Chapter 21 Almost Identical to the Big Dipper, Part 4

Before he even opened his mouth, I knew it couldn’t be him. There was a frown of disapproval hovering over his brow as he approached, and just like that, I was ashamed.

Like maybe I was at a certain kind of church.

“You shouldn’t be drinking beer out in the open like this.”

He didn’t even say “hello.”

“You call yourself a Christian, but child, you must be vigilant about appearances.”

Oh, he was definitely not Jesus.

“One sip is all it takes and you’re on the road toward alcoholism and addiction and a full tearing away of your moral fiber. You do not want people knowing about your weakness in this area.”

As I said, he certainly looked the part of Jesus (or at least what we’ve come to expect of those who represent the house where Jesus is said to reside). He was clean shaven, conservative and wore his collar tight. His shoes were shined and everything about him appeared quite respectable.

Something inside me -- or maybe an accumulation of somethings from my childhood -- made me feel as if I should defer all decisions to his wise counsel.

And he wasn’t joking about the beer.

“I think you need to put that bottle down and come to my office,” he chastised me.

“But..”

He cut me off.

“No buts. Put it down.” He looked over his shoulder. “You never know who is walking out of that store.”

I found it strange that he seemed more concerned about what others might see.

Come to think of it, I’ve literally spent years trying to shake off this image of Jesus, and wouldn't you know, here he was, standing right in front of me. Literally.

So, I finally had a chance to do something about it. But the guy on the motorcycle -- the one who started this whole thing -- well, he neglected to tell me how to get rid of the one who wasn’t; you know, who wasn’t the One.

I blinked hard. Twice.

Nothing.

I stood up and clicked my heels three times.

Still nothing. In fact, the bad-Jesus-candidate started to cluck his tongue and shake his finger at me.

I sat back down and started to count the freckles on the inside of my knee, because obviously nothing was working, so I thought that maybe I’d find the secret in the miniature constellation that’s almost identical to the Big Dipper. I started counting them and yes, you should know, there are seven of them, just like the real one.

And another thing you should know, if you don’t already, is that the Big Dipper is pretty easy to find, so it acts as an amazing guide for star-gazers because it points to other stars and major constellations. And so my very own Big Dipper acted as something of a guide as it pointed directly to the twelve-pack of Coronas sitting on the ground, now an eleven-pack, and I quickly concluded that if this guy wasn’t going to have one, then really, I shouldn't waste time as the rest of the bottles proceeded to get warm (you know, if I was going to be hanging around for a while).

So, I drained the beer I was working on and popped open another one.

Being polite, though, I held it out to him. “I suppose you don’t want one of these, then?”

He spun around in disgust and, I'm embarrassed that I noticed this, but he clenched his butt cheeks as walked away in a very brisk stride. He tilted his head upward and threw his shoulders back and his posture was quite proper. Many people smiled at him and started to say hello. It appeared as if they wanted him to stop and chat and who knows, maybe even receive some kind of comfort (as those like him are wont to offer), but he rushed right past them.

Somehow we’ve made this guy out to look like Jesus, but he wasn’t really acting like him, I didn't think.

I leaned up against the tree and held the cool bottle against the Big Dipper. I couldn’t resist, so I yelled after him, “That’s alright. More for me.”

I smiled and thought that maybe this could be a long night.