New Every Morning

Okay, so it took me a little over twice as long as I said, but it is finished (sort of). I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I feel it is complete if not as refined as it could be.

Also, this is my 100th 76th post on this blog! Woo!? (I just realized it was counting drafts as well as actual posts, so it only comes to 76. Lame.)


New Every Morning
By Matt Moore

Windshield leaflets cover the parking lot as he walks through. There is only one car there at this hour, it is his. He leaves it as far back as he can and enjoys the cool breeze of the early morning as he walks. He reaches the door, he knocks. A dead-bolt slides on the other side, the door creaks open and he walks inside.
The room is dark. It smells of mildew and stale beer. Now cleaning off the back of the door as she pushes it closed is Sandy. She doesn't say hello to Him. He studies her from the back and finds her nearly attractive. Blonde hair in a bun. A body that would drive him wild save for a few misplaced curves within it. But as she turns around and catches his eye for a moment the years have clearly caught up with her. She smiles, but it is a hollow smile. She smiles, but He knows she doesn't not mean to smile at Him.
The chairs are still up on the tables from the nights before. The bar stools have been set back down on the ground, the counter wiped down. This place will open at ten thirty. Now it is just before nine. In the back someone is cooking bacon, maybe eggs. Today is Tuesday, it must be Mike. He hopes Mike has made enough for everyone. He hopes, but Mike rarely does unless he is asked.
He walks to the stage, still set with amplifiers and microphones from the night before. He begins to unplug everything. He goes to a closet hidden behind the raised dais that makes the stage, opens it, begins to roll in the equipment.
When he is done Sandy is vacuuming and Mike is sitting at the counter eating bacon and toast. Mike smiles at Him, and this is a smile that is meant for Him, and Mike has points to a tray of bacon sitting beside him and he finds a plate behind the bar and grabs a handful and sits down next to Mike and they eat in silence save for the vacuum.
Soon Sandy is sitting at the counter smoking a cigarette and Mike is chopping tomatoes in the back and He is in the bathroom with a plunger. By the time ten-thirty rolls around He has finished. But the bathroom still has a smell He wouldn't wish upon anyone.
"What's with all this hootenanny?" Hollers a voice from the large wooden door as soon as Sandy unlocks it.
"Hi George." She says and turns away and goes behind the bar. She begins to pour Pabst from the tap and opens the door to the back and says simply 'George' to Mike. Mike nods and begins to make a ham and cheese omelet.
"What's with all this hootenanny?" George asks again and Sandy stares at him. "Out with it then." George says after a moment.
"I don't understand." Sandy says as she hands him his beer.
"Last night." George says with a raised eyebrow and a stern expression. Sandy knows that he thinks she should know what he is talking about. She stands with one arm on her hip and one arm on the bar and thinks and can remember only an overly loud band and hardly anyone sticking around for the evening. "What they are saying about Him." George points to Him as he walks out of the bathroom and He smiles and waves walks behind the bar.
"What are they saying about you?" Sandy asks Him.
"I wasn't aware anyone was saying anything." He responds.
"They is saying your some sort of messiah." George says and then laughs a gruff laugh.
"Really?" Sandy asks and she joins in the laugh, adding a high squeaking noise to George's baritone.
"Oh, yeah." He said, "You hadn't heard. Yea, look upon me, my children, and know me, I am the Lord your God." He now laughed alone, but only for a moment as the others joined him as well.
"And so shall the sun be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars will fall from heaven and the powers of the heavens shall be shaken. And then shall appear the sign of the Son of Man in heaven. And then shall the tribes of earth mourn. And they shall see the Son of Man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory." Mike said with his head sticking out from the door to the back. The laughing stopped and the three froze to reflect upon what he had just said.
"Matthew 24:29 through 34." Said a voice from somewhere behind George. The four turned and saw a man in priests garb. Salt and pepper hair, his clothes neatly pressed, a bible tucked under his arm. The priest was smiling and that smile was for Him. "The second coming."
"Yeah, that's right. How are you Father?" Asked Mike.
"I am very well. Thank you for calling me."
"No problem." Mike smiled at the priest and nodded with a large grin to Him and went away behind his door once more.
"So, may I have a word with you my Son?" Asked the father to Him. He met Sandy's eyes and she shrugged and leaned over the bar to whisper to George. With that He motioned to a booth near the back and strolled over with his hands in his pockets as the priest sat and straightened his bible so that it was perfectly perpendicular to him.
"What would you like to talk with me about?" He asks.
"Last night of course." The priest lights up like a kid in a candy store.
"Nothing happened last night."
"That isn't what I've heard."
"Well then you have been misinformed." He sits back in his seat, draping his hand over the back partition.
Rock and roll oldies from the sixties and seventies played over the radio. The two sat quietly contemplating why it was that Mic could not, in fact, get no satisfaction. Perhaps the double negative was meant to imply that he always did get satisfaction. It would be nearly impossible to tell.
"I don't believe that I was misinformed."
"Just because you may not believe it doesn't mean that it isn't true." He scooted nearly out of the seat, sitting on the edge the priest grabs his arm.
"You saved her life."
"Let go of my arm please." He shrugs the arm off but the priest stands, stands in front of Him, places his hand on His shoulder.
"You placed your hands on her and she was healed. You have saved her life. You must take responsibility for it. For what that means."
"It doesn't mean anything. I didn't do anything. Let go of me." He stands, but the priest does not move. "Please get out of my way."
"Not until you admit what you are."
"And what am I?" Standing, starring, they look like father and Son.
"You are He."
"I am just a bar back."
"Jesus was a carpenter."
"And if He came in here after a long day of work I would happily serve Him a drink. But I would not take his position." The priest loses eye contact. Picks up his bible and rubs it in his fingers. He squeezes it, the book bends up and down in his hand. Suddenly it flies open, lands face up on the table.
The priest, his hands curled nearly into fists, takes a deep breath. He picks the bible off of the table and holds it open in his hands, reading.
"Matthew 10:8. Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give." Said the priest.
"You don't need to quote the scripture to me. I have heard it before."
"Perhaps you weren't listening closely enough."
"I think I was." He tenses, His arms and His fists seem almost ready to strike.
"If you were listening then you know how deeply I regret what I have done. The things I have done in my life."
"And how would I know this simply from listening to a sermon? A sermon by someone other than you?" His hands relax, but His face turns to a scowl.
"If you were listening, really listening, then you would know I can, no one can, ever live up to what is expected of us from Him." The priests face stays soft, smiling, affable.
"Are you saying that you have sinned? That is no great surprise, you above all should know that we all sin."
"I have sinned worse than you know, my Son."
"Well, I am sure that He will forgive you."
"So then you forgive me?" The priest touches His arm.
"I am not in the position to forgive you." He brushes it off.
"Say that you forgive me."
"I can't forgive you. I am not who you think I am."
"Yes you are. You are!"
"Perhaps you should leave, preacher. I'll buy you a drink if you'd like or-" The priest grabs His hand once more.
"Freely give! Freely give to me! Drive out my demons!" The priest falls to the floor, holding His hand to his forehead. "Heal me! Heal me!"
"Get off you old fool!" He says and he pulls his hand away from the priests head. The priest drops to the floor. The priest lays motionless. He kneels down over him. Pokes him lightly on his arm. The bar is completely silent. The others stand by the bar watching. "Are you okay?" He asks.
He hears nothing, no breathing. He checks for a pulse, finds nothing. Holds his hand in front of the priests mouth and feels no breath escape. Checks for a pulse again.
"I think someone should call an ambulance." He says but no one moves. They watch, the lean forward, they hold their breath. "Shit." He says under His breath. He places one hand on the top of the priests head, the other on his chest. He closes his eyes, breaths deep. Exhales. A small shimmer of light escapes from his lips and shrouds the priest.
A moment passes slowly. Another moment. Then the priests gasps, his eyes shoot open. He raises his hand and feels His hands upon his body and sees the light surrounding him, but before he can reach out to touch the light it vanishes, and He removes His hand from his body.
"You passed out." He says.
"I think perhaps I did more than pass out." The priest attempts to stand, He gently pushes him back to the ground.
"Rest for a moment, you just had a shock to your system."
"Yes, I think perhaps I shall rest... just... for... a... moment..." The priest closes his eyes as He lowers his head to the ground.
"Sleep well preacher." He says, then He stands, and the door opens wide and there is a bright, bright light. And He walks into it, and then He is gone.