Picking up from Part One, Joanne was instructing me in the ways of Atlantis, in short, that through evolution, intelligent beings that were created by the Logos left their ethereal existence behind and became physical beings, moving up through the ages until human-kind came about. From thence, the primitives (did she call them ‘Liberians’?) reincarnated into the Atlanteans who reincarnated into the Aryans.
There are, however, some reincarnated Atlanteans still in existence; they constitute a class of society that is predominantly labor-oriented. Many of them are high school educated and a few are even college educated. They can own businesses and perhaps even achieve very high places in society. But they are still not Aryans; Joanne knows because she said that she’s met some pretty “thick-skulled” doctors and the like. They are wonderful, fine people, but can never aspire to Aryan levels. “We have trained them well!”
However, in light of recent history, please do not misunderstand: Aryans are certainly not superior in the least bit. Adolf Hitler was a wicked man who ruined a beautiful concept.
But I digress. Aryans are the ones that can reach their minds into the … I can’t recall. Higher-mindedness? Anyway, by reaching into the spiritual upperness, Aryans display their superior ability through works of art and magnificent things that Liberians (or whatever the tribal types are called) and Atlanteans cannot grasp, such as going to the Moon. But such power can be misused, like the atom bombs. Truman chose a life (I inferred that he chose while pre-incarnate) that would possibly land him in such a mess, but it was his choice.
All this is made possible because we learn and advance through our lives via cell-memory (see the video game Assassin’s Creed), the imprinting of life-lessons or something into our genetic material, thus pushing our kind forward through evolution.
All these concepts are universally taught by the world’s religions, sans a terribly miss-lead Catholic Christianity. The druids of Europe had it down, as did the eastern people who taught Christ, in the years that He was growing “in stature and in favor with God and Men.” Pantheism is the Way, the Truth and the Life-line to God – incidentally, the Hopi Indians had some good ideas. Oh, and don’t eat meat, because it tends to mess with one’s frequency, cutting one off from the Most High.
A lot more was said that I cannot recall, but just as we finished discussing how she could perceive – via sound resonance, or heat waves, or some such notion – that, as a writer, I was soon to embark on a great quest to collect the tales of the druids and make them new for my future audience, Mom walked up and said that the car was leaving, adding to Joanne, “I hope you taught him something!”
Ironically, she had. As pointed out somewhere in the protracted discourse on humanity’s role in a rather Lovecraftian universe, Joanne inadvertently claimed that it was all for naught. She said that the world was to end in 2012.
Monday, November 16, 2009
The New Age and World’s End, Part 1
Some weeks ago in the summer, I was at a political rally. The purpose of the rally is not important, but that is where I spoke with Joanne. She was a grandmotherly woman, white-headed and hale, seated in a lawn chair, waving at the cars that honked in salute to her sign. My first contact was a general “you’re a promising young college student, what are you studying?” type of exchange. “Writing and history.” That was how it began.
Talk of history led to talk of perspective. I must be careful, she warned, to look at a given teaching from every angle. See that building? We can only see one angle, not the backside, nor the interior, nor the roof, because of our angle in relation to the building. We must be careful to consider the other side before making any judgment.
Talk of angles led to dimensions. In our world, she reminded me, we can perceive only four: length, width, height, and time. But there are more dimensions and wavelengths (like light and radio) that we “see” but do not perceive. The spiritual is another example. There are some people who can see, but they are taught by others to suppress the “imaginary” and move on, and thanks to thousands of years of suppression, the human eye can no longer see such things.
You see, we are all God, she continued. When the Logos created the world, part of “Him” withdrew (God) and part was used (Creation); we are all God; we can all become Christ-like. Because, Jesus was a man (who studied under the Hindus) who operated at 75% frequency, but became more in tune when John baptized him. Same with Buddha’s Enlightenment.
After all, there was originally a super race (I think she called them “monads”) that came to Earth first. These super beings were near to god. On a related note, the original incarnated humans (actually, “beings”) were ethereal, wispy and smoke-link. These later reincarnated as gelatinous beasts with a single feeler, like a snail. After evolving some millions of years (the Church really screwed up this “universal” truth by denying evolution) the more enlightened beasts took on reptilian shapes, and so on. Then there was cave-man (please note that apes were not a part of the equation, they had something to do with the Dark Powers) who reincarnated – or were one with – the first people (there was a name for them that sounded as though it was derived from a Conan novel, like “Liberians”). These people were in tune with the spirit (Logos, I guess) but were not so “high-minded” or connected with that dimension. These people exist today as the tribal types, like the Aborigines. Further evolution resulted in the Atlantians, who were on the fence; they were more “high-minded,” but were still child-like. They were destroyed along with their civilization – the War in Heaven – and were replaced by us, the Aryans. We are “high-minded,” able to understand complex spiritual and philosophical concepts. Joanne reassured me that I am an Aryan like her, because I listened and could understand what she was explaining.
More on Atlantis next time…
Talk of history led to talk of perspective. I must be careful, she warned, to look at a given teaching from every angle. See that building? We can only see one angle, not the backside, nor the interior, nor the roof, because of our angle in relation to the building. We must be careful to consider the other side before making any judgment.
Talk of angles led to dimensions. In our world, she reminded me, we can perceive only four: length, width, height, and time. But there are more dimensions and wavelengths (like light and radio) that we “see” but do not perceive. The spiritual is another example. There are some people who can see, but they are taught by others to suppress the “imaginary” and move on, and thanks to thousands of years of suppression, the human eye can no longer see such things.
You see, we are all God, she continued. When the Logos created the world, part of “Him” withdrew (God) and part was used (Creation); we are all God; we can all become Christ-like. Because, Jesus was a man (who studied under the Hindus) who operated at 75% frequency, but became more in tune when John baptized him. Same with Buddha’s Enlightenment.
After all, there was originally a super race (I think she called them “monads”) that came to Earth first. These super beings were near to god. On a related note, the original incarnated humans (actually, “beings”) were ethereal, wispy and smoke-link. These later reincarnated as gelatinous beasts with a single feeler, like a snail. After evolving some millions of years (the Church really screwed up this “universal” truth by denying evolution) the more enlightened beasts took on reptilian shapes, and so on. Then there was cave-man (please note that apes were not a part of the equation, they had something to do with the Dark Powers) who reincarnated – or were one with – the first people (there was a name for them that sounded as though it was derived from a Conan novel, like “Liberians”). These people were in tune with the spirit (Logos, I guess) but were not so “high-minded” or connected with that dimension. These people exist today as the tribal types, like the Aborigines. Further evolution resulted in the Atlantians, who were on the fence; they were more “high-minded,” but were still child-like. They were destroyed along with their civilization – the War in Heaven – and were replaced by us, the Aryans. We are “high-minded,” able to understand complex spiritual and philosophical concepts. Joanne reassured me that I am an Aryan like her, because I listened and could understand what she was explaining.
More on Atlantis next time…
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Costume Time!
I have recently had trouble getting my act together during Halloween. Yes, it is only the biggest costume fest of the year, but here the last several years my costume has been the work of a few hours’ hasty rummaging through my drawers in an attempt to locate some articles of ordinary clothing that, when combined on All Hallows’ Eve, will miraculously transform me into Van Helsing. Or failing that, at least a college kid wearing a cloak.
Last year I had a little more to go on. Black slacks and a white button down with tie were joined with a black, pocketed apron over which I wore a snug long-sleeve “jacket” with two zippers, a hood, and a Gothic emblem (I think, it is kind of hard to make out) stretched out betwixt my shoulder blades. A wooden cross about my neck, made from real Holy Land wood, and a tiny corked bottle of water (disguised by the blue tint of the glass) finished the ensemble. I convinced myself that I was an alchemist.
Upon getting to the evening ho-down, I felt pretty good about my costume. Until the host came bounding forward to greet our car and hailed me with a jovial, “Hello, father!” I was a priest. I brushed off the unintended slight and strode with purpose into the house where I met our host’s girlfriend, who was dressed up like a pirate. “So are you a doctor, or something?” Not really, but then her best friend entered the room and shied away from me, baring her fangs and hissing. I was a vampire hunter. By evenings end, after meeting each of these verdicts several times – only ONCE was I called an alchemist – it had been established that I was a vampire-hunting alchemaic priest, Ph.D. My one consolation was that, whatever I was, everyone thought my costume looked great.
This year I put a little more thought into my costume. My cousin donated a white t-shirt and using the bottom of a peanut butter jar I traced out three circles on the right of the shirt, evenly spaced from the collar to the hem. We stretched the shirt across our palms to cut out the circles – a two person job, apparently – and left the circle at the bottom hanging by a little fabric. I was loathe to pursue the next course of action, but I wanted stripes on my shirt really badly, so we laid out the modified shirt in the driveway, I figured I would just wash the thing anyway. Actually, the driveway was a perfect spot, because the uneven surface gave the horizontal blue lines and the red line running parallel to the holes a vintage look that pleased me. The project complete, I went home and tossed the shirt into the wash with some socks while I selected a close-fitting black shirt to wear under the white one. After all, with three big holes in my costume, I would probably spend the party really cold and really awkward. But sadly, when I returned for my washed shirt, I discovered that the blue lines had almost faded away. There is no time to fix it, however, so I will not let it get me down!
For this costume, I am taking my cues from THE OFFICE’s Jim Halpert; I’m going as 3-hole punched paper.
Last year I had a little more to go on. Black slacks and a white button down with tie were joined with a black, pocketed apron over which I wore a snug long-sleeve “jacket” with two zippers, a hood, and a Gothic emblem (I think, it is kind of hard to make out) stretched out betwixt my shoulder blades. A wooden cross about my neck, made from real Holy Land wood, and a tiny corked bottle of water (disguised by the blue tint of the glass) finished the ensemble. I convinced myself that I was an alchemist.
Upon getting to the evening ho-down, I felt pretty good about my costume. Until the host came bounding forward to greet our car and hailed me with a jovial, “Hello, father!” I was a priest. I brushed off the unintended slight and strode with purpose into the house where I met our host’s girlfriend, who was dressed up like a pirate. “So are you a doctor, or something?” Not really, but then her best friend entered the room and shied away from me, baring her fangs and hissing. I was a vampire hunter. By evenings end, after meeting each of these verdicts several times – only ONCE was I called an alchemist – it had been established that I was a vampire-hunting alchemaic priest, Ph.D. My one consolation was that, whatever I was, everyone thought my costume looked great.
This year I put a little more thought into my costume. My cousin donated a white t-shirt and using the bottom of a peanut butter jar I traced out three circles on the right of the shirt, evenly spaced from the collar to the hem. We stretched the shirt across our palms to cut out the circles – a two person job, apparently – and left the circle at the bottom hanging by a little fabric. I was loathe to pursue the next course of action, but I wanted stripes on my shirt really badly, so we laid out the modified shirt in the driveway, I figured I would just wash the thing anyway. Actually, the driveway was a perfect spot, because the uneven surface gave the horizontal blue lines and the red line running parallel to the holes a vintage look that pleased me. The project complete, I went home and tossed the shirt into the wash with some socks while I selected a close-fitting black shirt to wear under the white one. After all, with three big holes in my costume, I would probably spend the party really cold and really awkward. But sadly, when I returned for my washed shirt, I discovered that the blue lines had almost faded away. There is no time to fix it, however, so I will not let it get me down!
For this costume, I am taking my cues from THE OFFICE’s Jim Halpert; I’m going as 3-hole punched paper.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Wister
The twins Wister were exactly alike. They spoke the same, they walked the same, and dressed the same; they even shared the same name: Wister. They were like one person.
But cruel Fate loathed the boys, for no mortal was to share the exact life as another. So looking down from her lofty seat, Fate stretched out her invisible, inexorable hand, and drove the twins Wister apart. Cast from their home to sojourn in the freezing dark, they wandered separately, each crying out his lament and wishing for his brother.
But even Fate could not truly sever the bond of those boys. For they both traveled to foreign lands, they both rose to positions of high regard, and when each became a man, the Lord Chancellors Wister each married the daughter of his king and ascended to their thrones after the old men’s deaths.
But Fate, cruel Fate, in all her brooding hate stretched out her unseen, unstoppable hand, and drove the twins Wister together again through a terrible war. The armies raged yet neither brother could best his kin so that at last the kings, knowing not whom the other man was, came together, alone, to finish the war man to man. Alas! They wore all-covering helmets so that neither could perceive his brother and they came together with a mighty crash and each cut the other down. Then, when each king had called his son to remove his mask, he looked and beheld his lost twin for the last time. At this, Fate laughed in her lofty seat.
But yet she was foiled. The sons of the kings, seeing what was done, swore an oath of friendship everlasting, for they perceived that they were each the other’s kin. And each prince was truly a twin himself, for they both had royal sisters, formed in the same womb. And so the princes each married the princesses and Fate, in her lofty seat, laughed in wretched defeat.
But cruel Fate loathed the boys, for no mortal was to share the exact life as another. So looking down from her lofty seat, Fate stretched out her invisible, inexorable hand, and drove the twins Wister apart. Cast from their home to sojourn in the freezing dark, they wandered separately, each crying out his lament and wishing for his brother.
But even Fate could not truly sever the bond of those boys. For they both traveled to foreign lands, they both rose to positions of high regard, and when each became a man, the Lord Chancellors Wister each married the daughter of his king and ascended to their thrones after the old men’s deaths.
But Fate, cruel Fate, in all her brooding hate stretched out her unseen, unstoppable hand, and drove the twins Wister together again through a terrible war. The armies raged yet neither brother could best his kin so that at last the kings, knowing not whom the other man was, came together, alone, to finish the war man to man. Alas! They wore all-covering helmets so that neither could perceive his brother and they came together with a mighty crash and each cut the other down. Then, when each king had called his son to remove his mask, he looked and beheld his lost twin for the last time. At this, Fate laughed in her lofty seat.
But yet she was foiled. The sons of the kings, seeing what was done, swore an oath of friendship everlasting, for they perceived that they were each the other’s kin. And each prince was truly a twin himself, for they both had royal sisters, formed in the same womb. And so the princes each married the princesses and Fate, in her lofty seat, laughed in wretched defeat.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
That 'Sam I am,' that 'Sam I am...'
A few days ago I was waiting outside the cafeteria with Dima and Sherzod (both from Uzbekistan) and started to explain Dr. Seuss. I do not remember why, but the subject was suddenly upon us and I was telling about how the man who created the Grinch would make meaningless words to help his peoms along, and that these strange new words always made sense. Sherzod was skeptical and wondered aloud how that was possible and I tried to explian and call his attention to verious works of genious such as CAT IN THE HAT and GREEN EGGS AND HAM.
Skip forward to the end of the day. At dinner, Alexandra told me that she liked my shirt and as I was going to bed I remembered and looked to see exactly what I was wearing: it said "I am Sam." I'd been wearing GREEN EGGS AND HAM all day!
Skip forward to the end of the day. At dinner, Alexandra told me that she liked my shirt and as I was going to bed I remembered and looked to see exactly what I was wearing: it said "I am Sam." I'd been wearing GREEN EGGS AND HAM all day!
Friday, November 14, 2008
My Life's Soundtrack
Okay, a friend of mine sent this to me on FaceBook: it is my life's soundtrack! Here's what to do: take the options here, such as "opening credits," open iTunes or whatever music you've got and put it on "shuffle." Hit play and whatever random song that does so is the Opening Credits to your life! Kinda of creepy sometimes...
Opening Credits:
”Finish It” ~ the Fountain
I’m just getting up, cut me some slack!
Waking Up:
”Lies” ~ Elton John
First Day At School:
”Our Happy Home” ~ David Crowder
Falling In Love:
”Hiding Place” ~ Jars of Clay
Fight Song:
”Send Your Love” ~ Sting
Breaking Up:
”Concerning Hobbits” ~ Fellowship of the Ring
:D
Prom night:
”I Can’t Tell You” ~ Yoko Ishida
Life:
”Track 11” ~ My Neighbor Totoro
Walkin’ somewhere, just strolling along, enjoying the ordinary (many cut scenes)
Mental Breakdown:
”Track 15” ~ Gundam Wing: Volume 3
Driving:
”Open Your Heart” ~ Yuki Kajiura
Smooth cruisin'
Flashback:
”When I Fall” ~ Rachel Lampa
Getting back together:
”Sleep Well Tonight” ~ Spoken
“say, she’s just as foxy as before…”
Wedding:
”Dame!” ~ Ruroni Kenshin
Victory!!!
Birth of Child:
”Written In the Stars” ~ Elton John
Final Battle:
”Mirror” ~ Gackt
That’s one upbeat boss monster…
Funeral Song:
”Sacred Love” ~ Sting
Final Credits:
”Less Than a Pearl” ~ Enya
Opening Credits:
”Finish It” ~ the Fountain
I’m just getting up, cut me some slack!
Waking Up:
”Lies” ~ Elton John
First Day At School:
”Our Happy Home” ~ David Crowder
Falling In Love:
”Hiding Place” ~ Jars of Clay
Fight Song:
”Send Your Love” ~ Sting
Breaking Up:
”Concerning Hobbits” ~ Fellowship of the Ring
:D
Prom night:
”I Can’t Tell You” ~ Yoko Ishida
Life:
”Track 11” ~ My Neighbor Totoro
Walkin’ somewhere, just strolling along, enjoying the ordinary (many cut scenes)
Mental Breakdown:
”Track 15” ~ Gundam Wing: Volume 3
Driving:
”Open Your Heart” ~ Yuki Kajiura
Smooth cruisin'
Flashback:
”When I Fall” ~ Rachel Lampa
Getting back together:
”Sleep Well Tonight” ~ Spoken
“say, she’s just as foxy as before…”
Wedding:
”Dame!” ~ Ruroni Kenshin
Victory!!!
Birth of Child:
”Written In the Stars” ~ Elton John
Final Battle:
”Mirror” ~ Gackt
That’s one upbeat boss monster…
Funeral Song:
”Sacred Love” ~ Sting
Final Credits:
”Less Than a Pearl” ~ Enya
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
The Cyclist
I was approaching the BCM (Baptist Collegiate Ministry) on campus to ask for information regarding an upcoming float trip, when I distinctly heard a man yell “help!” Having never in my life heard that command used in earnest, I turned about in no small confusion and saw a middle aged man coasting toward me on a bicycle. He stopped a few feet away and hung his head momentarily to catch his breath then began thus: “I am in a hurry and I really need some help can you help me?”
“I hope so,” – I was standing with the BCM lawn sign between us, just in case – “what is the trouble?”
“I have had a family CRISIS come up and need to catch a GREYHOUND BUS to get to [a town that I fail to recall] but I need to get back by this evening to work at Waffle House I have only THREE DOLLARS to my name but I need thirteen dollars for the TICKET here is my identification I think it is appropriate here I would HAPPY to pay you back sir I am a man of GOD I will do everything in my power to pay you back can’t you help me?”
I was greatly intrigued by how the man spoke both as a Marvel Comics panel – with the emphasis placed on too many words – and without any punctuation, but there was just a hint of the shady in this deal. I reverted back to my standing rule of never lending money to strangers and replied that I was sorry but unable to render aid (in spite of the presence of two very handsome twenties in my pocket). Then I knew this situation was off kilter, because the man gave me the most convincing look of injured trust I have ever seen. He even leaned away as though threatened. I did not succumb, however, but explained that I was just about to enter this church – here meant to indicate a center of brotherly love where the folks in charge would bend over backwards to help a man in need – to ask about a church trip and recommended asking for help there.
“Naw – I – I am trying to catch a GREYHOUND BUS!”
“I understand that, [you shady person] but you don’t have to ask about the trip, too, just ask if they can help you.”
The man assumed a mistrustful look then dismounted and approached the BCM building, leaving his bike on the curb. Peeking inside, he glanced about and exchanged words with whoever was inside then turned around and returned, brow furrowed, to his bike. A man came out after him – a Christian student that I have met on a couple occasions – and the cyclist renewed the plea as I looked on: “I have had a family CRISIS come up and need to catch a GREYHOUND BUS to get to [a town I fail to recall],” etc. My Christian friend listened patiently and agreed that this was grave indeed and volunteered ingeniously to buy the tickets online. The reply:
“Now I am THIRTY-SEVEN so I have seen some stuff and it is obvious to me that we have some TRUST issues…”
While I thought, “you bet we do!” my Christian placated the man and renewed his offer. The man made some other objections then initiated a discussion of how the tickets were to be purchased. Could they REALLY be bought via the Internet? Well, my Christian assumed they could be. Oh, so you don’t KNOW! I hope so. Of course they can! And so on, until they walked off together toward the library to do the deal.
I did not like this man. He had come riding up on a bicycle, waving a drivers’ license and begging for help. He screeched to a halt before a college student – renowned for light wallets – and begged for help in front of a church (see above definition) that is located on a college campus that is crawling with officials that surely know how to help a man in trouble. The request was well rehearsed, too, like a speech, and the bit about having left the house without enough money sort of baffled me; had he not even considered to check for loose change between the couch cushions? And if this was a crisis, why did he have to be back to his fast-food job so soon? And, not to be cliché, but there was something with his eyes, were the whites of men’s eyes supposed to be yellow? And why was his tongue so red?
I later discovered that he had gone away, having assured my Christian that he knew the man to be busy and that he would manage. He just wanted money after all.
Several days later, I exited the Student Center and almost tripped over the cyclist. He was sitting on one of the benches just outside the Center’s side doors, leaning back in the posture of one physically and emotionally exhausted. He was wearing a Waffle House uniform.
I was upon him before either of us could react and since an embarrassing about-face seemed unattractive, I paused and smiled, inquiring as to the family disaster. He assured me that all had gone well. So was he just chillin’, now? He sighed and replied, “I am DEBATING…on where I am going to stay tonight.” He then massaged his nose between his thumb and forefinger and turned a most piteous puppy-dog gaze upon me. I smiled blandly and wished him luck and he thanked me graciously, adding, “Can you spare me a couple bucks, man?” With a forlorn shake of my head, I turned and hurried away.
I took the long way around to my dorm and entered through the back door. This was terrifically creepy and I claimed a few moments in my room to recover before returning outside to make a phone call, just as the vagrant rode past my dorm on his bicycle. Within minutes, Mom and Dad had the whole story. Their verdict: call the campus coppers! This man had no business on a college campus and required immediate expulsion.
I sprinted up to my room and whipped out a notepad and wrote down everything I could remember by way of description. I silently praised Writing 1310 for training me in attention to detail; I could remember some remarkable minutiae: the fellow was about my height – about five-nine or ten – black with short hair and a mustache. His eyes were a haunting yellow and his tongue deep red, very noticeable when he spoke. He worked at a Waffle House somewhere past Wal-Mart and rode a black and yellow bicycle with a broken seat. In conversation he had a propensity for calling himself a Man of God. Well, I even knew in which direction he was last traveling! I called up the police station and relayed the information as concisely as I could and delivered also my name and phone number. Within minutes a fleet of squad cars piloted by officers that looked like former wrestlers were sweeping majestically down the street beneath my window and the golf-cart-Mounties were in tow. They blazed down Students’ Lane and under my window on their way to Beatrice Powell Street only to reappear some seconds later, now broken to individual vehicles, patrolling the whole of the southern campus. I was terrifically excited and pleased with the perceived reaction. These poor guys were bored!
I have not see the cyclist since.
“I hope so,” – I was standing with the BCM lawn sign between us, just in case – “what is the trouble?”
“I have had a family CRISIS come up and need to catch a GREYHOUND BUS to get to [a town that I fail to recall] but I need to get back by this evening to work at Waffle House I have only THREE DOLLARS to my name but I need thirteen dollars for the TICKET here is my identification I think it is appropriate here I would HAPPY to pay you back sir I am a man of GOD I will do everything in my power to pay you back can’t you help me?”
I was greatly intrigued by how the man spoke both as a Marvel Comics panel – with the emphasis placed on too many words – and without any punctuation, but there was just a hint of the shady in this deal. I reverted back to my standing rule of never lending money to strangers and replied that I was sorry but unable to render aid (in spite of the presence of two very handsome twenties in my pocket). Then I knew this situation was off kilter, because the man gave me the most convincing look of injured trust I have ever seen. He even leaned away as though threatened. I did not succumb, however, but explained that I was just about to enter this church – here meant to indicate a center of brotherly love where the folks in charge would bend over backwards to help a man in need – to ask about a church trip and recommended asking for help there.
“Naw – I – I am trying to catch a GREYHOUND BUS!”
“I understand that, [you shady person] but you don’t have to ask about the trip, too, just ask if they can help you.”
The man assumed a mistrustful look then dismounted and approached the BCM building, leaving his bike on the curb. Peeking inside, he glanced about and exchanged words with whoever was inside then turned around and returned, brow furrowed, to his bike. A man came out after him – a Christian student that I have met on a couple occasions – and the cyclist renewed the plea as I looked on: “I have had a family CRISIS come up and need to catch a GREYHOUND BUS to get to [a town I fail to recall],” etc. My Christian friend listened patiently and agreed that this was grave indeed and volunteered ingeniously to buy the tickets online. The reply:
“Now I am THIRTY-SEVEN so I have seen some stuff and it is obvious to me that we have some TRUST issues…”
While I thought, “you bet we do!” my Christian placated the man and renewed his offer. The man made some other objections then initiated a discussion of how the tickets were to be purchased. Could they REALLY be bought via the Internet? Well, my Christian assumed they could be. Oh, so you don’t KNOW! I hope so. Of course they can! And so on, until they walked off together toward the library to do the deal.
I did not like this man. He had come riding up on a bicycle, waving a drivers’ license and begging for help. He screeched to a halt before a college student – renowned for light wallets – and begged for help in front of a church (see above definition) that is located on a college campus that is crawling with officials that surely know how to help a man in trouble. The request was well rehearsed, too, like a speech, and the bit about having left the house without enough money sort of baffled me; had he not even considered to check for loose change between the couch cushions? And if this was a crisis, why did he have to be back to his fast-food job so soon? And, not to be cliché, but there was something with his eyes, were the whites of men’s eyes supposed to be yellow? And why was his tongue so red?
I later discovered that he had gone away, having assured my Christian that he knew the man to be busy and that he would manage. He just wanted money after all.
Several days later, I exited the Student Center and almost tripped over the cyclist. He was sitting on one of the benches just outside the Center’s side doors, leaning back in the posture of one physically and emotionally exhausted. He was wearing a Waffle House uniform.
I was upon him before either of us could react and since an embarrassing about-face seemed unattractive, I paused and smiled, inquiring as to the family disaster. He assured me that all had gone well. So was he just chillin’, now? He sighed and replied, “I am DEBATING…on where I am going to stay tonight.” He then massaged his nose between his thumb and forefinger and turned a most piteous puppy-dog gaze upon me. I smiled blandly and wished him luck and he thanked me graciously, adding, “Can you spare me a couple bucks, man?” With a forlorn shake of my head, I turned and hurried away.
I took the long way around to my dorm and entered through the back door. This was terrifically creepy and I claimed a few moments in my room to recover before returning outside to make a phone call, just as the vagrant rode past my dorm on his bicycle. Within minutes, Mom and Dad had the whole story. Their verdict: call the campus coppers! This man had no business on a college campus and required immediate expulsion.
I sprinted up to my room and whipped out a notepad and wrote down everything I could remember by way of description. I silently praised Writing 1310 for training me in attention to detail; I could remember some remarkable minutiae: the fellow was about my height – about five-nine or ten – black with short hair and a mustache. His eyes were a haunting yellow and his tongue deep red, very noticeable when he spoke. He worked at a Waffle House somewhere past Wal-Mart and rode a black and yellow bicycle with a broken seat. In conversation he had a propensity for calling himself a Man of God. Well, I even knew in which direction he was last traveling! I called up the police station and relayed the information as concisely as I could and delivered also my name and phone number. Within minutes a fleet of squad cars piloted by officers that looked like former wrestlers were sweeping majestically down the street beneath my window and the golf-cart-Mounties were in tow. They blazed down Students’ Lane and under my window on their way to Beatrice Powell Street only to reappear some seconds later, now broken to individual vehicles, patrolling the whole of the southern campus. I was terrifically excited and pleased with the perceived reaction. These poor guys were bored!
I have not see the cyclist since.
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