Well, nothing really stuck until one six-hour drive to Missouri from Indiana this last year. I did what I often did on long drives, thought about the past, how much I’d messed things up, how, really, I was alone, even when I had a boyfriend, wah wah, that kind of stuff. There were probably no less than three crying spurts along the way.
I was driving on my fifth hour in, and for some reason, I was tired of feeling sad, so, naturally I thought about the movie scene in Rush Hour, the one with the little Asian girl, sitting in the back of a car, singing along to a Mariah Carey song, while Jackie Chan grimaced in that Jackie Chan way he does oh so well.
There was no particular reason to think of that scene. I hadn’t seen the movie for probably eight years or so.
Damn, I really want to hear Fantasy right now, I whined as I changed the static channels ever present on highway drives.
I hit the seek button.
“OH WHEN YOU WALK BY EVVVERY NIGHT, TALKING SWEET AND LOOKING FINE…” I heard on the radio. Shut the front door, I screamed at no one. “IMAGES OF RAPTURE, CREEP INTO ME SLOWLY, AS YOU GO INTO MY HEEEAAAD…AND MY HEART BEATS FASTER, WHEN YOU TAKE ME OHHH-VER, TIME AND TIME AND TIME AGAI-AYEYEAN,” Mariah sang.
I just shook my head, wiggled in my seat and enjoyed the ride. Then God said,
“Here’s looking at you kid.”