On The Outside

I don't think there's anything like a cut available on here...so, it'll be a long entry. I've been trying to write more, and my prompt for this one was: "the guy with the sign that says 'the end is near'". Here you go.

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            It startedout like any other midlife crisis. I know, I know, midlife crises are anothercultural myth. Yeah, alright, so maybe none of this would’ve happened if Ihadn’t bought into the myth. But I’m glad I did. The world needs men like me,now more than ever. Anyway, like I was saying, it started out normal. One day Icame home from work and Myrna had moved out. Just up and left-packed everythingin the back of a truck and drove out to Ohio to her mother’s. Took the kidswith her. That’s probably what hurt the most. I loved those little brats.

            We neverreally talked about what did the marriage in. Now I wish maybe we had. I’m notsure we would have saved it. I know I was working a lot-long hours, extrashifts, never coming home-and that hurt her. But I had to do what I could tomake ends meet. Shit, its hard when you don’t have an education. Nowadays evensome greasy spoon dinner’s gonna want you to have a high school diploma. Itain’t right. So, yeah, I was always working. Most day’s I’d be up at four orfive to do a garbage haul, then downtown pushing my hot dog cart till maybenine. Most nights I could find work as a bouncer. The classy joints wouldn’thave me-not without a suit, they’d say, but the less snobby places thought Iwas good enough. I’d do that until one or so, then it was home for a few z’s.

            Maybe itwas my temper that drove her off. I got pretty mean when I didn’t sleep good. Icould only really sleep on the weekends, and the kids were always runningaround tearing the apartment up and screaming. So of course I got angry. Any man would. All Myrna had to do was keep the kids quiet, and she couldn’t evendo that. Either way, she left.

            I was allalone in that empty apartment before things got weird. Little things at first.I’d put my dinner in the microwave to thaw out, and while I was standing theirwaiting for it to finish four or five hours would pass. Can you imagine? Andthe damn thing would be cold again. So at first I figured I was falling asleep.There sure as hell wasn’t anything in that apartment to keep me awake. I hadn’treplaced anything Myrna’d taken. Not even the tv.

            Only then Istarted to notice that sometimes I didn’t wake up in exactly the same spot. I’ddoze off standing in front of the microwave and wake up maybe two feet to theleft of where I’d been before. So I knew I was doin’ something, I just couldn’tfigure out what.

I guess it was only a matter oftime before I started falling asleep at work. One day I was standing onForty-Second Street, watching the taxi’s roll past and thinking about the heat,and wondering how long Myrna and the kids had been gone, and the next I wasstanding in front of God.

Don’t ask me how I knew it was God.I just knew. He didn’t look no different from anyone else. At least I don’tthink he did. I couldn’t look at his face. Where his face was there was justfire, like a big ball of flame was hovering over his shoulders. It wasbright…just looking at it made my eyes burn fiercely. I remember he had long,white hands. Not white like I’m white, white like soft serve vanilla ice cream.He reached into the stand vat on the stand, long white fingers pulling out adog.

Hello,Tom. When he spoke, it wasn’t like the booming voice in the sky you hearabout in Sunday school. I could hear his voice in my head just as clear as day,like there was a loudspeaker wired to the inside of my skull. He sounded justlike Angie, my little girl, did when she was five years old. I thought I should tell you first. Thingsare going to get strange. I’ll need you to keep everyone apprised of thesituation. You can do that, can’t you, Tom?    

I try to look at his face andcan’t. Instead I try to focus on his chest, on the black silk tie and crispwhite shirt. “Sure, man.” I say, because you can’t very well tell God no.

He smiles. Don’t ask me how I knowthat, I just know it. He smiles and reaches out a vanilla white hand to touchbetween my eyes. Suddenly I can feel it burning. It’s like when you get a wartfrozen off, except it isn’t coming from where he touched me. The cold starts inthe back of my head and moves toward his touch, freezing my brain as it goes. I’m giving you a gift, Tom. It woulddisplease me if you were to squander it. I’ll be in contact.

That’s all. He removes his hand-thepain is blinding and there is something running down my face. My eyes move awayfrom the blinding light of his head and when I look back he’s gone. There’sjust the sound of traffic, people shouting, and the ever present thrum of thesubway rushing under my feet. I bring my head up to my eyes. The stuff I feltrunning down my face is blood. My eye must be bleeding. I don’t think about itas I wipe the blood away with a scratchy white napkin.

It’s weird, but I didn’t thinkabout what happened until I was home that night, standing in front of themicrowave waiting for my dinner. I couldn’t really believe God had singled meout. Why should he, right? By anyone else’s standards I was just a no accountslob. But God didn’t think so. He’d probably chosen me above all the otherpeople in the world. Now I had a direct link with him, just like Billy Graham.Any minute now God would be beaming his voice into my brain, giving myinstructions and telling me about my gift…

My eyes start to feel heavy. Thesound of the ancient microwave, like a small jet getting ready to take off, islulling me to sleep. I struggle to keep my eyes open. Any minute now God willbe here…God will have instructions for me…

I must have fallen asleep, becausethe next thing I know I’m standing in the park, near the playground I’d takeAngie to when she was little. The paint is peeling off the plastic rockinghorses, and the metal of the slide and jungle gym is so rusted I could punchthrough it. The sky is red, and for a second I think that the sun is setting,and I must have been asleep all of yesterday…and then I realize it isn’t thesunset. The city is burning. As far as I can see in every direction, theskyscrapers and office buildings are engulfed in crimson flames. In the city,there’s always this dull noise, of traffic and the subway and life. I don’thear that sound any more. Instead there’s a different, higher noise. As Ilisten I realize it is the sound of an entirely population screaming in agony.A million different voices rising up from the wreckage of the city around me, amillion voices begging and pleading and crying out.

The smell in the air is differenttoo. Normally the city smells bad, like sweat and decay. But right now, the airsmells like smoke and bacon that’s been frying too long. I can only imaginethat this is the smell of everyone in the city being cooked alive.

I sit down on a swing, it groansunder my weight. How did this happen? I rest my head in my hands, and try tothink of what this could be. Terrorists again? But then why didn’t they hit thepark? After a few minutes I realize I’m not alone. There isn’t any sound. Nofootsteps or heavy breathing or anything like that. I just know there’s someonehere. I look up and see God, this time wearing the shape of a smallish whitedog. I try to remember what they’re called…the kind with the long snouts andthe short fur and the sharp, sharp teeth...its no good, I draw a total blank.

Thisis your gift, my child. He speaks directly into my brain again. Thesensation sends a cold chill down my spine, but I endure. God must read thelook of horror on my face-what a silly thing to say, of course he knows whatI’m feeling, because he tells me Do notfear. This is only a vision of what will come. Suddenly I understand.

Once, God cleansed the world in agreat flood. But everyone knows he promised he would never flood the earthagain. We learned this in Sunday school. It was one of the first pieces ofhistory I was ever taught. But he never said anything about fire. “You’re goingto spare some people, right?” I plead, thinking of Angie crying as flamesconsume her, her blond hair curling and drifting away, ash on the wind.

God smiles, pulling the dog’s blacklips over it’s teeth. I can see into the dog’s mouth, and it’s filled with rowsand rows of razor blades. You know whatyou need to do. He says, and suddenly I do. I need to save everyone. I needto get them out of the city. I need to tell them they must prove to God thatthey deserve to be saved.

As quickly as the vision came, it’sgone. I’m standing in my kitchen, sunlight filtering through the grimy window.Slowly, methodically, I walk out of the apartment to the construction site downthe street. There is some lumber there that I can use. I need to make a sign.Big enough to be read clearly, but light enough to carry. All it needs to sayis ‘Repent’, and maybe ‘The end is near’ on the other side. I won’t be going towork today. I have to spread God’s word.