Riding Along with Jesus: Episode 4

                         All Because of Bacon


         I felt terrible for feedin' Jesus that breakfast burrito. How was I s'posed to remember Jews ain't allowed to eat bacon. I mean I didn't do it on purpose. After all, I didn't eat the bread he pulled outta thin air without askin' him first if he made sure to pray for gluten-free loaves. You gotta let people know if you got dietary restrictions; that's all I'm sayin'.

                               

         All day long after that, Jesus kept sulkin' and givin' me the stink-eye. He didn't say one word to me the whole ride up to the hotel, and he just kept on goin' with the silent treatment till, finally at dinner, I had to say somethin'. 

         "Your father ain't gonna send you to hell on account o' me accidentally feeding you some bacon, is he?" I asked.

         "I thought I told you not to ask stupid questions," he said. I know it sounds weird, but you get used to Jesus sayin' that kinda thing when he's around and, pretty soon, it starts bouncin' right off you. It took a while gettin' Jesus to talk without hidin' behind all the put downs, what with him sayin' stuff like it'll be worse for me than it was for Sodom on the day o' judgement and all that, but he finally came around to tellin' me it wasn't the bacon he was mad at. He just couldn't believe I forgot he's a Jew. Said he never meant to spread the gospel to gentiles in the first place, and now he comes to a world where people "literally" swear by his name and they don't even know what it's like to be a good Jew.

                                    

         What happened next was somethin' I shoulda saw comin from the time I picked him up back at that truck stop out near Boulder. I asked Jesus a simple question just like I do every time right before he makes me feel like I should'na opened my dang fool mouth... Well, let me back up a smidge.

         All I did was ask him why he'd even bother if he couldn't get the chosen people to follow him. First he tells me, "You gotta take what you can get," and I was fine with that. But then he went into some stuff I never heard before.

         "That's why they call me the Bridegroom," he said, and he stopped talkin' right when he saw the look on my face. It was prob'ly pretty obvious I did have a dang clue what the hell he was talkin' about. Then he said, "The Kingdom of Heaven is like a wedding party?" But he said it like he was testin' me or something. "The people who were originally invited pulled a no-show? Does any of this ring a bell?"

          "That makes perfect sense," I told him, and I just knew I was in for it 'cause I could tell I was lookin' at him all bug eyed, like when you get lost in the Mexican side of town and and you stop and ask for directions just to have some little dark-skinned fella speak to you all fast and mumbly, and you just wish to high heaven that you could understand one word they was sayin' to you. Anyway, it goes without sayin, he wasn't satisfied with my answer. 

         "This shouldn't be anything new to you. You say you're a Christian?"

         I just couldn't let Jesus down. I had to let him know I'm a believer and ain't no two ways about it. "Yes, sir," I said. "A Christian through and through. Born and bred. Yes, sir." But that didn't make no nevermind to him. He went right on like a drill sergeant,  askin' me how much I read of the holy scriptures and how much I knew about the law and the gospels and I told him what I knew, which I thought was plenty. I said to Jesus that I knew about the creation, the commandments, and the patience of Job...

         "The patience of Job?" he said, and now I just felt like I'd been talkin' straight outta my ass. Which, according to him, I guess I was. "Job didn't have a choice. Job was given the option to sink or swim; Job was persistent." Then he went and slapped a Bible in my hand and told me to get busy reading.

         I don't know what kinda time he thinks I got to spare, but I've got ground to cover and cargo to deliver. Still though, it'd seem pretty ungrateful on my part to tell the ever-lovin' Messiah that I'm too busy to learn how to be a good Christian. I mean, after he died for the sins of the world and everything. Although, I gotta say, after reading a little outta this here book, I'm gettin' a real fuzzy picture o' what that's s'posed to mean.

            
           

Riding Along with Jesus: Episode 3

                 A (Very) Small Miracle

         It was clear sailing all the way to Georgia and we got into Atlanta with more than enough time to spare till I was due to check in at the loading dock. Jesus fell asleep the last stretch o' the ride and he looked about as peaceful as a baby, all rolled up half in the fetal position and clutchin' on to some blankets I had in the back of my cab. With all we'd been through together, I thought it'd be a nice thing to do, if I finished early enough, to surprise our lord and savior with a piping hot breakfast burrito. 
                       
                            

         Only problem was, when I pulled my trailer in to unload my cargo, the dock was too small. I felt just terrible waking Jesus on account of a technical difficulty, but I knew he'd been with me for a reason and there was just no way I was gonna deliver that cargo without some kinda small miracle. Now, it might not surprise anybody to know that Jesus can be a little grumpy when you wake him up first thing in the morning. But I never in my life thought he'd flat out refuse to help me in my time of need.

         "This isn't your time of need," he told me when I finally got him awake enough so he could wipe the drool off his face. "And besides, I can't be performing miracles left and right anytime life gets a little complicated. Do you have any idea how much attention it attracts every time people bear witness to a miracle?"

         I guess he had a point. But the least he coulda done was clear up the static on my C.B. radio so I could get through to dispatch and let them know what I was goin' through. Instead, all he did was stay out there alongside the truck messin' with me like it was the funniest thing on Earth that I couldn't do my job. 

         He started splashin' around in a puddle and sayin', "Look, Delmer, I'm walking on water!" Then he started takin' my brand new coffee mug over to the water fountain and turnin' the water into cream soda. I hate to say I was relieved when he disappeared for about a half hour 'cause, leastways then, I could have some time to get my head together. Then, outta nowhere he showed up with a dolly and started unloading the cargo hisself. 

         "Here's your miracle, Delmer," he said. "A dolly!" I told him it was a little more complicated than that. I could get into serious trouble if I hurt myself doing labor in a workplace that isn't up to snuff. So he went up to all the homeless people he could find and got them to help him unload my cargo in exchange for my coffee mug full of cream soda. 

         It's one of the few times I thanked my lucky stars for Jesus' short supply of patience. He wanted to get outta that loading dock so bad, he went and performed a small miracle just so we wouldn't be stuck there all day.

         After all the hubbub, we went through that morning, it was still only 10AM and I thought it'd be nice to get him that breakfast burrito I planned on. And boy was he grateful.

         "I've never had anything like this in my whole life," he said. "What's in this?"

         I told him it was just some eggs, potatoes, and bacon and he stopped cold. 

         "Delmer," he said, and he was serious as a heart attack when he said this. "What are you trying to do to me? I'm Jewish."  

Stranger than Non-Fiction: Riding Along with Jesus: Episode 2

Stranger than Non-Fiction: Riding Along with Jesus: Episode 2: Chapter 2: Graven Images              All things aside, it was pretty nice having Jesus in the passenger seat of my Peterbilt 379. Sur...

Riding Along with Jesus: Episode 2

Chapter 2: Graven Images

      
      All things aside, it was pretty nice having Jesus in the passenger seat of my Peterbilt 379. Sure he could be a handful at times, but we were making good time on the road from Boulder City to Atlanta and I literally had the Lord by my side to guide me through the tough times and help me out if things went wrong. And wouldn't you know; one of my gas tanks started to act up and Jesus just stepped outside and zapped it right back into working condition.

     We covered two states in just about ten hours, riding steady along I-70, and the sun was just about to peak up over the horizon. Jesus hadn't said a word in about an hour and there wasn't a sound except for the motor running and I had a real peaceful feeling in me. A feeling like things were gonna be all right. 

     Then, just like that, he started in all over again, raising hell over some decal of him on a cross. Though to be honest it was kinda graphic, what with the blood dripping from his wrists and the crown o' thorns and all.

     "What the fuck is the matter with people?!" he screamed. The problem is, I didn't know what he was sayin' at first. All I heard was screaming. Hell, I thought he was trying to tell me I was about to run someone off the road or something.

     I told him, "Look Jesus, you've gotta cool it, man."

     "Well how would you feel?" he started in. "What would you think if everywhere you looked people were flaunting images of your grizzly demise?!"

     "I don't suppose I would care too much for that."

     "No. I suppose you wouldn't."

     "Well you've got to get a hold of yourself, Jesus. I thought you were trying to warn me about something in the road. I almost just about ran us over the side of this mountain!" 

     Jesus apologized and said it was going to be hard getting used to all the crosses and sad, bloody Jesus faces on bumper-stickers. I tried to tell him they don't know any better. They were just trying to honor the sacrifice he made, is all. 

     "I don't know how you do things in the twenty-first century," he said, still kinda raising his voice. "But where I come from, people don't like to be reminded of that kind of thing! You don't see portraits of John Kennedy with half his head missing and his brains spilled all over a '61 Lincoln Continental!"

     He told me, the reason they put people up on them crosses is so folks could see the looks on their faces as they shat themselves for the last time. He said that's why people weren't s'posed to worship graven images; 'cause ten times out of ten, they'd screw it up. 

     He said he wandered into a church when he first got here and he damn near threw up when he saw the statue they had at the front of the room. Said they had a life-sized image of him in a loin cloth, feet and hands nailed down and breathing his last. 

     "Well that ain't nothin' nice," I told him.

     "No Delmer! It's not nice! Nothing gets by you, does it, Delmer?" He was about ready to have a conniption fit, so I asked if there was anything I could do to calm him down and he asked if I had any beer in the cab. I told him I didn't figure him for a drinker.

     "Delmer," he said. "I turned water into wine. Does that sound like someone who's too good for a drink?" So I gave him a can from a twelve-pack I had stowed away in the back of the cab and I asked him if he could please keep it low 'cause I could lose my license just for having an open container in the vehicle.

     All he said was, "This is piss beer, Delmer. Is this all you got?"

     "Beggars can't be choosers, Mr. Jesus," I said.

     "You speak the truth," he said.

     

Riding Along with Jesus: Episode 1

Chapter 1: Divine Providence

         Now to tell the truth, I found it hard to gauge a first impression on Jesus. He was calm as a Hindu cow at least half the time, but he had an edge to 'im, like anything could set 'im off at any time. At first I thought it was just me. Like maybe there was something about me that rubbed him the wrong way. But he said he liked me and that he wouldn't have jumped in a truck with a guy he didn't like. Still though; he had a funny way o' showin' it.

         "Do you think you're special?" he asked me.

         "No," I told him, and I couldn't help but feel like he was havin' a go at me. 

         "No, you don't. You think you're like everybody else?"

         "Well what do you suppose everyone else is like?"

         "Exactly! That's why I like you, Delmer."

         "The name's Cal. I think I told you that."

         "You know what Peter's name was?" he asked.

         "It wasn't Peter?"

         "No. It was Simon. But I didn't like that name, so I called him Peter. Now they don't say, 'Simon's gonna be waiting for you at the Golden Gate,' now do they?

         "I s'pose not."

         "No. They say, 'Saint Peter at the Golden Gate.' That's got a nice ring to it, don't you agree?"

         "I can't say it makes any difference to me."

         "Trust me. I've got a knack for this kind of thing. Branding, Delmer. That's what it's all about. How do you wanna go down in history?"

         "I don't," I said. "Why would I want to go down in history?"

         "Exactly! That's what I like about you, Delmer. You know you're just a guy. You don't think you're going to be famous or a millionaire. Most people out there think they're it."

         "It?"

         "Don't ruin this special feeling for me, Delmer," he said. "It. You know: chosen, special, or just plain exempt from the rules of reality. Do you know how many people out there think that they're somehow going to escape death? Or how many of them think they were actually born believing in me? I don't even want to get into that stuff. People who think they can be shitty to each other and just shout my name over and over again and that'll make it all better. I specifically said to love your enemy. I specifically said to turn the other cheek. What did I say about casting the first stone?"

         "Wasn't it something like, 'Let he who is without sin-"

         "I said don't do it!"

         "Now calm down, Jesus. It won't do you any good to get all fired up about it."

         "I'm sorry. You're right. I've just got a bunch of judgmental pricks out there screwing up my brand. You know what the problem is?"

         "No, sir."

         "Yes you do. They're stupid, Delmer. People in general are stupid. And you already know that. That's why you're smart. That's why I like you. And that's why I get so pissed when you ask stupid questions."
      
         "I'm not sure I follow." I said.

         "It's all right. You don't have to, Delmer."

         "The name's Cal."

         "No it's not."

Riding Along with Jesus: Meeting Jesus-- An Introduction

         I met Jesus at a truck stop outside of Boulder City on my way to the east coast. He looked just like any other guy except he had that look on his face like he could see right through my soul. I went right up to him, not knowing who he was, and I asked him,"Hey fella. Do you know somethin' I don't know?"

         "That's a stupid question," he said. "Do you know the capital of Maine?"

         "No. Not right off the top of my head."

         "Well there. I guess I know something you don't."

         "That's not what I meant. I-"

         "Do you know how to double-clutch?"
         
         "As a matter of fact, I do," I said

         "Well I guess you know something I don't know. How do you like that?"

         "Hey look," I said. "I'm sorry if I offended you in any way."

         He told me I didn't offend him, even though it seemed to me like I struck a nerve. Then he asked me if my mom never taught me to think before I speak. I asked him who the hell he thought he was and he said, "I'm Jesus H. Christ, that's who!" And that just about blew me away. I asked him to prove it and he flat out said no. Then he said he knew what I meant to ask and that the answer was "yes," he knew the mysteries of the cosmos but that it wasn't going to help me none because it wasn't going to teach me how to spend more time with my family instead of burying myself in my work all the time.

         I know it sounds stupid but I believed him. They always said when he came back, he'd come like a "thief in the night," and I've harbored a couple of fugitives in my time. That's why it made perfect sense to me when he asked if he could hitch a ride to Buffalo, New York. I told him I'd love to, but I was headed down south to Atlanta to drop off a load of construction material to a contracting firm starting a new project down there. He said, "Yeah, I know. I know where you're going and I know where you're going to end up. So what do ya say? You wanna take on a stowaway? You look like you could use the company."

         "I guess I could use the company," I said. "Sure. Why not?" And I've been riding along with Jesus ever since.

  

Captain O'Mally's Last Stand

         Mother of Christ Preparatory High School sits on an unlikely corner of town. Nestled between the discount grocery store and the Spanish meat market, the high walls of the Catholic prep school stand four stories tall, just north of the railroad tracks that divide the city into rich and poor. The edifice looms across the way from the economically priced and densely packed apartment buildings, almost as an affront to the community who cannot afford to send their children to the school named for the virgin mother and holy son whom they so often worship.

         On the south side of the railroad tracks lie the beautiful homes with green, fresh manicured lawns and three-car garages. Their driveways are adorned with statues, ponds, and fountains. The residents on the south side of the city all attend the Episcopal Church on Sundays, even though they send their children to the prep school on the other side of the tracks. But they have good reason; it's the best school around, and it's the only school in the area where their children can be educated in the teachings of Jesus Christ.

         After church they go to barbecues where they eat, meet, drink, and smile at each other. They leave business behind and know that they can be in like-minded company. But all the like-minded people don't always get along. There's the doctor, for instance, who is friends with the commercial property owner and they both hate the lawyer because he's always representing people in suits against them. The lawyer on the other hand, knows all the wives and they all like him well, except for the new bride of the advertising executive because he talked her husband into signing a prenuptial agreement following the lawyer's affair with her that went awry. 

         Then there's police captain Shamus O'Mally, the only Catholic in the bunch. He knows everything about everyone and makes a handsome profit on the side from the dealings that stem from these knowings. He's the one who told the doctor to beware when a young man complained to the police about the shady dealings between the hospital and the chiropractor. He also referred the same young man to the lawyer. Later on, it was O'Mally who convinced the advertising exec to get married after the lawyer refused to pay the standard referral fee.

         Let's get it straight however; the captain is not without his weaknesses. Sure he takes the odd bribe or kickback, but that's neither here nor there. But it's been said of the good captain that he spends so much time watching the snakes in the yard that he knows little of the spiders in his house. Namely, his wife and daughter.

         O'Mally's first wife was a woman of sense and diligence and she stood by his side when times were tough. And though her spirit was vibrant, her flesh began to age, and so the captain traded in his old wife for a newer model. A trophy wife with white veneer teeth, saline breasts, and a plastic smile. His daughter April, for whom he assumed custody for no other reason than to spite his ex, never quite forgave him. Having nothing but disdain in her heart for the good captain and his new wife, April grew rebellious.

         Although being the daughter of a police captain made it hard to get arrested, the local newspapers grew fond of April O'Mally and her antics. Her drunken episodes had the consistency of a weekly comic strip, and her vandalism was typically playful and harmed nobody except for the captain's reputation.

         On the other side of the tracks lived a handsome young boy who could strum a guitar and pluck its nylon strings as though he were commanding nature. It's only fair to mention that he made a modest income out of playing on the sidewalk of the art village south of the tracks, and the inhabitants knew his music and his face very well. His skills were so adept as to have earned him a full-ride scholarship at Mother of Christ Preparatory High School. 

         Nicholas the flamenco guitarist was a fish out of water when he first entered the prep school. His coffee-shaded skin and dark, untamed hair made him stick out of the texture like a grain of pepper in an ocean of non-dairy creamer. But nobody could resist his musical charms and when he began to sing, he caught the attention of beautiful, young April O'Mally.

         April and Nicholas met and found that they had much more in common besides their inherent ability to be hypnotized by music. April invited Nick back to her house, because she wasn't allowed to roam far from home these days. Her father's recent run for public office had influenced him to place her on a two-month unconditional restriction and the hope was that it would keep her rebellious attitude away from the public eye. Still, she was able to escape while her father was busy, which was most of the time, by way of blackmail. April had hidden a motion sensitive camera in her stepmother's drawing room and was able to produce lurid pictures of her sharing some personal time with her personal trainer. April used the photographs as leverage to get what she wanted at home, but she was careful not to overuse them. 

         In an odd coincidence, the captain had been home on the day April invited Nicholas to the house, and he was furious. The thought of a street minstrel from the wrong side of the tracks having relations with his daughter filled him with blind rage.

         From that day on, Captain O'Mally decided to have his daughter followed. He would know her every movement from that day on. In addition, he ordered a narcotics investigation on the home of Nicholas and his parents, knowing full well that the mere implication of a drug charge would cost him his scholarship and his future. Nick and April were able to steal moments together, but they didn't speak outside of school. They became the greatest of friends, but the truth is, their relationship was completely platonic.

         April knew she was being watched and was able to seek out and seduce her observer. Then she forced him to pay her for their frequent rendezvous under penalty of notifying the authorities as to the nature of their relationship. In the same way she was able to photograph her stepmother, April produced concrete evidence of her affair with Tony, the captain's lackey. It's not that she had any use for the money. In fact, she gave it to Nicholas because he could no longer play his guitar at the art village, or anywhere south of the tracks for that matter, and she felt somehow responsible.

         The day came when Captain O'Mally ordered a full scale drug raid on the house of the family of Nicholas. The newspapers were called to report on the raid by an anonymous source. It seemed like a good story to follow, being that the captain was currently running for public office. Sure enough, when the police arrived, there was a small bag of marijuana on the premises. There was a scale in the kitchen that his mother used for weighing food and sandwich bags in the kitchen drawer. Along with the small stack of hundred dollar bills that April had given him from her exploits with Tony the lackey, it looked for a second like a clear cut case of possession with intent to sell. 

         The parents were separated in their own home for questioning. The father in the kitchen stared despondently at the floor while an officer on either side of him fired questions faster than he could process them. The mother in the living room bit her lip while her son lay face down on the floor in front of her,one officer on top of Nick, and another shouting, "Bad mother!!" as if scolding a dog.

         Then Nicholas spoke.

         "Everything you're looking for is in the vent inside my bedroom wall!"

         The house went quiet. Then a voice exploded from Nicholas' bedroom.

         "Captain O'Mally! Captain, come quick!!"

         The good captain was handed a small stack of pictures that he quickly shuffled through and then stood quiet. He threw up in his mouth, swallowed it, and then threw up again all over the bedroom rug.

         "Call it off!" they yelled. "Everybody get the hell out! Call it off!!!"

         "What about the papers?" one detective asked.

         "Screw the papers! Give the captain some space!"

         Inside the heating vent on the wall of the boy's bedroom were a small stack of pictures. Some displaying his wife in her drawing room naked alone with a well-built man who was also naked. Some with a fat man lying naked, face down atop a tangled mesh of arms, legs, and hair. At a second glance, it was Tony, the captain's lackey. Then the last photograph. April O'Mally mostly disrobed, her hair a mess, and holding a cardboard sign in front of her chest with a message written across in felt marker.

         In big, bold letters, it read, "Hi Dad!"