Chapter 20 Almost Identical to the Big Dipper, Part 3

Sure enough, over by my car, a man was leaning up against an old motorcycle.

“He’s your one condition,” the customer service woman said as she pointed and handed me the 12-pack of Coronas.

A little more information would be nice, I thought.

“That's it?”

“Unfortunately, that's all I know,” she answered.

Surprisingly, I believed her. She went on to explain the man's promise--that whoever brought the beer back could keep it on one condition, and that he'd explain it from there.

“And he's been saying the same thing every year.”

I put the beer under my arm and smiled toward everyone and nodded a sheepish “thanks.” Quite frankly, I had spent enough time with these people and I mostly had thoughts of turning on my heels to find my wife and how we could escape through some back door.

Problem was, real or not, I couldn't reject this bizarre proposal in good conscience. Especially after eleven years of built-up anticipation.

So, I reluctantly exited through the front door. Alone.

I felt all eyes nearly penetrating the back of my head as I slowly approached him. Somehow I needed this to make sense. Of course, being a guy, I excused it as much ado about nothing. I'd play along, sure, but this was just a crazy biker with too much time on his hands.

And some supermarket employees who may or may not exist.

When I arrived, I could see him looking off into the fading colors of the day. The sun was hanging on a bit longer and it was splashing tinges of orange and foaming purple as it submerged into the horizon.

He must have sensed something because he looked back at me over his shoulder. His smile was tired, but honest.

“I was hoping it was you,” he said quietly. “You've been a long time in coming.”

“Yes, so I hear.”

He turned back toward the sunset, apparently encouraging me to do the same. We let the silence build for a little bit. I don't always do so well with it, you know--the pressure of the quiet--so I broke it.

“I really haven't done anything that spectacular. Just brought some beer back inside is all.”

He stood up off the bike and he was tall enough to cast a shadow over me. “It’s not what you’ve done, but what you will do that interests me the most. You have been chosen.”

Chosen or not, you should know that I was just about done with this surreal little existential dream or portal or whatever it was. But, before I could politely excuse myself with some classic fib, he looked down at the beer and asked if I wanted one, which, absolutely, I did. Time and reality may be hanging in the balance, but this shouldn't stop me from enjoying a Corona.

As he reached for it, he explained that he's not from my town, or any town for that matter, though he visits frequently and can be seen here and there. He's a wanderer, but he's always watching and waiting, especially for this moment.

And then, out of the blue, he asked me what I thought about Jesus.

“Uh.. well.” I cleared my throat. “What do I think about Jesus? That's a pretty random question. Why do you ask?”

“Alight. Better yet,” he switched gears, “who do you think Jesus is?”

It seemed like a trick question. I know who Jesus is. Most everyone knows who Jesus is.

“Is this my one condition? Is there a correct answer to this, and if so, do I get to bring the beer home?”

He had big, strong hands, and he put one on my shoulder. “I don't want you to bring the beer home. I want you to stay right here, under this tree with the narrow branches and wide leaves. I want you to share a Corona with some people; four people, to be exact, one at a time. Three won't be Jesus. One will. It's up to you to figure out who the real one is.”

Ok, so now I was looking at my car, quietly planning yet another escape route should I need bolt in a hurry.

But my wife was still in there.

Damn.

I looked down at the freckles on the inside of my left knee, you know, the ones that form a constellation which is almost identical to the Big Dipper? Was I really chosen? Somehow they had started this whole thing and, suffice it to say, I was getting a little freaked out. Who wouldn't be?

Still, as previously mentioned, this wasn't just any ordinary beer.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

He dug into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a bottle opener. He flipped off the cap with one smooth motion and he handed the Corona to me, and it felt good and cold. He tossed the opener to me so I could use it on the next one, boldly presuming that there would be a next one.

None of this was real; so, I guess I could give it a shot.

“Sure, what the hell,” I told him.

I took a long, well deserved sip as he explained that he'd be leaving and right around the time his engine stopped echoing in my ears, the first candidate would arrive.

So, I sat down and watched him go. The last bit of purple on the horizon smoothed into gray as he rode off, and with it, the low rumble of his bike slowly faded to silence.

And then, like clockwork, there he was. Or at least I thought it was him. He looked an awful lot like Jesus as he was walking closer.

But, then again, I suppose anything can happen over a cold Corona.