“Jesus H. Christ!”
He appeared in an instant, at that. He was covered in sawdust.
“You know I hate it when you use my middle name,” he pouted in frustration, crossing his arms. (His middle name is Horace, by the way.) He must’ve been in the middle of building something down there, his hands were all red and chapped. I could see the whiteness of the old scars, shining like the Bethlehem star he was born under. “I’m busy with a missionary school for orphans in Paraguay! What is it?”
“What in blazes is going on down there?” thundered the angel choir, in seven layers of harmony. I wouldn’t have been able to say it better myself.
“You – who created the heavens and the earth in only seven days – must learn patience,” Jesus told me. “A human life takes time to unfold.”
“Time!?” screamed the angels, wringing their blessed hands.
“Yes, time. It’s a thing you don’t understand, being up here where a thousand years is a day and a day is a thousand years, and all that.”
“But Marisol – ”
“What about Marisol? You’re the one who placed her upon the good earth, just like you did Ellen. She has a right to be herself, just as much as the others. Or do you want to off her, too, like you did with Uncle Dink?”
Boy, he was getting too big for his britches. About time to let him get crucified again.
“Well, just make sure Ellen – ” sang the angels, swaying.
“Oh, Ellen Romper. Don’t you know there’s a lot more going on besides her and her little family saga over there in Howey Bay, Nowhere-Land? That’s what I mean about time . . . She’s barely listening to me, or you, or anyone, right now. And that’s the way it should be. What adolescent human ever listened to the voice of wisdom? Not anyone I’ve ever met. Even I ran off to meet with the teachers at the temple, against my parents’ wishes. Don’t you remember?”
“Worried,” bleated the angels.
“I know you’re worried,” said JC, softening his tone. He looked toward me and reached out his dirty hand. “But I’m not.”
Grudgingly, I received his hand. It felt warm, calloused, hard. Earthy.
“We both know how it ends up with Ellen,” he chided me. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Better than okay,” the angels chorused, in triumph.