God

S rides with me as I drive Grendel down the freeway. I glower at every relevant detail on or near our path, and calmly strangle the steering wheel with my habitual intensity. I’m also trying to ignore the long blonde hairs I can almost see being freed beside me. There’s one, wafting, wafting... resting defiantly on the dash for a moment before sliding off and out of my view. I glance sideways, but S is intent on the vanity mirror.

But there’s something going on outside, everybody is stopping. “Uh, oh.”

“Hmmm?” She’s probably still staring at the mirror.

“Everybody is stopping.” I slow rapidly, carefully keeping a safe distance from the car in front of me while feeling a spike of paranoia about the juggernaut the soccer mom behind me is driving.

Either the deceleration or curiosity seems to be enough to draw S’s attention away from her preening. “Is there an accident?”

“I don’t see anything.” In fact, all we can really see is a veritable parking lot filling all three lanes.

That is, until we see the four skeletal horses with their dread riders charge over the horizon and across the sky.

“Did you just see...”

“I think so.” My voice squeaks.

“Probably not a good sign.”

“No, I’m guessing not.”

The heavens tear asunder and blood pours from the sky. The earth heaves and the world begins to end. People start running everywhere, and S opens her door. “We should probably get out of here.”

“OK.” Leave Grendel? I guess he’s not going anywhere, and there are other priorities. I leap out, grab the emergency kit from the trunk, and circle around to stand protectively beside S. “Where should we go?”

“I don’t know, but let’s get off the freeway and see what we can see. I just don’t want to be stuck here.”

“Sure. How about up that bank, so we can see a bit further?”

She nods, with her distress plainly visible. We quickly find ourselves lost in a sea of human emotion. People scream and wail around us, while others shout and whoop. I put my arm around her shoulders, a little to try to make her feel safe, but mostly to make me feel like I might be able to keep her safe. I guide her through the trapped cars and swim through the ebb and flow of human confusion.

S points out a lady still sitting in her car, ashen and trembling. “Oh Clayton. We should see if she needs help.”

I reflexively rate the idea as being very strategically poor. Although the lady looks harmless, distressed humans are intrinsically dangerous. Also, I have serious doubts about this person’s ability to contribute to our collective wellbeing, and am personally inclined just keep to ourselves. “Uh. Really?”

S’s eyes are that strange mix of certain and confused. “Yes. Come on.” We head to the appropriate Toyota Corolla and S stands near the driver’s window. “Hello? Are you OK?”

The lady’s eyes roll timidly to look at S, and her mouth opens slightly. But she doesn’t seem to say anything.

“Do you want to come with us?”

The lady shakes her head. It’s just a lateral tremble at first, but then she squints her eyes and suddenly dyed locks are lashing left and right furiously and thin wordless wail rises from her.

S appears very concerned. “Are you sure?”

The lady screams, “NO!” She locks her door and continues screaming. “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” The furious head lashing returns, and soon tears can be seen in the creases of the poor lady’s face. I grip S’s shoulders and steer her away, back towards our intended heading. I can feel her sadness like a prickly charge about being unable to help, and I realize that I feel sad about it too.

We cling to each other as we head up the embankment, wordless. As we crest the top, it reveals a part of the sky with mountain-sized lettering, burning a message to English-reading mortals:

FORM A LINE HERE FOR JUDGEMENT

...with an arrow pointing down. And, well, there’s a line forming.

S and I look at each other, and witness our mutual indecision. She purses her lips and asks, “Well, uh, what do you think we should do? Should we get in line?”

I knit my brows and think. And think and think and think and panic and tackle that panic and beat it into submission and tie it up and resume thinking. “If I were by myself, I think I’d probably run for it. But with you, I’m leaning towards getting in line.”

She looks a bit surprised, and stands a little bit taller on the balls of her feet. “That’s interesting. Tell me a bit more about that.”

“Well, first, what do you think about getting in line? I’m a little worried that not lining up might have repercussions, so if we are, we should.”

“Ah, right. Good point. OK, let’s get in line.”

We start walking. S waits while I smooth down my fluster.

“I think it’s a combination of ego and regression that would cause me to run for it. I might be able to convince myself that I’m cunning enough and hardy enough to survive the End Of The World, and there’s an animal spark in me that longs to cast aside the rest of the world and live wild and free.”

S rolls her eyes and snorts. I can tell she doesn’t think much of this segment of explanation, but I’m pretty sure that she’ll like the next part.

“But, you know, I’m actually pretty intimidated by this whole Judgment Thing, so the deeper context fuelling the urge to run away is just fear. Yet, while I’m with you, I feel like I might actually be someone who would be Judged as being worthy.” I glance over at her and hold her hand, and am treated to one of her softening smiles. “Being with you helps me feel a bit braver too. Maybe because I have a drive to look after you that is far stronger than my insecurities.”

She looks me in the eye. “Don’t you feel like you have to protect me from being Judged?”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Pfft! Whatever. Any deity that doesn’t think you are totally awesome is a petty monster that I want to flip the bird to personally.”

I get a playful slap in the shoulder. “No, seriously.”

“Seriously. I can’t even really wrap my brain around the idea of you being Judged unfavourably.”

As we walk along, there are crowds of other doing the same, flowing together to become a line. It’s easier to be calmer now. It’s not because of the people who are acting joyous, because they make me think they’re just acting. And it’s not because of the people screaming and panicking, even though they do help illustrate just how useless that seems. Maybe it’s because of some fundamental herding instinct that most of us are obeying, which should be intellectually disquieting. Still most people are like us, talking and walking towards the giant queue sign in the sky.

I nudge S’s shoulder with mine, our typical I’m-still-right-here gesture. “Plus. Plus, I’m totally curious about how I’ll be Judged.”

“Yeah. Me too. And maybe a little angry about it.”

I don’t really understand this. “What’s there to be angry about?”

She uses her opposite hand to move her hair behind her ear. “I kind of feel cheated. Look at all these people that are happy about this, and have likely been looking forward to this most of their lives.” I look, and remember that S is probably a lot less cynical about the smiles and laughter and singing from some groups around us. “I didn’t get to have that. I’m not really sure whether I’m angry at myself for being too weak to have sufficient faith, or if I’m angry at God for making faith weird for me.”

There’s not really much I think of to say. So I grunt. “Hhnngh.”

“I just mean that I would have wanted to feel peaceful, and soothed by, oh, I don’t know, rituals and stuff. Some sort of reassuring connection.”

“Your running slash swimming and daily coffee are kind of like rituals...” I realize just an instant too late that I’m not really being helpful.

“That is SO not the same.”

“Yeah, I just blurted it out. Like an idiot.”

She smiles.

Some yelling nearby disturbs both of us. It appears to be an obnoxious fellow with a small retinue sweeping through the crowd in his wake. I missed the beginning salvo of screams, but I clearly hear the fellow yell at some unfortunate youths about how they were going to suffer for all eternity. Everybody around us is looking in the same direction now, and we all witness the youths visibly quail. The man lifts his attention to sweep his surroundings, and his flaring nostril seem to be sniffing for a new confrontation to harass his way to another victory. He strides through the strolling crowd, and demands of people, “Have you been saved?!?” Everyone shrinks from him in a conciliatory sort of confusion and fear.

Well, almost everybody. He spies S and I, and I see his eyes lock with S’s. He swerves to intercept us, and my hackles stand at attention. I contemplate pre-emptive possibilities, but S squeezes my arm and whispers, “Be Nice.”

The next instant, the Interceptor is drawing up to us and spraying occasional bursts of non-vocal elements mixed with his words. “Have YOU been saved?!?!”

With just the right amount of pause, S responds. “I guess we’re about to find out.” Damn, she’s slick.

“DON’T be coy with ME, Jezebel! For this day is the Ending of the world, and the poisons of your sins will rise like a black tide to drown you forever in a sea of your own vileness!” He takes a breath. “LORD GOD HIMSELF WILL SHOW YOU THE ERROR OF YOUR WAYS, AND YOU WILL FINALLY KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO BE GOD-FEARING!!!” He’s right in her face, screaming, but she’s not flinching. Well, except for tiny winces when screamy splatters tickle her cheek.

But it’s too much for me. I physically insert myself between them, despite S resisting. The grip she has on my hand tells me that I’m not helping, but really it’s this or I do something much more drastic and ill-advised.

He screams at me now. “DO YOU THINK YOU CAN SHIELD HER FROM GOD?”

“No, but I can try to shield you from god.”

“FOOL! I AM GOD’S EMISSARY!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“GODS RIGHTEOUSNESS BURNS WITHIN ME!”

“I see.”

There is an awkward moment, where I desperately hope his inertia has faded instead of him rallying himself for greater feats of volume. It doesn’t look like things are going well as he cants his head back and aims a steely eye at me. “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal saviour?”

I’m besieged with all sorts of petty snarky responses that flood my mind. However, I’m afraid that S is already pissed at me, and I don’t want to make it worse. “I’m here to apologize about that in person if I can, but no.” It’s not great, but it’s the best I can come up with.

“To Hell with you then!” With that, he strides away to intimidate others. After him go the trailing group of followers, none of whom wear an expression that makes any sense to me. I’m just relieved and bewildered about how that worked out.

Except, of course, it isn’t really worked out yet – as S’s clenched jaw warns me. I try to think of some way to talk with her about it, to let our conversational chemistry work its magic, but I fail. I just walk along beside her for a bit, in uneasy quiet.

But not for too long. She snorts, and after a little while starts talking. “I hate how that happened.”

“Which part?” Too late! I really can be an idiot, and can’t believe I said that out loud.

She ignores my idiocy. “I really didn’t need your protection back there. And it bothers me that you don’t think I can stand up for myself, and that you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“I’m sorry.” I sigh a long breath, to signify that I have more to say and to compose my words. “But what I did wasn’t about what I thought you needed, or even what I thought you wanted. It was just...” Stuck for a word, and I fill it with gesticulation. “It was unbearable for me. My protectiveness just overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t do anything else. Well, I could have done other stuff, but it would have been worse.”

I look at her carefully for a moment, to look for signs of her thoughts. I think she looks... wavery. Well, it’s progress, anyway.

“I am really sorry. I didn’t mean to belittle your ability, or anything. And I tried to be nice, like you asked.” Well, now I’m starting to feel awkward. What else is there that I can say?

“Yeah, you were pretty nice, I guess. Comparatively, anyway. Perhaps I’m just angry because of the confrontation in general.”

“Hmmm.” Ah, the old maxim: if you can’t think of anything to say, grunt. The suave-o-meter is probably flatlining.

“Also, I’m starting to have second thoughts about being in this line.”

I just drop my jaw for a moment, and struggle to put it back. “What do you mean?”

“This doesn’t feel quite right. I mean, I’ve had some major differences with mainstream faith for the last few years or so. But I still think I know how it should feel, you know? The whole God thing. And this whole situation just doesn’t quite feel right. Like it might not be anything like what I think I’m expecting.”

And then we both stop dead in our tracks, because we realize that we’ve suddenly arrived at the head of the line. Judgement looms. S intertwines her hand in mine, and steps protectively in front of me.