Revelations(61)

I glance around me, as if searching for someone; he was just by my side a moment ago, but now he’s not. I call his name, trying not to sound as anxious as I feel, but my voice becomes lost in the chorus of the chanting throng. I’m standing right in front of the stage now; my eyes continue the search, but with no luck. I’m surprised that security hasn’t told me to step back, but they don’t seem to be in evidence. The house lights suddenly go out, and we’re plunged into blackness, which sets the audience to cheering in anticipation.

A sole spotlight appears, aimed at a figure at the far corner of the stage.



Everyone cranes for a better look. I hear a solo flute begin to play. More screaming and cheering. They’d hear better if they’d fucking shut up, I think. The figure leaps up in a dramatic vault, catapulting up a nearby ramp until he’s in the center of the stage, by which time more lights are trained on him. Removing the flute from his mouth, he begins to sing. I recognize the song, Very old school; vintage even.

Great fucking song. The flashing lights begin to strobe across the stage, revealing the heretofore hidden members of the band. The crowd goes wild. I turn and shout Jesus’ name, but to no avail, no one can hear over this; it’s an impossibility.

The first song ends, and to the frantic applause of the multitude, the lead singer begins his spiel—good evening (insert name of town) blah blah blah. I’m growing frantic now, searching for my Jesus, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. I’m ready to lash out at the first person I see who looks as if they have an inkling as to what’s going on here, my anger rising along with my frustration. Suddenly, before the next song begins, the singer is beckoning to someone else to join him on stage and before my startled eyes my sweet Jesus appears, garbed in the purest of white robes, halo set upon his dark head as he steps forward from the wings. What the fuck?

Now they each have a mic, and together they are singing. This is just going from the ridiculous to the sublime. But at least I can see him. And now that I can see him, I intend to take him with me, to quit this place. Suddenly I don’t want to be here anymore. Something foul is in the air, and we need to get away from it. I throw one leg up on the stage, prepared to climb up, when I feel hands upon me, several pairs of them, pulling me backward. Now the fucking security goons make an appearance? I struggle against them, determined to break free, to reach Jesus, but I’m not gaining any ground. “Jesus!” I scream. “Jesus!” But he doesn’t hear me over the deafening cries of the rabid fans, their shouts rising to a horrendous din that assaults my ears. I never stop struggling, but it’s getting harder, I’m being pulled backward, into the crowd, and I’m being sucked into this cacophonous black hole in their midst, farther and farther from my love. The stage is receding, along with its occupants, until I can no longer see it. Still I continue to scream, and one persistent security guard is shaking my shoulder, shaking me, shaking me…

I awake with a start, bathed in sweat and breathless. The inky night surrounds me in perfect blackness until my eyes begin to blink their adjustment, as I try to remember where I was when I fell asleep. The trees loom silently above me. I’m still beside the pond, near the copse of trees there. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep. Only belatedly do I realize that the hand upon my arm is very real, and I’m not alone. He has arrived. I tense, aware I’ve placed myself in a rather vulnerable position. I struggle to rise to a sitting position, wondering how long he’s been kneeling beside me. At least he’s fully clothed, for which I’m grateful.

“Judas, darling, have you been waiting for me long?” he baits me, even as he attempts to assist me to my feet. I pull away from him, disconcerted at both the strange dream and at having been awakened in this fashion. I should’ve been better prepared for this.

I don’t bother to answer his question, wondering if I can even find my clothes in the dark, or if I should give it up for the moment. Somehow I think I’d be less vulnerable as I am now, rather than bending over to pull on my clothes. Luckily the darkness provides cover of a sort.

“Cut the crap, I’m not in the mood,” I mutter.

Unperturbed by my surliness, he presumes to cup my chin in one hand, gazing into my eyes. I presume the fucking Prince of Darkness has no trouble in seeing in the dark, come to think of it, only belatedly considering whether maybe I should dress. “I admit to being surprised at finding you here, sweet one, I would’ve thought you’d spend what time you have left with your lover. Getting the most bounce for the ounce while you still can.”