Revelations(60)

“I never realized before now how serious you are about him. About Jesus, I mean.” She pushes back a strand of her dyed blonde hair that hangs loose about her shoulders, tucking it behind her ear, “I dunno, I guess I thought you were just trying to fuck with him, the way you fuck around with Thomas or any of the other guys you’ve been with. I never wanted you to have him like that. I didn’t want you to hurt him.” I can hear myself growl at her words, indignation bubbling from my lips, but she plows right through my anger. “I know, I know, you have a right to be angry, but you gotta understand where I was coming from. I love him, too, you know. Just not in that way. But in every other way.” She turns to face me then, looking directly into my eyes. “I know you don’t give a big fuck what I think, but for what it’s worth, I’m happy for him because he has you. I can see how much he really loves you, too, and I think that’s just great. But I have to tell you this—if you hurt him in any way, Iscariot, I’ll kill you. And that isn’t just a threat—it’s the God’s honest truth.” Despite the menace in her words, she’s smiling. I don’t return the smile, not because I’m upset with what she’s said, but because I’m thinking her threats are unnecessary. Suddenly I know what I must do, what I should’ve seen all along.

“I’ll lie awake nights just worrying about that,” I riposte, for good measure, but my mind isn’t on my words, I’m already thinking ahead, to my next move, as I ease my ass off of the leather seat.

“Be careful, Judas,” she says, leaning over far enough to kiss my cheek, “I’m going to go try to talk some sense into those guys, but I can’t promise anything.

Maybe you should just avoid them, for now.”

“That won’t be hard, don’t worry. I won’t go back there tonight, I promise. See you later.” Then I surprise the fuck out of both of us, by taking her hand and kissing it before I hop out of the Humvee. I should be more careful, my head is still not right. No comments, please.

I don’t bother looking back as I walk determinedly away from the encampment. I can hear the door of the Humvee slam behind me as she too goes on about her business. I hope that Mary M has the common sense to keep those dipshits away from where she must realize I’m going. If any of them dares to disturb me there, I’ll hurt them. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. I don’t have time for their stupid shit. Time or inclination.

Why didn’t I think about this before? Jesus doesn’t have to die if someone else dies for him. An obvious solution. I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it. But it’s the perfect solution. And I have the obvious candidate to take his place. Me, of course. If I die instead of him, he’ll be free to continue to live and preach and be happy for a long, long time. His mother and Mary M will see to that. I can’t afford to think past that, to being without him, or he me. It’s more important that he live.

I’m expendable, and I know it.

I know just the person who can arrange it. Yeah, I’m about to make a deal with the devil. Just this once.

I reach the pond, which is my destination, throw off all my clothes and simply dive in. Maybe not the brightest thing to do, since I might be suffering from a concussion, but I don’t give a shit right now. The water feels good, warmed by the sun all day. I’ve no real agenda, I just want to keep moving, as I stroke my way from one end of the pond to the other. My mind is churning up memories, images that replay themselves as I swim. So many memories. Two thousand years plus worth. I remember swimming with Jesus like this, him beautiful and naked, and me just naked. So many places over the many years, so many times. The pain in my chest is rapidly becoming worse than the one in my head.

I swim back and forth until I’m too tired to feel anything, until my entire body is one big numbness. Jesus would probably tell me I’m getting a great cardio-vascular work-out—he always looks on the positive side of things. My beautiful, little optimist. My beautiful savior.

Enough. I drag myself from the water, throw myself down onto the grass, catching my breath. I wonder how long it will take for him to find me, now that I actually want to see him. Probably longer than if I didn’t. In my experience, that’s just how shit works. You don’t want something, it slithers up behind you and bites you in the ass. You want it—it’s a fucking long time coming. I fall asleep waiting.

As the dream begins, I find myself in the audience of a live concert. Not one of ours, someone else’s. There’s a huge fucking crowd around me, a lot of middle-aged people, but a fair sprinkling of the younger generation, too. They’re all chanting something, but I can’t make out what it is.