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"How?" There really is no reason to ask, it
just slips out. He will tell me, just like He always tells me, so
I wait. I try to steel my nerves but know He wants reparation. Over
the years, scars have quietly recorded my sins and now a new memory
will be etched alongside the others.
The heat magnifies as it lances through
the spit-smeared windshield. The sun sparks, flares, and twirls
as it hits the glass and skips across the vinyl seats. I draw hard
on the impotent cigarette, waiting for the lighter. And when it
pops, God speaks to his loving son.
"You have used my name in vain, Roy."
He pauses and lets me absorb it. "You have done it before and I
have shown compassion. Now it is time for you to learn my displeasure
with hearing the defilement of my name. Taste the lighter and find
forgiveness. Go in peace." And He is gone.
The fire dances wickedly on my tongue
and water leaps to my eyes to put out the pain. The smell of penance
permeates the car, but I keep pushing and wait until God returns.
I revel in its meaning, but rejoice when He takes my hand and peels
penance from my tongue. I pull the car to the side of the road and
my body shakes with happiness. Tears caress my cheeks and God holds
me in His arms.
I
arrive home, throw three cartons of cigarettes on the kitchen counter,
and get ice from the freezer. My tongue fills my mouth and
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still throbs, a remembrance of my sin. I
put ice into a plastic grocery bag and apply it to my tongue.
I tear into a carton of smokes and
place a pack in my shirt pocket. I reach for a second pack, open it,
turn a cigarette upside down, and choose another. I throw the remaining
cartons into the fridge and take a deep drag. I must look crazy with
my tongue poking out of one side of my mouth and a cowboy killer dangling
from the other. I probably look like some sort of sick, dead cartoon
character. All I need now are X's for eyes.
I pull open a drawer, find a thick,
black marker, and criss-cross my eyes. By the time I reach the bathroom
I am laughing so hard that I lose track of my ice, but not the cigarette.
My sides pound out their demand to be opened, my jaw throbs and cries
out to be shut, my tongue pulsates with fire, but still I laugh.
Water spills from my eyes like the
laughter from my gut and I picture my Mother watching my Saturday
morning show. Not only her, but the whole world would tune in to see
the human cartoon character. As I dance around naked I think of them
laughing at me and me laughing right along with them. But not really
with them. I would be laughing at them. They would point their fingers
at me and howl hysterically, but I wouldn't care because God had entrusted
His secret with me. They didn't realize what I knew. What I could
do. I would turn a good deed; they would stop laughing; then I would
know they were happy. |
