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Authors: Roland Merullo
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please.”
“All right.”
“What, exactly, would he have to do in order for you to believe he is who he says he is? Think about it, Russ, two miracles and a dream sent to me—that isn’t enough?”
“It should be. I mean, it would be, and he seems like he knows my whole history … but, in person, I don’t know, maybe I’ve met too many con artists in this business. Maybe it’s what I said this morning: I’m too egotistical to want anybody else to have all that attention. Or maybe it’s the opposite: I mean, really, if God came to earth, would he come to me? Would he come to West Zenith, of all places?”
“West Zenith is exactly the type of place he’d come to. And maybe you’re more special than you give yourself credit for. Maybe we all are. Maybe that’s the whole point—that we’re all, you know, we’re all worthy of something like this happening to us even though we don’t believe it. We’re caught up in our failings, our bad stuff. We walk around feeling we should be better all the time because the society is constantly sending us that message. Not thin enough, not young enough, not nice-looking or rich enough.… I see it in this room every day, every hour.”
“That argument has a certain appeal,” I said.
“You can’t take anything seriously, can you.”
“Sure I can. When the kid fell off the fire escape, when I heard about that, I took it seriously.”
“Because you were able, for those few seconds, to relate to your own damaged inner child. The only compassion you can have for yourself is via someone else’s story.”
“Stop please.”
“Don’t you see what’s happening?” she said. “God comes to you, in the flesh, and you reject him. And why? Because of your profound but subtle lack of esteem for yourself. You’re placing limits on yourself that aren’t there. It has to do with your childhood trauma and, before that, your parents’ childhood trauma.”
“Zel. Stop. Please.”
“All right. But I’ll say one more thing: You don’t have a lot of time to decide. You have a week to get ready for what’s essentially going to be a mob scene.”
“And to go see my parents. Which is more daunting, actually.”
“Take me with you,” she said. “They’re my future in-laws, I should meet them. Or are you wavering on that, too?”
I was shaking my head.
“Not wavering? Or not taking me to see them?”
“Not wavering. I love you. You can take that to the bank and make a deposit and get the interest on it for a hundred years. I love you, I want to marry you, and have kids with you, and live with you until I die. Okay?”
The smile had come out. The mineshaft was lit up again, and you could see your way up and out of it and into full daylight.
“And the other part? Jesus?”
“I need another hour or so,” I said.
I hugged and kissed her and went out of her office and down to the street, and I walked around for a while, aimlessly, which is what I do when I’m upset, just looking at the world going by, people hurrying here and there, cars, trucks, buses, skateboards. I went into American Soldier’s Memorial Park and sat on a bench, with a handful of street people scattered around on the lawn, and the leaves on the trees shimmering in the sun. I wasn’t thinking, exactly. It was more that my mind was twirling and coasting, flitting this way and that, a tiny fish caught in a tidal pool. After a time, I don’t know how long, a guy came and sat down not far from me on the bench. Dreadlocks, rotten old sneakers, stained pants, a flannel shirt on in the June warmth. He asked for some change, and I reached into my pocket and handed him a ten-dollar bill. I could see the surprise on his face for an instant, and then he covered it over as if he didn’t want to appear too grateful, or thought he didn’t deserve anything more than a couple of quarters. And then he hurried off to buy whatever it was he was going to buy with it—a hamburger, a hit, a bottle.
So
“All right.”
“What, exactly, would he have to do in order for you to believe he is who he says he is? Think about it, Russ, two miracles and a dream sent to me—that isn’t enough?”
“It should be. I mean, it would be, and he seems like he knows my whole history … but, in person, I don’t know, maybe I’ve met too many con artists in this business. Maybe it’s what I said this morning: I’m too egotistical to want anybody else to have all that attention. Or maybe it’s the opposite: I mean, really, if God came to earth, would he come to me? Would he come to West Zenith, of all places?”
“West Zenith is exactly the type of place he’d come to. And maybe you’re more special than you give yourself credit for. Maybe we all are. Maybe that’s the whole point—that we’re all, you know, we’re all worthy of something like this happening to us even though we don’t believe it. We’re caught up in our failings, our bad stuff. We walk around feeling we should be better all the time because the society is constantly sending us that message. Not thin enough, not young enough, not nice-looking or rich enough.… I see it in this room every day, every hour.”
“That argument has a certain appeal,” I said.
“You can’t take anything seriously, can you.”
“Sure I can. When the kid fell off the fire escape, when I heard about that, I took it seriously.”
“Because you were able, for those few seconds, to relate to your own damaged inner child. The only compassion you can have for yourself is via someone else’s story.”
“Stop please.”
“Don’t you see what’s happening?” she said. “God comes to you, in the flesh, and you reject him. And why? Because of your profound but subtle lack of esteem for yourself. You’re placing limits on yourself that aren’t there. It has to do with your childhood trauma and, before that, your parents’ childhood trauma.”
“Zel. Stop. Please.”
“All right. But I’ll say one more thing: You don’t have a lot of time to decide. You have a week to get ready for what’s essentially going to be a mob scene.”
“And to go see my parents. Which is more daunting, actually.”
“Take me with you,” she said. “They’re my future in-laws, I should meet them. Or are you wavering on that, too?”
I was shaking my head.
“Not wavering? Or not taking me to see them?”
“Not wavering. I love you. You can take that to the bank and make a deposit and get the interest on it for a hundred years. I love you, I want to marry you, and have kids with you, and live with you until I die. Okay?”
The smile had come out. The mineshaft was lit up again, and you could see your way up and out of it and into full daylight.
“And the other part? Jesus?”
“I need another hour or so,” I said.
I hugged and kissed her and went out of her office and down to the street, and I walked around for a while, aimlessly, which is what I do when I’m upset, just looking at the world going by, people hurrying here and there, cars, trucks, buses, skateboards. I went into American Soldier’s Memorial Park and sat on a bench, with a handful of street people scattered around on the lawn, and the leaves on the trees shimmering in the sun. I wasn’t thinking, exactly. It was more that my mind was twirling and coasting, flitting this way and that, a tiny fish caught in a tidal pool. After a time, I don’t know how long, a guy came and sat down not far from me on the bench. Dreadlocks, rotten old sneakers, stained pants, a flannel shirt on in the June warmth. He asked for some change, and I reached into my pocket and handed him a ten-dollar bill. I could see the surprise on his face for an instant, and then he covered it over as if he didn’t want to appear too grateful, or thought he didn’t deserve anything more than a couple of quarters. And then he hurried off to buy whatever it was he was going to buy with it—a hamburger, a hit, a bottle.
So
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