So, I was looking through an old directory on my computer, looking for things I wanted to submit and found this. It was an assignment for a writing class (fiction) at William & Mary…
Sometimes I worry about me.
The Religion Department Chair
I was walking across the sunken garden, minding my own business. I was reviewing The Compromise of 1850 in my head. Was it really the start of the Civil War? I think that the Kansas/Nebraska Act of ‘53 was far more influential. I wonder what Professor Sheriff really thinks about it. It’s a week before finals and everyone is self-absorbed. I didn’t even see him walk up to me.
“Ms. Jones, would you please come with me? The chair of the Religion Department would like to have a word with you.” I went with him, a person in authority wanted to talk to me – a lowly student. We headed across the garden.
“Excuse me,” I said tentatively, “but Wren is closed, they’re doing renovations – see?” I stopped obediently and pointed to the fence, construction personnel, and signs.
“Yes, I know, I’m just the messenger.” Undaunted by the official warnings, he kept walking. “Right this way, please.”
I looked skeptically at the cautions, but followed him.
The Religion Department? Who was the chair of the Religion Department now anyway? Why would he want to talk to me? I’m an English major. I had taken a couple of Religion classes, but I did well, so I couldn’t be in trouble…right?
***
“Dad?”
“Yes, yes, son, in a minute.” His voice gave me chills.
I didn’t recognize him – was that a good thing?
He was sitting in the corner wearing Levis – red tags – classics, and an open collared black linen oxford. His sleeves were cuffed to the elbow and he was wearing a friendship bracelet – two skulls with the name Jerry woven between them. He looked stylish enough; not like a member of the notorious GPA-killing Religion Department, and certainly not the Chair. He was chatting with a group of men, who all looked vaguely familiar. They looked like lawyers in their Armani suits; Religion Department people I thought.
Much to my surprise, the impression emanating from the Chair was a blend of archetypical modern-fantasy wizards. He had Camber’s holier-than-thou-I’m-omniscient-attitude, Gandalf’s eternal-patience-that-directs-all-events-presence, and Belgarath’s – well Belgarath’s roguish charm. Yeah, he looked like a wizard – but not an old grandfatherly type. He was more like Sean Connery – somehow beyond age – not Religion Department material. He looked at me, and appeared disgusted.
They were discussing futures. Should he let go of New York or Tokyo? He could probably drop L.A. with the least difficulty; it was already shaky. He looked bored with the entire conversation. He was eyeing the blond on the other side of the room. I took my glasses off and cleaned them. A man in a baseball cap was walking towards her with a cup of coffee. There was a distinguished-looking man talking to her. He was very attractive, and she was smiling at him.
“Oh John, you do remember your birthday, don’t you?”
“I have warned him.” came the voice. “Damn him!”
Three men scampered away looking at each other, clearly afraid. They were mumbling and making notes. One of them looked like – Abe Lincoln? John quickly rejoined the group.
I cleaned my glasses again.
“No! Don’t damn him, I was speaking figuratively, Jesus Christ!”
“What?”
He shot a look at the young man who had brought me here, then rolled his eyes. Lightning flashed and all of Williamsburg shook. He winced. “I really need to work on that. Lou – Lucifer that is – and I have talked about it. See what I have to put up with? It’s Jones, right?”
I nodded. I was at a loss for words.
“Have a seat.” he commanded. “We need to have a little talk. I’m tired of the way writers portray me. Now don’t even try to play dumb with me; didn’t you just compare me to some mythical – no, fantasy beings from books? Always thinking in the abstract – what was I thinking when I created writers?” He scowled. “Oh right, they would be my press agents. But I’ve heard the way you and your colleagues talk about me, omniscient does have its perks. I am more than Satan’s straight man, young lady.” He paused. “And Jesus didn’t start out as a divine being you know, but he got such good press. Those four evangelicals sure could write. I need to hire his agent. He’s still getting great press – everyone knows his astrological sign! They write musicals about him for god’s sake! Well, not really for my sake, absolutely not for my sake, that’s figurative too. What was that man’s name?”
“Webber?” I timidly suggested.
He looked at his entourage. “Someone make note. Lou will like him.”
I looked over at what – Winston Churchill – was writing: Andrew Lloyd Webber, table for one at Lou’s.
“Would you like a drink? Where did Mr. Daniels go? Someone tell him that my guest and I would like something to drink.”
Men scurried.
Ok, reality check. I considered my situation. I was in an old building – one with an almost legendary past of its own, I was being served whiskey by Jack Daniels, and drinking with God – who was, of course, the chair of the Religion Department. Dead politicians were God’s minions.
Of course.
My mother had warned me; there would be flashbacks. I took off my glasses and cleaned them but didn’t bother to put them back on. I sat down and gratefully accepted the drink.
“Don’t think while I talk, it’s rude.” He snapped before continuing, “In the beginning, (don’t ya just hate that? It’s so cliché) there was that book, that’s where all my trouble started – all that nonsense about being vengeful and jealous! Who the hell was there to be jealous of? Perhaps, I was a poor judge of character; Aaron would have made a better reporter than Moses. But he had wanted to be the front man, so I let him. I should have let him touch that burning bush. Moses had problems; so many that I had to create Freud just to deal with them! There were thousands of generations of guilt-ridden humans. It was sad. All because of a book. But then Sigmund, the maverick, had gone off on his own; writing. He created more difficulties than he ever solved. Maybe I’ll rethink that whole ‘free-will’ concept.” He glanced again at the vivacious blond. The man was gone. “Damn dead presidents anyway.” He mumbled.
Again, men darted in all directions.
Abe looked frightened.
“Oh the hell with it.” He looked disdainfully at his gofers. “I don’t suppose we can have too many politicians suffering eternally. Actually they all think this is hell, you know a place where they aren’t the top-dog. They bicker amongst themselves about who I like best. I have told them, in my eyes, all men are equal. Now women, women are another story, of course they know that too.” Mona Lisa and Nefertiti sauntered by. He winked at the blond and she blew him a kiss.
I had Mr. Daniels refill my glass.
“Marilyn.” He sized her up. “How could anyone who created such beauty be considered a prude? Just look at her! Damn Augustine and his book!” He looked at his lackeys, “Settle down boys, we did that already, remember in the mid-400s? City of God, my ass. He had no clue what my city was like and I kind-a liked the Romans, they were efficient. Which pope made him a Saint? Did we deal with him? Where was I – oh yes – writers!”
“I believe it’s Dante who annoyed me the most. Yes Dante.” He took a deep breath, and the wind-chill brought temperatures on the entire east coast to a brisk seven degrees. A foot of snow was predicted for the Carolinas. “Dante. Just who in hell did he think he was? Well, he’s Dante in hell now. Deciding where people will spend Eternity; that’s my job. I wonder what he thinks of my Inferno? Lou wasn’t happy with the way he made him look either – not that he would mind hanging out with the lustful and seducers, or even the avaricious occasionally. However, the violent, and traitorous? He wasn’t pleased. And the guilt he dumped on Jesus, well, just imagine feeling responsible for the damnation of everyone who was born before you? The cost in therapy for him alone was astronomical – not to mention all those righteous pagans – they too are my children. Virgil was particularly upset by the whole affair. Weren’t ya, Virg?”
The man in the toga nodded pathetically.
“Purgatory was a good idea though. I even created that: a place to keep people until I decided what to do with them. I opened it with Henry Tudor – Henry the VIII. You have to respect a man who marries six women. He was the “Defender of the Faith,” but I wasn’t sure he was heaven material. I put Tom Jefferson there too. Now, there was a man who could articulate clear philosophical thought but he had such issues –so to speak – with that Hemmings woman. I wasn’t sure what to do with him either; I sent him there. He declared purgatorial independence from Henry and took over. So, I left him. I must say, he doesn’t think much of Dante either.”
“But Moses was the real problem, bad PR. He wrote fairly well, considering how limited his language was; ancient Hebrew wasn’t as phat as modern American English. He had gotten the word out. No not The Word – see, it’s those damned evangelicals again! You know what I mean; the story. Of course, I had to give it to him twice; you know those little floppy disks are much easier to carry than stone tablets, I should have created Bill Gates earlier. Just imagine what Shakespeare could have done with a personal computer.” He sighed. “He should have been my biographer. He told a great story. But I couldn’t talk him into it. He wanted to write for people, about people. I really need to rethink that free-will thing.”
***
Jesus put his hand on my shoulder. “I think we should go.”
“I’d like to ask about Professor Sheriff’s final and The Compro….”
“No, I really think we should go.” He repeated. “Someone get Jerry and the gang. Have them sing something happy. Truckin, or—or Friend of the Devil. The last time I heard Him talk like that, it started raining.”
“You mean?”
“Exactly. Noah. And though I’m sure they’re different species, I don’t think we could put two country musicians and two rappers in the same space for forty days – that would certainly produce Armageddon! Don’t you have a class now?”
I looked for a clock, but there wasn’t one. I suppose I could trust him. I nodded.
“Well, I suggest you mention to your classmates, that it’s God who created all things; all things fun anyway. The next time they think about making Him dull: remember humans were created in His image. If He is dull and ‘beyond description’ what’s the point in writing at all? What would be the point in living? They should consider life without Him. No sunny days to walk on the beach – no beaches. No wildflowers. No awe-inspiring vistas about which one can write great poems. No music. No dancing. No beautiful women, or men. Nothing fun to do with beautiful women, or men. No whiskey. No laughter. No Shakespeare. No Satan, no me, or you. It would certainly be hell. Lou’s place is full of people like Augustine, Dante, and the Virgin Queen (although she isn’t very social, she stays mostly with her sister, Mary; bloody Mary). Lou is the straight man in this crowd, and the next satire written should reflect that – or someone’s gonna be drinking tea with Dante – tell them the Chair of the Religion Department said so.”
He started to walk away and I thought I heard him singing. “Set out running, gotta take my time, a friend of the devil is a friend of mine. . .”
Friend of the Devil Garcia, Dawson, Hunter
Tags: The Satan Series
Last June, a local, young black football star, Tahliek Taliaferro, was shot and killed in my hometown. A young friend traveling in the car with him was seriously injured. Those of you who follow my blog, such as it is, know I live in a sleepy, peaceful little place with a low crime rate. Until recently, people here thought locking your doors at night was a silly thing to do.
Until 2008.
Tahliek and his friends had been playing basketball at the local high school (the county only has 1). Afterward, they went to a local hangout, of sorts. There, they met a group of young white kids with whom they had words—tense words. Apparently, there was a long standing tension between Tahliek and Joey Parrish, one of the boys in the other group. A challenge was issued by Joey – follow me and let’s finish this. One of the young women with them got out of their car at this point.
Joey, then 17, his cousin Ethan 25, and two, under-age women spent the day smoking pot, doing LSD, and drinking. To my knowledge, only one person in this group was legally of age.
Tahliek and his friends, tragically, followed the intoxicated Parish boys, apparently at some distance behind…
The Parish boys pulled over on a country road, Joey had enough time to get out of the car, cover the license plate, and arm himself. Ethan armed himself with an assault rifle loaded with an 83-round clip. This, in my opinion, is laying in wait – which implies premeditation.
From here the reports are conflicting…
Allegedly, according to Ethan, he saw the driver of the car brandishing a firearm (which turned out to be a bb gun – and the other witnesses deny seeing this) and he, Ethan, opened fire. After the car had passed. Tahliek was shot in the back of the head, his friend shot in the back.
The 3 “shooters” ran – making their way all to the Canadian border. It seems to me running implies guilt – if it’s an accident, there’s no reason to run, right? That’s the legal logic, right?
They were apprehended. The young woman turned State’s evidence (which is where the afore-mentioned details came from). Joey, in an apparent act of desperation, tried a daring, but thwarted, jailbreak.
The handwriting seemed to be on the wall. When the trial started last week a jury of 11 whites and 1 black was seated. The Parishes pleaded self-defense. Everyone laughed, sure such a defense in the face of all of the evidence was surely foolish. How do you shoot someone in the back in self-defense? Ethan, the shooter, testified that he was afraid for his life, that he had only wanted to scare the others, that the gun (the 83-round assault rifle) “got away from him.” Whatever that means. It was all a tragic accident. The laughing continued… people whispering, “they’re gonna fry”…
Until yesterday. Ethan and Joey Parish were found guilty of involuntary manslaughter. They accidently pulled over, armed themselves, shot 2 young men in the back and ran? The black community here is justifiably outraged, crying racism in the county. I wasn’t in the courtroom – all I have is news reports – but I hope my black neighbors know and understand that the majority of the white community here is likewise shocked and horrified by this verdict. Justice was not served here.
I don’t know if the tables had been turned – if it was a black boy that had shot and killed a white boy that the verdict would have been different. The idealist in me wants to believe that justice would have been served. But I wanted to believe that yesterday too, and it wasn’t.
In the end, Ethan Parish will serve less time than Tahliek Taliaferro lived. I hope Tahliek’s family has retained an attorney to file the wrongful death suit – I hope they seek justice in a way that will avenge Tahliek and not feed the seeds of racism. More tension and violence will accomplish nothing here, most people, across color lines disagree with this verdict.
Say prayers for my little community, it’s being torn apart today.
