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| A 70�S REVOLUTION
By Charles F. Millhouse I met Jesus in purgatory at a smoke filled bar. He was drunk on whisky and playing poker with a one-armed hairy man whom had beaten him with a royal flush. I sat in silence; Jesus bummed a cigarette from me and lit it with a snap of his fingers. �Nice trick,� I told him. �But can you chew gum and walk at the same time?� He wasn�t amused. I reached for his bottle, but he pulled it away. �Get your own,� he told me, pointing at the bar. The dimly lit establishment was crowded and hard to get through. I ordered a bottle of bourbon and paid the bartender with a two-dollar bill I found rolled up in my jeans pocket. As I fought my way back to the table, Jimmy Hendrix stopped me. �Can you tell me where the crapper is?� he asked. I shrugged because I didn�t know, and he walked away scowling. Pouring myself a drink, I watched the Savior get beat yet again by the one-armed man. Jesus, pissed, tossed his cards on the table and took another shot from his bottle. �I�ve been waiting,� he told me. �What took you?� I didn�t have an answer for him. The last thing I could remember was driving my car off the road after leaving the concert in Hoboken. The fact that I was drunk and tripping on some kind of pill Ozzy had given me didn�t even enter my mind. �Sixteen years is a long time to wait,� Jesus said. �It must have been one wrong turn to miss this place.� �I remember standing in a long line,� I told him, �One that didn�t move very quickly.� �We�ve had a rush as of late,� Jesus said. �It doesn�t surprise me in the least.� �I appreciate the concern,� I said, lighting a cigarette. �But I really don�t know what all the fuss is about. I�m dead, what hope is there for me now? I�m just one step away from hell.� �Bullshit,� Jesus said, almost falling off his seat. �Hey, hey. How about a game of five card stud?� he asked shuffling the deck. �No cheating,� I said. �What�s bullshit?� �Going to hell�� he paused dealing the cards between the three of us. �Heaven, hell, it�s all bogus, bedtime stories to frighten children, nothing more.� I picked up my cards and looked them over; they were decorated with girls of the Caribbean and wore next to nothing�well I�m too kind. They were naked. I held a jack of spades, two of diamonds, king of hearts, three of clubs and eight of clubs. Not a good hand, but I was used to being dealt bad hands. Even now I was sure the Messiah himself was cheating me. �So what�s this all for�purgatory I mean, if there isn�t a heaven or a hell, then why this place? I mean it�s kind of redundant�if you know what I mean.� The one-armed hairy man laughed and Jesus gave him a smile. �What�s so funny?� I asked. �He thinks you�re dim-witted,� Jesus told me. �Just like everyone else who has come through here without the slightest idea about how things in the universe really work. �Why don�t you fill me in,� I said, pouring more bourbon into my shot glass. �Look around you,� Jesus said. �Go on�have a good look. You know many of the faces here, don�t you?� I nodded yes, seeing Janice Joplin and Elvis dancing next to the jukebox. I saw Jim Morrison sitting alone at the end of the bar, drunk off his ass and not giving a care...nothing new for him. �They�re not sure they want to leave here,� Jesus said. �They don�t want to give up who they were.� �You mean to tell me we can go back?� I asked. �Oh, yes,� Jesus said. �They all can go back. But the ones you see here chose not to. You see, to go back you have to give up who you were in exchange for your new identity.� I was, at first dumbfounded. Then a revelation fell on me like a ton of bricks. �That�s why the music on earth sucks now,� I said. The one-armed hairy man nodded his head in agreement. �But once you choose, there�s no changing your mind�it�s like a game,� Jesus said. �I�ve never been good at games,� I said. �My sister always beat me at jacks.� �There�s only one rule to this game,� Jesus told me. �There are no rules.� �That�s comforting,� I said. �Can I have time to think about it?� �Time is nothing here,� Jesus said. �But while you decide, have a look at your choices.� �I have �� �Three,� Jesus said, �like a game show.� �As long as I don�t become a pig in a poke,� I told him. �Let�s play.� I was led to three doors in the back of the bar, ironically each were numbered 1, 2 and 3. I stood before them waiting for Monty Hall to come out and offer me two hundred dollars instead of picking a door, but Jesus had other ideas. �Behind each door is a life,� he said. �You pick one and you go back to earth. Simple, don�t you think?� �Do I have a choice or do I just pick one�like pot luck?� I asked. Jesus wasn�t amused. �Door one is a male,� he said ignoring me. �He will be a carpenter and a father of three.� Working hard labor wasn�t my idea of the kind of life I wanted to lead. �Door two is a homosexual, who will �� �Next,� I demanded. �Even as a rock star I didn�t trip the lights fantastic.� �Finally,� Jesus said. �Door three is a female who will be the head of the news department at a local television station in Denver.� �Not very impressive, are they?� I asked. �What do you want?� Jesus asked. �A miracle?� �Frankly, yes,� I said. �I mean look at me. I�m a rock star who died before his time. I lived the fast life, cars, women�and you offer me a life of a man who likes men�Jesus, Jesus. No wonder no one else left here�if you offered them the same three choices.� �I do the best with what I have,� Jesus said. �It�s a boring life. Why the hell do you think I drink so much?� �I apologize, I can�t think of much incentive to chose one of your choices,� I said. �But in turn I can�t think of anything to keep me here.� About that time music keyed up. On the stage was Lynard Skynard with Karen Carpenter on the drums. I rubbed my eyes, never believing I would ever see something like that. The floor cleared of tables and riff-raff as the residents of purgatory moved out on it to dance. Only the hairy one-armed man remained, drinking from my bottle of bourbon. �Is it always like that?� I asked Jesus, who was tapping his sandaled feet and swaying to the music. �Sometimes it�s better,� he said. �If I choose to stay �� �Is that what you�re asking?� Jesus asked. �Because I can�t discuss it unless you�re ready to make a decision.� I bit my lower lip. I didn�t know what to say. If I went back to earth I might never sing again, if I stayed here I would never live again. �You were right,� Jesus said, �when you said there was no more good music on the earth. It�s all up here.� Choices, I thought. My life was full of choices. Even death seems to be filled with them. I had lived and died a singer. I would rather stay dead then go back and lose who I once was. �Why is it so hard?� Jesus asked. �You didn�t have this apprehension the last time you were here.� �The last time?� I asked. �How many times have I been through here?� �How long is time?� Jesus asked. �I can�t begin to think how many times everyone has passed through here. Nor do I want to try.� It boggled my mind, to think I have had many choices to become someone totally different from the last life. But, I was at an impasse. Back at the table the one-armed hairy man had emptied my bottle. �You owe me another one,� I told Jesus. �I can�t make this decision sober.� �Tell you what,� Jesus said shuffling the deck of cards. �Sit down, play me some cards. I�ll get you some more bourbon and you make your choice tomorrow.� I sat at the table and reached for Jesus� bottle of whisky. �Get your own,� he told me pulling the bottle away and pointing at the bar. So, here I sit. I�ve lost track of time and I�m forty dollars in the hole to Jesus Christ. I sing with Elvis and have seen Jim Morrison cry. Maybe after I get Janice Joplin to smile I�ll make my choice. End. |
| A 70�S REVOLUTION
Charles F. Millhouse I met Jesus in purgatory at a smoke filled bar. He was drunk on whisky and playing poker with a one-armed hairy man whom had beaten him with a royal flush. I sat in silence; Jesus bummed a cigarette from me and lit it with a snap of his fingers. �Nice trick,� I told him. �But can you chew gum and walk at the same time?� He wasn�t amused. I reached for his bottle, but he pulled it away. �Get your own,� he told me, pointing at the bar. The dimly lit establishment was crowded and hard to get through. I ordered a bottle of bourbon and paid the bartender with a two-dollar bill I found rolled up in my jeans pocket. As I fought my way back to the table, Jimmy Hendrix stopped me. �Can you tell me where the crapper is?� he asked. I shrugged because I didn�t know, and he walked away scowling. Pouring myself a drink, I watched the Savior get beat yet again by the one-armed man. Jesus, pissed, tossed his cards on the table and took another shot from his bottle. �I�ve been waiting,� he told me. �What took you?� I didn�t have an answer for him. The last thing I could remember was driving my car off the road after leaving the concert in Hoboken. The fact that I was drunk and tripping on some kind of pill Ozzy had given me didn�t even enter my mind. �Sixteen years is a long time to wait,� Jesus said. �It must have been one wrong turn to miss this place.� �I remember standing in a long line,� I told him, �One that didn�t move very quickly.� �We�ve had a rush as of late,� Jesus said. �It doesn�t surprise me in the least.� �I appreciate the concern,� I said, lighting a cigarette. �But I really don�t know what all the fuss is about. I�m dead, what hope is there for me now? I�m just one step away from hell.� �Bullshit,� Jesus said, almost falling off his seat. �Hey, hey. How about a game of five card stud?� he asked shuffling the deck. �No cheating,� I said. �What�s bullshit?� �Going to hell�� he paused dealing the cards between the three of us. �Heaven, hell, it�s all bogus, bedtime stories to frighten children, nothing more.� I picked up my cards and looked them over; they were decorated with girls of the Caribbean and wore next to nothing�well I�m too kind. They were naked. I held a jack of spades, two of diamonds, king of hearts, three of clubs and eight of clubs. Not a good hand, but I was used to being dealt bad hands. Even now I was sure the Messiah himself was cheating me. �So what�s this all for�purgatory I mean, if there isn�t a heaven or a hell, then why this place? I mean it�s kind of redundant�if you know what I mean.� The one-armed hairy man laughed and Jesus gave him a smile. �What�s so funny?� I asked. �He thinks you�re dim-witted,� Jesus told me. �Just like everyone else who has come through here without the slightest idea about how things in the universe really work. �Why don�t you fill me in,� I said, pouring more bourbon into my shot glass. �Look around you,� Jesus said. �Go on�have a good look. You know many of the faces here, don�t you?� I nodded yes, seeing Janice Joplin and Elvis dancing next to the jukebox. I saw Jim Morrison sitting alone at the end of the bar, drunk off his ass and not giving a care...nothing new for him. �They�re not sure they want to leave here,� Jesus said. �They don�t want to give up who they were.� �You mean to tell me we can go back?� I asked. �Oh, yes,� Jesus said. �They all can go back. But the ones you see here chose not to. You see, to go back you have to give up who you were in exchange for your new identity.� I was, at first dumbfounded. Then a revelation fell on me like a ton of bricks. �That�s why the music on earth sucks now,� I said. The one-armed hairy man nodded his head in agreement. �But once you choose, there�s no changing your mind�it�s like a game,� Jesus said. �I�ve never been good at games,� I said. �My sister always beat me at jacks.� �There�s only one rule to this game,� Jesus told me. �There are no rules.� �That�s comforting,� I said. �Can I have time to think about it?� �Time is nothing here,� Jesus said. �But while you decide, have a look at your choices.� �I have �� �Three,� Jesus said, �like a game show.� �As long as I don�t become a pig in a poke,� I told him. �Let�s play.� I was led to three doors in the back of the bar, ironically each were numbered 1, 2 and 3. I stood before them waiting for Monty Hall to come out and offer me two hundred dollars instead of picking a door, but Jesus had other ideas. �Behind each door is a life,� he said. �You pick one and you go back to earth. Simple, don�t you think?� �Do I have a choice or do I just pick one�like pot luck?� I asked. Jesus wasn�t amused. �Door one is a male,� he said ignoring me. �He will be a carpenter and a father of three.� Working hard labor wasn�t my idea of the kind of life I wanted to lead. �Door two is a homosexual, who will �� �Next,� I demanded. �Even as a rock star I didn�t trip the lights fantastic.� �Finally,� Jesus said. �Door three is a female who will be the head of the news department at a local television station in Denver.� �Not very impressive, are they?� I asked. �What do you want?� Jesus asked. �A miracle?� �Frankly, yes,� I said. �I mean look at me. I�m a rock star who died before his time. I lived the fast life, cars, women�and you offer me a life of a man who likes men�Jesus, Jesus. No wonder no one else left here�if you offered them the same three choices.� �I do the best with what I have,� Jesus said. �It�s a boring life. Why the hell do you think I drink so much?� �I apologize, I can�t think of much incentive to chose one of your choices,� I said. �But in turn I can�t think of anything to keep me here.� About that time music keyed up. On the stage was Lynard Skynard with Karen Carpenter on the drums. I rubbed my eyes, never believing I would ever see something like that. The floor cleared of tables and riff-raff as the residents of purgatory moved out on it to dance. Only the hairy one-armed man remained, drinking from my bottle of bourbon. �Is it always like that?� I asked Jesus, who was tapping his sandaled feet and swaying to the music. �Sometimes it�s better,� he said. �If I choose to stay �� �Is that what you�re asking?� Jesus asked. �Because I can�t discuss it unless you�re ready to make a decision.� I bit my lower lip. I didn�t know what to say. If I went back to earth I might never sing again, if I stayed here I would never live again. �You were right,� Jesus said, �when you said there was no more good music on the earth. It�s all up here.� Choices, I thought. My life was full of choices. Even death seems to be filled with them. I had lived and died a singer. I would rather stay dead then go back and lose who I once was. �Why is it so hard?� Jesus asked. �You didn�t have this apprehension the last time you were here.� �The last time?� I asked. �How many times have I been through here?� �How long is time?� Jesus asked. �I can�t begin to think how many times everyone has passed through here. Nor do I want to try.� It boggled my mind, to think I have had many choices to become someone totally different from the last life. But, I was at an impasse. Back at the table the one-armed hairy man had emptied my bottle. �You owe me another one,� I told Jesus. �I can�t make this decision sober.� �Tell you what,� Jesus said shuffling the deck of cards. �Sit down, play me some cards. I�ll get you some more bourbon and you make your choice tomorrow.� I sat at the table and reached for Jesus� bottle of whisky. �Get your own,� he told me pulling the bottle away and pointing at the bar. So, here I sit. I�ve lost track of time and I�m forty dollars in the hole to Jesus Christ. I sing with Elvis and have seen Jim Morrison cry. Maybe after I get Janice Joplin to smile I�ll make my choice. End. |
| PLEASE NOTE: This short story may offend some Christians. It was not my intent to do so, I am only telling a fictional tale |