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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 |
| What comes around
By Charles F Millhouse The Glax confessionary machine sat alone near the south entrance of the Forest Pine Mall. The confessionary appeared in several malls after its induction by the Church of Light. For the insertion of five quarters you receive this: words of wisdom and inspiration printed neatly on a 5inch by 7inch white index card, after the confession of your most secret thoughts. Daily, Brad Johnson arrived at the south entrance of the Forest Pine Mall. Cautiously and while watching for spectators he would slip his five quarters into the thin receptacle slot of the Glax confessionary machine, his intent; to explain his daily grind, to try and place his life into perspective; day in and day out Brad worked, arriving always seven minutes early with his bagged lunch in one hand and his attach� case in the other. �Johnson,� Brad�s supervisor, Jasper Finster, would arrive as always laboring across the eighth floor with heavy footsteps entering Brad�s office dropping stacks of paper on Brad�s desk while brushing his long, grayed, out of date hippy style hair cut to the left side then with a flat smile and a raised eyebrow, Finster would look wide eyed at Brad. �Johnson,� he would say sharply. �I want these reports posted and on my desk by five. Brad would nod sheepishly and pull the papers towards him. �I like you Johnson,� Finster said sarcastically. �You keep it up and you�ll go far here, maybe even get a raise,� Finster would always stop just short of the partition�s exit to remind Brad that his usual Thursday workload would be waiting for him this week like all weeks and then lumbered away. Brad would thank him under his breath; swearing even quieter after Finster would exit his small cubical. Brad had been working for Miller and Carter insurance agency for eight years, and Brad had given up on a raise sometime ago, making just under eighteen thousand a year while others doing his same type of job were already making twenty-five to thirty thousand, It was even rumored that Finster made over a hundred thousand, but Brad didn�t put much into rumors, even if he did believe it. He simply stayed at his desk chair and push through the work hoping for better days and more pay that seemed to never come. At his daily visit to the confessionary, much like today, Brad would complain about Finster and the abuse he took. Starting his confessions by saying, �I�m not religious nor do I attend to become religious I just need to vent my frustrations; you understand.� Then he would go into his continuous and endless complaints, but would also take time to explain the upside of his seven-minute early arrival. Mandy the red haired copy girl of the eighth floor would be out and about dropping off supplies to each cubical; where Brad would surprisingly be waiting when Mandy would enter his work space, they would exchange pleasantries and Brad would say something smart, like: �Have you read any good books lately?� Or, �do you think it will rain today?� Always kicking himself after Mandy would say something witty and exit the work area. After a day of verbal abuse from Finster, Brad would relate his mundane life at home. Where he lived with his girlfriend Susan for nine years in an upscale apartment he really couldn�t afford, but continued to pay through the nose so Susan could bring over her rich friends and brag about how she just loved where she lived and how she wouldn�t live any place else. Brad would always excuse himself when Susan�s friends would arrive, making up a lie about how he had to much work to do. Then he would slip quietly down the back stairs and to the main lift of the apartment complex that would carry him down to the basement where he would enter �Jaspers� a small hole in the wall where Brad could drown his sorrows in a bottle of beer waiting for an adequate time to return to his lofty home. Susan would always be waiting for him, chewing on her lower lip and tapping her right foot on the hard wood floor while keeping her arms crossed in front of her. �Where have you been,� or, �been drinking again have you?� �Would be the questions of the inquisition and Brad would cower down saying, �you�re right, I should have stayed, will you forgive me?� Susan would only keep a straight face and say, �you can stay, this time.� But Brad knew she would say that to him, since he paid for everything so Susan wouldn�t have to work. Brad would dress early in the mornings listening to Susan�s wining about how she would never be taken anywhere saying, �If you would stop wasting your money in that damn confessionary machine, you might have enough money to take me on a vacation.� Brad wouldn�t pay her much attention as he checked his watch just before scooping up his lunch and briefcase and heading out the door hearing Susan remind him that she would be having her exercise class over at 3 o�clock and for him to stay away until at least 6:30. Brad would hesitate, wanting to tell Susan no, and that he would be home at 5:45 as usual, but Susan had been having the classes on Thursdays for some time, so he couldn�t just now out of the blue tell her no. One day at the confessionary machine, Brad sat in the small chair supplied for the vendor to relate their humdrum existence. With heavy breathing and ending his confession with what Susan had said about wasting all of his money in the confessionary machine, Brad said, �it�s not that I don�t care for Susan,� he told the machine quite often. �But I�m not sure I love her. If only there was a way to prove it.� As the Glax machine went from its steady hum to a loud whooshing roar, Brad waited, checking his watch and waiting some more, then once again checked his watch. The machine took longer than usual and Brad gritted his teeth together knowing he would be late making Mandy�s daily visit to his cubical. Finally Brad lightly tapped on the top hood of the white machine hoping to hurry it up. With a high-pitched wine, the machine powered down, back to its familiar soft hum. The white card slid out in the small distributes port as a soft bell sounded the arrival. Snatching the card from the slot Brad stood from the uncomfortable metal chair, starting to place the white card away into his inside jacket pocket, but this time he hesitated, usually he won�t give the card a second glance, but this day felt different to him. He held the soft white index card up and read the crisp printed words with a bit of astonishment. The card read: WHAT DOES YOUR GIRLFRIEND KNOW, LOVE ISN�T ALWAYS THAT IMPORTANT. SUGGETION: SLEEP WITH THE COPY GIRL. Brad was shocked to read what was on the card. He looked at the machine, which hummed slightly as if proud of itself in some diabolical way. Standing completely still for a brief moment, Brad slipped the card into his jacket where he had placed all the others and strolled away from the machine, looking back every ten steps or so, finding the Glax Machine still humming. Unfortunately Brad missed Mandy on her morning rounds, when he arrived late to the office, but on the bright side, his morning visit from Finster was missed also. When Brad arrived at his workspace he was confronted with a note, telling him to get to work and have it done before he left for the day, which was signed smugly �Finster�. Brad sat at his desk faced with an endless stack of reports to be processed and posted; there was little way he could get done before 5o�clock, he would have no choice to work through lunch in hopes of clearing out by dark. As the clocked chimed three, Brad noticed Finster heading past his door with jacket in hand. Brad balled his hands into fists angered and raged as to why Finster would always find time to leave two hours early every Thursday. Then like lighting it came to him. Thursday, much like Susan�s exercise group. Brad wondered if there were really such a group, it would be to fortuitous for three things to all fit together on the same day at the same time, he considered, putting the three coincidences collectively. 1. An excise group he had never seen, 2. A regular Thursday workload that never gets him out of the office until after 6o�clock, and 3. Finster leaves every Thursday at the same time. Brad kicked his desk as he rolled away from it. Telling himself what a fool he had been and how could he have not seen this sooner? Reaching for his jacket that hung on the back of his chair, Brad pulled out the card from the confessionary and looked at the words again. SUGGESTION, it said as it did before. SLEEP WITH THE COPY GIRL. Brad stood from his chair and loosed his tie. Thinking that two could play at that game. All the way up the hall, Brad shook slightly, he had never done anything like this before, but now there was a pleasant feeling draping over him, as if something good would come out of this. Stopping at the door to the copy room, Brad wiped the sweat from his hands and reached for the handle. Taking a firm grip on it he gave it a turn, feeling the latch let loose. Brad wondered if he should barge in, take the red head in his arm and start or work into it, but he decided to open the door slowly to see if she was even in the room. As the door opened silently Brad heard a slight giggle and moan as he looked into the room. It was Finster and the copygirl pressed against one of the machines. Brad shuttered as he closed the door back quickly. Brad arrived home at 6:45 with a wide smile. He found Susan sitting on the living room davenport with her legs crossed under her and a brandy in her right hand. He kissed her as he bent over her, full on the lips. Susan was stunned, �what was that for?� She asked, not remembering the last time he had done that. �And what�s with the smile, have you been drinking again?� �No,� Brad continued to smile as he flopped into a recliner across from Susan, while putting his feet up. �Then what is it?� Susan couldn�t remember that last time she had seen him like this. �Finster was fired today,� he gushed. �What happened?� Susan asked. �They caught him with the copygirl in a very awkward position.� �Really?� Susan asked taking a sip of brandy. �That�s not all,� Brad rubbed his nose and smiled some more. You�ll never guess who got his job.� The end |