The ugly green nissan sat near the back of a parking lot of a little church; the driver's side door was ajar and the light was on. "Idiot!" He murmured again. The car belonged to the local tax-collector - aka, Ted. Max could think of a few other words. And yeah, there was prejudice involved - you see, dear reader, Ted had, several years ago, divorced Connie, a long-time family friend. Basically left her in a lurch, that is, after years of running around on her. Was the classic, va-caing around with a young honey, while Connie was scrambling to keep the lights on, and feed her youngest, who was still living at home. Had it not been for Dad and Mom...oh well, the point currently was, just ahead of Max's sleet battling wipers, something wasn't right.
"Idiot!" Max murmured again, as he opened the door of his truck, and wondered what the old guy was doing out on a night like this. His mind flashed to this place a few weeks before, when he had thoughy he'd seen Ted's ugly car in this parking lot - the building's other tenant was some sort of health studio.
Max rubbed his coat pocket - yes, he had his phone. Approaching the car, his eyes first caught the mess inside. A laptop case, several folders, a glove here, a few hats there, a crumpled sweater, a pizza box, empty cups and food wrappers, random french fries - what a slob...any wonder his va-ca companion left him some years later. Needless to say, in a small town, everybody knew everybody's drama.
"Ugh, what a crappy night!" The wet cold air rushed into the cab. Max just wanted to get home; his shoulder still throbbed from turning the wrong way the previous thursday. Max slammed his door shut and walked over to the car's driver side.
That's when the really strange sight hit him. On the pavement, next to the opened door was a pile of...something. Approaching a step or two closer, he recognized the toe of a boot peeping from the crumpled bottom. Laying against the driver's side rear tire was a black Bible - it's pages lazily flipping in the wind while absorbing slush.
Out of the corner of his eye, Max thought he had seen a half dented econo-car leave the parking lot, but he wasn't sure. At this point, Max wasn't sure about anything - except, that he needed to go inside the little church. Perhaps Ted was inside, but - glancing at the soggy pile - that didn't make sense either.
And yet, what DID make sense was ... well, alot of things. Things like: why everyone else seemed to go places and have fun, while all Max did was work. As Max made his way to the Door, his busy past came at him at once, and it was as if there, had all along, stood a hedge between him and the stuff he had wanted to do. For one thing: being a normal red blooded man, to experience sex with a woman. "One hundred and forty thousand..."
He entered the little church. The first room was, evidently, where the congregation had Sunday school for the (probably two or three) children, and - judging from a plate of brownies, covered in plastic wrap, the smell of recently brewing coffee from a pot in the corner of the small and rather shabbily furnished room - a place for post-service fellowship. Strange, what people think and do in unusual circumstances...Max turned off the coffee pot.
There was not a sound coming from the next room, which from his line of vision, was also small - only containing six or seven pews. As he took a step toward the sanctuary, his eyes immediately caught sight of a boot laying beneath a pair of trousers which were half on and half off the pew; on top of that, a bulky garish green and red sweater - one that should have won 1st Prize a few christmases ago. Nice cowboy hat, though!
He entered the room. His eyes were met by several other "piles." At the base of one close by, was a pair of glasses, and a wedding band laying on its side. Nearby, an upturned pocketbook lay on the floor with a set of keys, a cellphone, a lozenge, and some money that, apparently, had spilled out, when the woman had been reaching for something - with no idea, that within the next second or two, she'd no longer have any need for a pen, or a cough drop
A few moments ago, neither did Max have any idea either. He approached the Mercy Seat, knelt, and after a few moments, asked Jesus to forgive him of his sins and to save him from them, and to help him bring others to the Door. "One hundred and forty thousand..." that phrase, again, repeated in his mind - Jewish men, who had not known a woman. Come to think of it, that phrase had been coming to mind several times lately, but until now, Max hadn't given it much thought.
Though, like many Jews, not practicing, still Max's ancestory, on both sides, went back quite a ways. Max arose and walked into the fellowship room. He caught a whiff of the coffee, the pot was still somewhat warm. He poured himself a cup, sat down at the table and took a sip. He eyed the brownies. He hadn't eaten all day; there hadn't been time.
Until hardly a half an hour ago, Max hadn't thought much apart from his ongoing problem - which now dropped to about #10 on the list. That problem had been, filling the two positions. No wait, three positions - chad didn't work out...because chad, apparently, didn't want to come out to work.
Customers. The rapture did happen. The Church, now taken up by the Holy Spirit...the Restrainer, now departed...things were going to get ugly. How did he know all this? Max poured himself another cup, from the pot which was growing cold. Customers - vendors, co-workers, acquaintances, left behind, who would overwhelmingly take the Mark; people he had worked with, shared meals, played racquetball with - when he could actually enjoy a day away from work.
Max began to weep, but pulled himself together. He poured the now half empty pot in the sink, gave it a quick rinse, turned off the lights and left the building.
THE FOLLOWING DAY:
Max woke up, still fully dressed, upon his sofa. He parted one of the living room drapes and looked outside. It was still overcast, but it looked like the slush had melted. Aside of a few sirens, things appeared normal. He turned on the local news. The announcer was in the middle of describing the "freak sleet" storm which had passed through the area, during the previous late afternoon, early evening.
"Yep." Max remarked to himself, not surprised at the media's explanation for the sudeen upsurge of auto accidents in the area. Needless to say, the sleet was its normal annoying old self. Max then brought up a channel from South Carolina - he'd just talked to a buddy yesterday morning, who had been going on about doing some golf thing. Well surprise, surprise - didn't the weather down there just suddenly turn wacky - Route whatever was still clogged up.
And of course, the announcements were coming through advising people to "remain in place. An announcer out of West Virginia was describing a toxic chemical leak in the area of ... but wait a second, no such facility exists in or around that town. Max could wonder what excuse the locals were being handed.
As the announcers blathered on, Max opened walked into his kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. "Nuts!" He closed it. Not only was he out of eggs, there wasn't enough smoked turkey to make a sandwich. Max was hungry, and no media melodrama was going to keep him from running down to the qwik-way to grab a few groceries.
Max stood in line. In his hands, he had a breakfast sandwich, an apple, a danish, and a quart of milk - he planned to buy some other stuff, later in the evening, after work. Behind him, two voices were grumbling about something - which was no surprise, especially for a (blery) Monday morning. The usual round of topics: the job - as if decent ones grow on trees - the boss, the live-in, the bills (as if making $10 and spending $20 is mathematically feasible).
Oh, here we go: the fuss-fest began naming either various politicians, CEOs, judges...who got vaxxed, or who didn't. Max was three people from the cashier - normally there were two, but, dear reader, we already about know that story. Max being usually patient, though silently hoped no body in front of him was going to buy more than a half dozen lottery tickets. Max was hungry, and momentarily thought about reaching for something from a nearby case. But the case wasn't near enough, and heaven forbid that he'd even think if leaving his place for so ling as a half second, and expect to be allowed back in, drama-free.
"Ugh!" Of course that ratty old cow wants lottery tickets, and is taking her sweet old time selecting them. Behind him, two voices were rehashing the nation's problems, and whose fault those problems were.
Then a third voice rang out: ..."it's the G** D*** Jews..."
Our redeemed in the Blood of Jesus Christ Jewish hero just plain lost his appetite, calmly stepped out of line, returned the packages, and left the store. Climbing into his truck, he recalled Sara, his receptionist, having brought in a tin of corn muffins, or something - maybe there were a few left.
No comments:
Post a Comment