Savior: Aisle Five
A short story by Buffy Burnett. First publication: buffyburnett.blogspot.com
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Crystal's shift begins at three on Sunday as the flock gathers to her register with their 10-items-or-less. She believes the world doesn't expect much from someone working at Wal-Mart but today God steps forth to buy paper towels. He puts the double-roll on the conveyor and she scans the package as though sacred scroll.
"Do you know how many words they have about me and you admire this paper?"
"I...I...I'm sorry."
"No matter. I have work to do. Bow down and worship me."
In her 19 years, Crystal has become a Supermodel to forgotten women in the way she poses for her customers--vacant stares and nonchalant gestures for the women looking for a particular baby formula and pouts to the bulkiest testicles when their enormous belt-buckle shrines leave her register. She chooses this shift because jealous wives pretend to browse the impulse buys rather than envision this barely legal bitch spread open for their husbands like paradise. She kneels before the savior and hopes He won't abandon her.
The customer behind Him, Mrs. Millie Murphy, a widow from Austin, puts down the current issue of People and fidgets with her enormous sterling crucifix as she gnaws green Trident gum and watches the perky girl with the "Cutie Crystal" smiley nametag lower her head, close her eyes, and wrap her tiny palms into tight prayer position while kneeling before the stoic one. Did this girl lose some change down there? Oh no, wait...she's praying? For this guy? Mercy!
With His tight muscular body, camouflage pants, and "Real Men Love Jesus" tee emblazoned with His dying son wearing the crown of thorns, those who gaze upon the Lord see a man who is shopping for last-minute supplies during deer season.
Millie shakes her head in disbelief. She needs to find herself a new man but...well, at least he loves the Lord.
Since Crystal's register is near the exit, other customers and the store manager figure He must be her pastor. The heathens roll their eyes at the devotional and the faithful wander toward electronics while penitent parents decide how many groceries they can afford while Millie triumphs against speaking aloud. As long as it doesn't take too long, I guess it's OK.
God turns and places His right hand on Millie's shoulder as He leans into her zirconia earrings and whispers, "What is your way out of this life as your thoughts are much too loud?"
The Trident slips from her lips, misses her sandal, and sticks to her big toe. At last, the day of judgment!
"Hallelujah," she whispers to Him.
Before arriving to the Supercenter, Millie changes from church attire to her finest muumuu with enormous bird of paradise flowers which she and Billy, rest his soul, bought two summers ago at the flea market on Highway 290. After his funeral in March, neighbors brought pie and casseroles while she kept busy tending the tea roses around their post WWII bungalow in Crestview which they shared since 1956 after meeting at the Elvis Cotton Bowl concert when The King was 21 and they were 26. Their parents gave them the down payment after graduation from UT-Austin. He an English major and she in Home Economics from the School of Human Ecology. They married one year later at a small ceremony with their parents and college chums whom they hadn't seen since graduation.
God plunges His fist into Millie's belly to peel and chew pulpy innards like a halftime snack with no spectators except Crystal whom He will make his eternal cheerleader.
Crystal cannot pray as she and God flee the Supercenter parking lot in her 1986 Ford F-150 along I-35 heading north. Her face flushes as salt rises behind her eyes as she jams the gas: She's dead, she's dead, she's DEAD!
Beneath a fiberglass tarp covering the truck bed, it flaps with almighty applause as the paper towels soak His prey. Crystal hopes their fierce speed will alert any saint.
There are no monuments sufficient for His glorification but the feeble humans will try everything from roadside temples at puny strip malls to pastoral fields with metal cowboys kneeling at wooden rugged crosses or roadside billboards offering prayer for more rain.
"Look at that monstrosity," God looks at the billboard outside Georgetown. "He Has Risen. I exist and no one understands. You make trinkets, sell gaudy crafts, and spend time in temples or mosques. Not you, of course, but these haughty games they all play to delay death in my name."
Crystal glances between Him and the road but cannot wonder if suicide will spare her since He already knows her plans. Will He make me suffer? All those times at the register when I ignore the elders and their stories about bridge matches or grandkids. Forgive me.
She blinks and grips the wheel a bit harder with rage to her Mama for telling her that school is wasting her time since that's for smart and not pretty people; or, to Dad for leaving them both when she was four but keeping the fantasy that he loves her and will always regret not being her Daddy.
Jesus, I do not want to take the wheel.
And God spoke: Which parent do you want right now?
It's Mama. Complete with Marlboro Lights as she presses the automatic window to flick some ashes between long drags and chatter. "You know Mama loves you, Baby," and so God earns a Best Deity award for the performance. "But you don't need school because no one cares about you like me and all you learn is that the rich get richer. Besides, I need you to support me in my old age which means you need a job or sugardaddy."
He morphs back to the deer hunter.
"Forget it--look, I don't have much time since this planet bores me and humanity is meaningless--it's time you know this now. Whether it's dying bees, frogs, or global warming, people are almost done. Why would I create someone to worship me? I can span galaxies to any realm in existence or create my own and you really think I care what happens to this one or its piteous creatures? You really have not read your history."
All these cars and semis with devotional bumperstickers pay no heed.
"But our lives HAVE to mean SOMETHING," she wails. "Why do you hate us and kill that poor lady? Aren't we all your children?"
"If you insist upon such nonsense, I don't hate you or anyone. I'm indifferent to lesser beings; however, you all incarnate me in this realm. Enemies can fly planes into buildings with promises of paradise and I know they want to experience feeble omnipotence with virgin lips clasping their genitals but these, as all bodies, make ash and it takes existence to make pleasure. Everyone, no matter the religion, will say they know me or make promises to earn eternal salvation but they shall all perish even as your science gets closer to divinity. There is but one group to whom I will grant eternal life as nonbelievers. They are righteous for refusing to honor one unseen until today. In this moment, I need you to renounce your faith--give it to me and you must before your life vanishes."
Her sobs slow: "What do I tell them?"
"You have arrived. Take this exit--NOW!"
She almost loses control but the truck veers right and she sees the Waco trinity: Health Camp Burgers, Elite Cafe, and Rudy's BBQ beside the interstate.
He vanishes and the tarp droops above empty cargo while Millie, in all her former glory, replaces God in the front seat sitting beside His prophet.
"There, there, child," she drawls, smoothing Crystal's hair and hugging her tight. "It's OK. My grandson is a senior here at Baylor. Who in the world put you up to bringing me here so we can surprise him?"
