Chapter 24 Almost Identical to the Big Dipper, Part 7

I watched as silver-tinted clouds stretched like fingers across the night sky. Partially obscured, the moon fought back, proud and resilient, reflecting its light for a few remaining moments. Soon it relented, as more oppressive clusters formed and banished its efforts to the dark.

It grew cold then and thunder claps began to echo, growling like twins in the east and west, mimicking and overlapping upon themselves.

A mist began to settle on my eyelashes and the wide leaves above me started to wither; for the night, or maybe they were banished too? I rummaged around and found an old jacket in my car and with it I made a pillow. I curled up in a fetal position to ward off the chill in the air, and seven stars, albeit freckles on my inner knee, formed a drinking gourd with a ladle tip pointing right down a dark road off the parking lot—one with no street lights, made even darker as the storm approached.

Still, with the ominous shift in my surroundings, I felt at peace. I think mostly because the space bridging what had begun in this parking lot vigil, and what would soon be my present moment— both begged for a sort of enlightenment, an awakening that would somehow tie this and that together, and everything else in between.

And with those extra Coronas (which I had to drink, due in no small part to my non-consenting, non-Jesus characters), sleep came easy. As I began to drift, I wasn't worried about time, assuming the storm would soon startle and awaken me. Surely, though, sleep itself was a portal back to reality, some double negative to render the opposite, for I had a hunch, and maybe you do too, that this was all a dream and at any moment my best friend and lover and wife (all wrapped up in one person) would finally emerge and she’d wake me and laugh—you know, at me—for somehow finding sleep during the five minutes she ran into the store.

But reality would need to wait a little longer, for the storm I anticipated actually heralded a calm, and right then and there I knew I was in the center of it.

People from all over my town emerged from their homes, baskets in hand, smiling as they prepared for some midnight eye-of-the-storm feast. Men set up huge tables and women fluffed tablecloths in the wind; all culture and color and creed mixed together and discriminating lines dividing this one and that were removed. Loaves of bread were surrounded by a cornucopia of vegetables and fruits, cheeses and meats. Wine flowed and the remaining Coronas multiplied and were placed in tin buckets of ice, with large, luscious limes sliced in wooden bowls all around.

Children gathered instruments from what they could find and they formed a band and started to play. Dancing began soon thereafter, and women with long skirts and flushed cheeks twirled, their suitors strong and proud. A warm summer breeze replaced the misty chill of the night; and the tree with the narrow branches and wide leaves found new life, banished no more.

Right before me, the paralyzed stood up from their wheelchairs and shadowed corners, jumping in with the dancers. The blind dropped their canes and stared in amazement at their hands, their feet, their neighbors. The hungry sidled up to the tables and ate with abandon. The homeless joined together and jingled keys to their mansions; their laughter contagious.

The last were first at this party.

The smart ass from the store ran out and she embraced me, thanking me for my honesty, and reminding me that even the smallest acts of kindness can create quite a stir, pointing to the celebration all around.

After a few hours of this, something most unusual happened. I saw three figures walking toward me, their faces shadowed (though I'm certain they were the ones who looked, sounded and even smelled like Jesus to me). They walked through the crowds, past me and to the west, and they bowed down in worship, yielding in unison to the one true Christ in the distance, encouraging me to do the same.

So, I looked in that direction, down the dark road with no street lights and there was the source of thunder. It was him, and soon it made sense: he was the fourth all along, and a party like this had to be of his doing. He'd been planning it for a long time. A really long time.

I'm not sure if we'll ever share a Corona together, but people often ask me what it was I saw coming toward me on the brink of that dawn. I tell them:

"I saw him riding in on a Harley, the Jesus of my day. His hair was long and wild from the wind and it looked like he'd been on the road for a while. But his eyes were still bright, and he smiled when he saw me. I guess he traveled light, because his saddlebags were mostly empty.

In a cloud of dirt and dust he called me over. I wasn't sure what to do, but I was drawn to him so I went. As I got closer, he put his hand on my shoulder and he promised me a great adventure. I believed him, but I asked him to wait. I needed to take care of a few things because my plate was full.

When he heard that, his strong hand grabbed hold of the clutch and he raced the engine. He told me that now was the time.

And it felt like a dream and maybe it was, but I dropped it all on the ground—everything— because I wanted to die to the details.

Then I got on the back of his Harley and we rode."




The End



(or maybe, The Beginning)

*******

I really do have a series of freckles on the inside of my left knee which are almost identical to the Big Dipper. That part was real.