Mouldy Bred: December 2009

I've never really been good at most things. It's a fact that I've gotten used to over the years. I was the kid who always lost at Street Fighter no matter how hard I mashed the buttons. I loved The Legend of Zelda but I could never get out of my village alive to even play the game. I've probably seen more game over screens than anyone living.

In school it was the same sort of thing. I got to the point where I thought other students were doing something wrong because they didn't have as much red ink on their papers as me. The look of perpetual disappointment on a teacher's face is something I've grown immune to.

In fact luck is just something that hasn't ever been on my side. It's no wonder I don't believe in God. I'm so unlucky I don't even believe in the Devil. Because if the Devil was causing all my bad luck that'd be one hell of a string of good luck for him and as you can guess I just can't believe in that much good luck.

About two years ago I found myself about as far as my unluck could take me. I was homeless, living on the streets and eating out of dumpsters. I'd tried living in shelters but a run in with the local homeless mafia had effectively barred me from all of the soup kitchen and church basements in town. Yes, there is a homeless mafia. They operate just like the regular mafia, except with arguably less money and more clinically insane operators.

So one day as I was ambling down an alley, as is the bum tradition, I encountered something odd to me. It was what appeared to be a fresh lottery ticket. Not a scratch off or scratch on or scratch and sniff but a regular pick five lottery ticket. I picked it up and read the date. It was fresh and it said the numbers were being announced that very minute.

I knew there was a bar down the street that showed the games and they usually showed the lottery numbers during commercials. I was about the rush down there and see if I'd won but I stopped and I thought about it.

This was after all probably the first time I'd ever gotten lucky - of any kind. And something dawned on me. If I started having luck, maybe the world wasn't as I thought it was. Maybe things I'd believed before, weren't true. So, as these things go, I humbly lowered myself to my knees and clasped my hands together with the stiff paper lottery ticket squeezed between my fingers. And looking towards the sky I called out.

"God?"

There was no answer. Not that I expected one, but I just wanted to wait a second to be sure.

"God," I said again, "I know I haven't been the best servant of yours. I haven't even been the worst. I don't think I've really been in your employ for a long time, if at all. But I'm willing to make a deal with you," always a good way to talk to God, "If you help me win the lottery, I'll go to church every Sunday. I'll be the first one there wearing my best suit. I'll sit in the front pew and I'll sing the loudest. I'll be the Christian that other Christians want to be."

Pretty good deal I thought. How could you turn that down? Give a guy a little money and he turns his life over to you. I had to be a shoe in.

So I pulled myself to my feet, gave one more pleading look to the heavens and rushed over to the bar. I pressed my face to the glass so I could see the television and waited for them to announce the numbers. I hoped it was soon because bar owners usually don't take kindly to homeless men laying themselves against their windows.

And the numbers did come. A nice looking blond woman pulled them from what looked like a vacuum pump. And I watched as one by one she called my numbers.

I burst into the bar yelling "I won! I won!"

I tried to buy everyone a round but before I knew it I was tossed out into the street. Overcome with excitement I'd forgotten that I still smelled like stale urine.

But the next day I went down to the lottery office and handed over my winning ticket and after a little bit of paper work and police identification I was awarded the money. All the luck I'd been missing my whole life came back in one giant check.

I didn't waste anytime spending it either. A new condo, a new car, a new suit, a new girlfriend, a new restaurant every night, new furniture, new gadgets and another new girlfriend for extra measure. I finally had it made and all was well. For the time being.

It seems like it was longer, but now that I think about it I'm pretty sure it was the first Sunday after I won. I was sleeping in, nursing a hangover from the previous night's celebration when I felt a gentle nudging on my shoulder. I didn't react too quickly because I didn't remember which girlfriend I'd invited over that night. So I pretended to sleep while I thought about it. But before I could come to a decision a soft voice danced over my ear.

"Wake up sleepy head" it said.

Now the voice was no clue to which girlfriend it was but it was a big clue. For one it wasn't either girlfriend, and for two it was male. And if that wasn't a big enough shock, when I rolled over to see just exactly who the hell it was, I found Jesus Christ laying next to me.

Yes, your lord and savior, the son of God, Jesus Christ was in bed with me.

"What the - " I held my tongue "Why are you here?" I asked.

Jesus gave me a hurt pouty lip look.

"It's time to go to church" He said.

I could hear the church bells ringing in the distance and realized it must be before seven still. But I had no plans on going to church.

"Not today" I said laying back down and rolling over.

But Jesus whined, "But you promised!"

He was right, I had promised. But I didn't really intend on going right away. I still had a lot of settling to do.

"I'll go next week" I said.

Jesus let out an annoyed sigh and began to protest.

"I said!" I barked, "I'll go next week!"

Flustered and annoyed Jesus threw back his side of the covers and stormed out of the room slamming to door. I could hear him purposely making noise in the kitchen in an angry fit but I just pulled the pillow over my head and went back to sleep.

This is how things went between Jesus and I. We'd have good days where we'd both laugh at something on TV or just a nice trip to Target to find new covers for the dinning room table chairs. But more often than not we were fighting. It wasn't always yelling and stomping. In fact it was mostly silent glares and passive aggressive comments. Jesus really had a way of getting under your skin about things. One day he came home and found me on the couch watching a movie. He stood in the kitchen and glared at me his eyes going back and forth between me and the sink full of dirty dishes. On this day I wasn't in the mood for the silent accusations so I just shouted.

"If you've got something to say just say it!"

Jesus just took his coat off, hung it on the chair and whispered.

"I would like a little respect. I think I've sacrificed enough"

And with that line I was neutered off come backs.

I'd opened a little investment firm mostly to manage my own assets but I let someone else handle it and used it as an excuse to get out of the house. I'd found that most men my age with a lot of money and a staff just wore a suit to make themselves feel important and really spent most of their working hours planning what they were going to do after work. So it wasn't too uncommon that I'd find myself too wrapped up in a business meeting over drinks or a game of racket ball after work to make it home before Jesus went to bed. And for me at least this kept things pretty cordial. One day I came home though and found the dinner table set with a candle that had been burning too long and a couple roses. There was a card on one of the plates and scrawled over my name was a hand written note that said: "Happy anniversary, sleep on the couch."

I didn't really know what I was doing in that relationship. It felt right from a certain point of view but when you really stepped back and examined the reasons it didn't make sense. I think at the heart of it I was just too comfortable being with Jesus and doing anything else would require too much work on my part. So even though I couldn't make heads or tails of why I was still with Jesus it was better than trying to figure something else out.

And things would have stayed that way as far as I was concerned if Jesus hadn't left me. I came home one day and found him in the living room staring out the window with a blank expression on his face. As I walked closer to him I noticed that there was a suitcase next to his feet.

"What's going on?" I asked looking at the suitcase.

"I'm leaving you" Jesus said with no tone in his voice.

"You're what?" I asked.

Jesus took a deep breath. I could see the tears welling up behind his eyes but he stayed strong and keep them in.

"I'm leaving you" He repeated.

"I heard you" I said. "Why!" I demanded.

"You don't love me" He said.

It was true. I didn't love Jesus. But to hear him say it felt like a cold knife through my heart.

"I do love you!" I lied.

"Don't lie!" He shouted back.

"I'm not lying!" I lied again.

I feel to my knees and reached for Jesus but he reached out and stopped me.

"It's too late!" He said, "I've made up my mind"

He stood up grasping the suit case.

"Don't!" I weeped clutching at the case and letting it drag me across the floor as Jesus fought to reach the front door.

"You're going to have to move on" He said to me and yanked the case from my final grasp. I heard the door close behind him as I crumpled into a ball on the ground. And I think I lay there for hours. It wasn't until the next day that I managed to drag myself into the shower and another day before I could get dressed again. I didn't go into work for two weeks and when I did I just ended up at the bar drinking again.

A healthy amount of off track betting supplemented my pain and before I knew it all my money was gone because it had seemed that my bad luck was back again. It was another six months before I felt comfortable enough to go outside. I sold my condo and joined the ranks of the renters. I'm holding down a steady job and for the first time I feel normal. When I look back at my time with Jesus I feel silly that I put so much into it. Because now, without him I feel fine. In most ways I feel better. But I don't think I would know that unless I had been with Jesus. In that way I really was lucky.

A few months ago I actually saw Jesus at a party a friend was having. I went out onto the back porch to have a smoke and I was checking out the view of the building next to me when I heard a little voice behind me.

"Hey you." It said.

I turned and there was Jesus. He looked good, which made me smile. I said hello and asked him how he was. He said he was doing fine. And there wasn't much else to talk about. That odd awkward silence of expectation settled on us. Both of us knowing that there was only one thing we had in common to talk about but neither of us wanting really to talk about that.

It was me who broke first.

"I think about you a lot" I said. "And I keep wondering what would happen if we had a second chance"

"Don't" Jesus said stopping me.

"I'm sorry" I said, feeling embarrassed that I had done the one thing I told myself I would't do.

"How's your, uh," I stuttered, "You seeing anyone?"

Jesus nodded and pointed into the apartment. A tall red-headed guy wearing a tan sweater was laughing at someone's joke.

"That's Frank" Jesus said. "We've been together a couple of months now"

"Oh," I said, "He looks nice"

Jesus nodded

"How about you?" He asked me.

"Me?" I said, "Oh uh yeah - I'm here with him"

I pointed into the apartment at the short Indian guy wearing the monk robe.