Deliverance

This morning I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed into my room. I saw a familiar sight and spun around to leave. Too late.

“Come in my child.”

There at my computer was The Galilean, one of the favorite shapes of the Alien C.W. my more or less permanent houseguest. I dreaded our conversations like a prostitute dreads a police interview.

“Come and sit.”

What could I do? I sat. “What the hell are you up to?” I wasn’t going to go gently into this good fight.”

“Be calm,” he said. “Have you said your morning prayers, yet?”

Let me explain. The figure before me had long, greasy black hair, a stringy beard, glassy black eyes and robe that smelled of long days’ wear. And he was quizzing me on prayer.

“No,” I said. “You know I quit praying while I was still in high school.”

His dark eyes bore into me and I shivered. “Tell me, exactly what did you pray for then?”

I knew he wouldn’t stop, so I might as well go along. “I prayed to be tall enough and big enough to be a football player.”

“And what exactly happened?”

“Nothing. I walked through graduation at five-foot-ten and 130 pounds.”

“And for that you quit praying?”

“Yes. Wouldn’t you have?”

He ignored me. “How much do you know about prayer, my son?”

Oh crap. Here we would go. “Just that it didn’t work for me.”

“Is there what you call a … ,” He paused and I heard his Galactic Universal Translator hum. He studied some notes he had on my desk, “a ‘statute of limitations’ on prayer?”

“A what?”

“Do your entreaties and pleas evaporate over time like a thin fog on a spring morning?”

I hate it when he gets poetical. “How the hell should I know?”

“Don’t blaspheme, my child. Think of what I asked. It may be hard, but think.”

He resorted to one of his favorite tricks, a challenge tinged with an insult. “Okay, I’m thinking.”

“If faith is eternal, shouldn’t the requests of faith-based prayers be eternal?”

“Beats me.”

“Let me answer. Yes, my child. Prayers are eternal. There are no expiration dates for them.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. But we’re talking about you.” He paused, for dramatic effect as much as anything. “Not tell me how tall you are this morning and how much you weigh.”

I heard the trap door slamming shut and didn’t answer.

“I know the facts anyway,” he said. “Now aren’t you as tall and large as many successful football players?”

“But I’m …,” I began. He cut me off.

“A prayer response delayed is not a prayer request unanswered.”

My mind twirled and a bell rang in my head. “But what about the few in Germany in the 1930s who prayed to avoid war?”

He grimaced. His GUT hummed. It was his turn to stammer. “Is there any more of that coffee?” he asked.

Prayer

Dear Friends and Followers:
I don't usually comment on your political follies, but ...

Just my own opinion, but it seems to me that the conservative majority of the Supreme Court of the United States did something truly remarkable yesterday, even for that bunch of yahoos and corporate hacks: they administered a stinging rebuke to every living American.
First they rebuked the large majority of Americans—those who aren’t religious or prefer their religion confined to the home or to places of worship, who follow the words of the Gospel According to Matthew—Chapter Six, Verse Five: “And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.” (KJV)
To those, the Court said, “Your First Amendment rights of the United States Constitution are second-rate.”
To religious zealots, it was worse. To them, the Court said, “Your enthusiasm is not enough to sustain your faith. It must be supported and nurtured by the government.”
I fear a time will come when you will regret this. But for now:
“By the rivers of Babylon,
There we sat down, yea, we wept
When we remembered Zion.” Psalms 137 (KJV)

Is it my imagination, or does this man look
more like Lou Costello every day? - C.W.

197. Prayer Lists

C.W. has always been intrigued by our obsession with religion. This time it went too far, as you will see.

The first to call was the oldest Thorton girl, the nosey one.

“It’s Carlota,” she said though it wasn’t necessary. She has this snorting sound that she makes when she breathes. I would have recognized it anywhere. I told her my wife wasn’t home.

“It’s you I wanted,” she said. “I called to talk to you.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Did you hear me?” she said.

“Sure I heard you. What’s up?”

“You tell me,” she said, just like that. “You tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Why I need to pray for you.”

“I don’t you to pray for me.”

“Then why, tell me, is your name on a prayer list? I need to know what kind of troubles you got.”

“I don’t have any troubles.”

“Are you two having problems?” She snorted again.

“What?”

“Trouble. Are you two having, you know, marital problems?”

“Goddamn it, who told you that?”

“If you are going to blaspheme the Savior, I shall refuse to pray for you.”

“Well don’t then.” I hung up.

“C.W.! I instinctively knew he was behind this. Before I could think, the phone rang again. It was Ida Covington.

“Is it cancer?”

“Is what cancer?” Then I remembered.

“My cousin had it and he didn’t live but six months. And he had two churches praying for him.”

“Your cousin?”

“Uncle Fred’s oldest son, Chester—the one that was in prison for killing his wife. But it was the most wonderful thing. He surrendered his soul to Jesus right before he died and he’s in Heaven right now. Not a doubt in my mind but what he is praying for you.”

“Ida,” I explained, “Get off this damn telephone.” She did but it rang again.

“Hello.”

“If you need money, our bank ..., a voice said. After that a neighborhood kid called to ask if he could have my woodworking tools when I was gone.

I went outside to find C.W. He was sitting peacefully watching the geese play around the pond at our farm.

“Do you know anything about a prayer list?”

He turned. “A what?”

“A prayer list. Don’t lie to me?”

“Oh,” he said. “Now I remember. Yours was the only name I knew.” This is his idea of an explanation.

“Knew for what?”

He fidgeted. “Remember when I wanted to visit some churches for research and you wouldn’t go with me?”

“I remember it well.”

“There is this small church not far from here and they insisted that I give them a name for their prayer list.”

I exhaled a long breath and looked at the sky. “And you gave them ..”

“Your name. I figured that, even if it didn’t help, it couldn’t hurt.” He stopped and thought. “They seemed to place a lot of importance on that sort of thing.”

“I suppose so,” I said, and sat beside him.

“Anyway,” he said. “I was afraid if I didn’t give them a name, they would start praying for me.”

“Perhaps they would.” My thoughts drifted.

“Does it work?”

I snapped back to the present. “Does what work?”

Big Dope has a long list and my name is on every line. - C.W.

“Prayer.”

“I’m thinking of trying it,” I said. “We will find out.”

“How will we find out?”

“You will be called home.”

Inside, the phone was ringing.


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124. Boredom

If there is anything worse than a bored teenager, it must be bored alien. What could be even worse? Try a bored alien who has taken the form of a bored teenager. I was trying to grade papers from a class I am teaching when who should show up but Tymber Elysibuth, the 16 year old high school student. She plopped on the couch and began tapping her feet to music that only existed in her head.

“I’m bored,” she said, as if I would have not guessed in a thousand years.

“C.W., I’m sort of busy right now.”

“Do you think Tymber is a sexy name?”

“I think you should go out for some exercise.”

“Haylee Addison’s dad says the government is taking away all of our guns.”

“That’s nice. Now why don’t you go walking?”

“Oh, puleeez. Can’t you hear? There is a hunter every ten feet out there. Duh. I would get to the edge of the woods before one shot me. Gross.”

“Maybe you could read a book.”

“Londin Colclasure studied in school that the world is only 6,000 years old.”

“Great,” I said. “Have you visited home lately?”

“Get real. It takes a hundred light years to get there.”

“So where did London ..”

“Londin! Gee, are you dumb, or what?”

“Where did Londin get her news?”

“Her teacher learned if from a man running for president.”

“Running for president? We just had an election.”

“He’s getting an early start, I suppose.”

Returning to my papers, I tried to ignore her.

“The world’s coming to an end,” she said.

“Great,” I said. “Hope it happens before I get these papers graded.”

“The U.N. has taken over our economy and is killing our economic system.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “Now who told you that?”

“Glen Beck.”

“And he is an economist?”

“No.”

“Historian?”

“Not really.”

“A political scientist?”

“No, A talk radio host.”

“Talk radio?”

“You know, the guys who are trying to protect our freedoms and restore our economy.”

“Some call it ‘hate’ radio” I said.

“Whatever.”

“So why don’t you go shopping?”

“What! And fight those crowds?”

“Never mind anyway,” I said. “The last five times I sent you for toilet paper, you picked the wrong brand.”

“Soffeeah Gabrielah says her daddy is going to take her out of school.”

“Can’t blame him,” I said, trying to make sense of a student’s effort to describe the pros and cons of public sector collective bargaining. “Any particular reason?”

“They won’t let us pray.”

“Oh? Do you want to pray?”

“Not really, but that’s not the point. “They are taking away our religious freedoms.”

“About time,” I said reading the explanation again a striving for some sign of coherence. “What freedoms?”

It would be so neat if I could just
text my thoughts without actually
having to think them. - C.W.

“Did you know that God hates fags?”

“C.W.! We don’t talk that way in this house.”

“See, you want to take away my freedom in my own home.”

“It’s not your home. And besides, you are an alien.”

“Did you know that the government is going to put all of our citizens in concentration camps and put the aliens in charge?”