Souls - XXXVII

The table is set, Jesus at the head of it, his arms outstretched.

“If this isn’t fucking nice I don’t know what is. Dig in everybody”

I try not to look to my daughter, I’m afraid my confused sense of fear will show. I didn’t have time to ask her what her new note on the recipe meant. Jesus had reentered to interrupt as if on cue. 

“Dinner ready?” He’d asked in a tone that insinuated he had more on his mind than food. “Emily is starving.”

He paused, looking at both of us, arms crossed; waiting to see our play.

Mary moved first, “Yeah, just finishing up the potatoes. You can probably get Emily and sit. It’ll be ready in just a minute.”

“Good, it’ll be nice to have a full table for supper.”

He looked at me directly at this, as if he was passively demanding that I refrain from getting out of there, as my daughter instructed.

Now here we are, everything in me battling the urge to run away, the urge to look at my daughter, the urge to throw-up.

“So, how’s he doin?”

It takes me a minute to realize Jesus is speaking to me.

I don’t answer, instead my mind races to try to find the context of what he’s talking about. He motions to my pocket.

“My little guy, my soul. How’s he doing?”

“Fine.”

“Good glad to hear, your jaunt through hell couldn’t have been good for him. Been there done that.”

He knows. He knows everything. I hate dealing with the omniscient. 

“Pass the asparagus?” Jesus asks Emily with a smile. She complies immediately, she is the antithesis of the little girl I met on that bus. She seems carefree, happy, enamored. Like a normal little girl. Normal has become especially unsettling lately.

The dinner convo stops for awhile, the clanging of silverware on plates the only things ringing out in the room.

“So how’s he doin?” Jesus asks me again. 

I reach for my pocket.

“Fine.”

Jesus laughs, “No, not him. The other guy, your boss.”

“Fine, I guess. I’m not sure.”

“Typical. Typical. He’s a fucking mess that’s for sure. Hard to read. Imagine growing up around that guy.” Jesus stands and waves his arms downward, displaying his body. “That’s how you get this goddam mess.”Jesus laughs way too hard at his own joke. “And you sold your soul to him. Bad fucking move. Trust me I know.”

Mary stands, “I’m gonna check on the pie.”

Jesus watches her as she exits. As soon as the door closes he turns his attention on me.

“She deserves better you know that?”

I nod.

“Good, at least you know. My dad never got it through his fucking skull. He used me like I was his prop, a prop sent to be tortured and maimed and poked at. All in the name of what? Balance? The balance you and your kind need so goddam bad? No offense, but fuck that.” He raises his wine glass.

“Let’s toast to that.”

I comply and shakily raise my glass.

“Do you know what happens when you give me that soul?

“No, Lucifer never told…” 

Jesus’s eyes grow wide as he tries not to spit out his wine.

“What? Who the fuck did you just say?”

“Lucifer…”

“Oh goddam…” Jesus breaks out in maniac laughter, the kind that shakes your whole body. He can’t contain himself. His shoulders shake as he looks up to me, his eyes filled with laughter-tears.”

“That fuck isn’t Lucifer, hun, that fuck is my dad." 

"That fuck is God."