Standing behind the wooden lectern, Caleb surveyed his new congregation. He barely remembered a time when he was simply known as Cal Hill and not Father Our Holy Savior and Jesus Wannabe as certain people – like Delores Cullen – thought of him as. Lines had long since blurred between the man he had been and the lie he now was.
Cal saw the way Delores gazed at him from her seat in the front pew. Even though it was a rainy and horrible gray morning, Delores looked as pleased as punch. What a glorious day! She had exclaimed upon stepping foot onto the churchyard not twenty minutes ago. She had been grinning like she saw some invisible sunshine even though it looked like it was night rather than day. Now, sitting in the warmth of the church, Cal saw tiny raindrops clinging to her frizzy hair. Delores' hands were pressed against her chest as if something divine had taken her breath away. Her plump fingers clutched a lacy handkerchief which was dotted with miniature cherubs flashing their naked butts at the altar. Delores' eyes rolled as if she was in a permanent state of Nirvana.
Cal pursed his lips in a fake smile to stop himself from scowling. He knew people like Delores. He knew how they thought they were God's servants when in all honesty, they were nothing but prejudiced busybodies.
Delores may have made Saint Agatha's sparkle like a new dime, but Caleb thought she'd have to do a lot of scrubbing in her soul to wash away the filth that had accumulated in regard to the way she perceived people who were not like her – that dirty black person for instance who Father Cal saw sitting silently in the very back by the drippy raincoats and umbrellas, in an area no one else wanted to sit in. The man's hands were clasped onto his lap. From under a wide-brimmed orange hat, dark eyes looked proudly ahead – ignoring everyone but Father Caleb. Yet Cal could see the faintest glimmer of tears in the corners of the lonely man's sad eyes.
There were twelve parishioners in Saint Aggy's, including Delores and her son, Travis who kept fidgeting and looking shyly over his shoulder while his mother's eyes remained glazed. There were the Delanys (but not all five of them since the two eldest had left for university) sitting behind the Cullens. The Delanys looked like carbon copies of each other with their short curly brown hair and uncountable freckles. Sarah Green sat elbow to elbow with her sister Louise and a baby who looked a lot like James Cooper (who sat on the opposite side of the church and kept looking down at his lap whenever anyone glanced his way). Joel Patterson was there as was his great-aunt Marsha – a thimble-sized woman with a halo of silvery hair. Marsha, who when introduced by Delores before church, had yelled at father Cal that she was very happy to meet him all while her nephew kept pointing to his ears and mouthing, She forgot to wear her hearing aids again.
Cal couldn't help but let his gaze trickle to the dark-skinned man sitting far away from everyone in the very back. Just before church, Delores had introduced everyone to Father Caleb – except for the man. As the man had been taking his seat, Delores had hissed in Cal's ear, That's Cook Emanuel Jackson. He works in that disgusting place I told you about. I don't cast stones Father, but he should not be here. We don't want him. When Delores had emphasized the we, Travis had looked down at his feet and whimpered softly. Father Cal understood Mr. Jackson was not wanted. But the man had held his head high and offered Cal a friendly smile when their eyes met.
Caleb glanced briefly at the window. Though it was early, the day was overcast and miserably dark. The lack of sun made him feel like he was holding midnight mass rather than a morning one, and that he should be out hunting rather than preaching.
But here he was. And twelve pairs of eyes were turned his way.
Caleb ran his fingertips over the bible resting on the lectern. Each letter was slightly raised. B is for Bastard, Caleb thought, I for Indignant. B is for Bullshit. L is for liar. E is for... Dear God, will they figure out I am a fraud? In the back of his brain, he heard a spider rushing along her web and quickly capturing her prey. When he looked to the corner, he saw the tiny creature entrapping a wasp twice her size. If she can do the seemingly impossible, so can I. Drawing in a deep breath, he addressed his congregation in a voice like thunder. "Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you," his palm slapped down on the bible, "Yes, I will help you," grabbing the Holy Book, he lifted it for all to see. "I will uphold you with My righteous right hand."
Outside a storm bloomed. It twirled by the windows and upset the dust. Caleb continued speaking until the roar of the wind bashed against the glass and threatened to break in.
Sina sat on the ledge of the window. His head rested against the glass. Every time the thunder exploded, he felt it shoot like an arrow directly to the core of his being. Touching the rumbling pane, he felt every vibration. It was a heartbeat. Heaven seemed to come alive whenever a storm broke out. Sina's own heart thudded along with the disturbance. Outside, the clouds rolled around like angry dogs, and the day turned black.
The rain was needed. This Sina knew. When it came, it often came hard. He could almost see the farmers dropping their pitchforks and falling on their knees to praise the God they sometimes believed in for not allowing their crops to die.
Cookie had left an hour ago. He had accidentally woken Sina as he'd dashed from bathroom to kitchen to bedroom, getting coffee and beautifying himself. He had been singing something Sina knew was a hymn because he'd counted twelve Jesuses and seventeen Saviors along with a bunch of Hallelujahs.
Sina thought back to how Cookie had lit up as he got ready for church. He absolutely glowed. It was like the way Sina felt whenever a punter fell into a drunken coma that second after he'd handed him the money and right before he had to do anything. So that's what God must be like. Not getting fucked but still getting the cash. Not a bad deal, I guess.
Raindrops fell onto the dust outside. Sina saw the ground sizzle.
It wasn't that he didn't believe in God. He did. He knew God existed but he didn't do God or church. It wasn't possible. Sina also knew the Devil existed. He knew there was a hell just as much as there was a heaven. But Sina hated them all: God, the Devil, Heaven, and Hell. Imagine if there was no Heaven and no Hell. No religion at all. What would people like Delores Cullen do? It would be a better world if you ask me. Imagine. His thoughts shifted back to a song he'd heard being played on a Steinway Model Z piano nearly twenty years ago. A song that had spoken of such a thing. Imagine there's no heaven...
Sina had been casually dating a record producer back in the 70s who knew everyone that was anyone (but Sina wasn't dating him in order to meet anyone famous. He wasn't even dating him for love – as if– nor the banging good sex they'd have in pretty much every place imaginable. It was for the drugs – lots and lots of the good stuff. None of that laced-with-baby-powder shit. And it was always free. That was the only reason why).
It was at a dinner party his producer boyfriend, Phil was hosting that Sina first saw John Lennon standing by the buffet table about to pick up a carrot stick. John was a friendly-looking sort with hippie hair and a melancholy Jesus stare under round eyeglasses.
The young man's wife had been standing by the piano where Phil had led Sina too. The woman shyly looked at Sina. She tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear and then uttered in a delicate breath, "I'm Yoko."
"Sina Noir."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Noir."
"The pleasure is mine."
Yoko gave Sina a ghost of a smile and then looked towards the buffet table. Small teeth grazed over her lower lip when the Jesus-stare shifted from the carrot stick to her.
"Do you know who that is, luv?" Phil whispered as he gestured to John.
"I live in a drug-induced haze, Phil. Not under a rock."
Phil chuckled as he handed Sina a glass of champagne. "You simply must hear his new song. I swear he is even better as a solo artist. No riffraff to keep back all that talent."
Sina remembered being mildly shocked by the way Phil had referred to John's old bandmates as riffraff. "I would hardly call them that. They were pretty good if you ask me. Amazing even. A lot of people love the Bee -"
"Pish tosh," Phil interrupted. He waved his hand as if trying to shoo an annoying fly away. "He is a star on his own." Tilting up his nose, Phill looked down at Sina. "This is why I produce and," he clicked his tongue then spoke every word in a clipped manner, "You. Do. Not."
Before Sina could even utter a Fuck you, Phil, Phil was pulling out the stool tucked under the piano.
"You simply must play that new masterpiece of yours," Phil called over to John. "I shall not take no for an answer." Turning to the young woman, Phil put on his sweetest voice, "Yoko, darling, tell him he simply must."
And play John did. By the end of the song, Sina felt like crying. Imagine there's no heaven... no hell below us. Above us only sky.
But it was nothing more than a song. And the young man was now nothing more than just a voice on the radio.
Reaching towards the sofa which sat off to the left of the window, Sina grabbed a red, white, and blue blanket with WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS printed in gold thread along the length. He draped it around his shoulders and shuddered as a chill nipped at his flesh. By Friday, he would have to have found a new home or a sturdy cardboard box. Frowning, he squished his forehead to the pane and wondered if he broke the glass would it be able to end him?
In the distance, Sina heard singing. He knew it was a hymn but didn't care as to which one. The voices carrying it sucked, all but two and he knew one was Cookie's. Were he human, he wouldn't have been able to hear it at all. But Sina had never been human. Not even close.
Rising slowly, he slipped his feet into his shoes and traded the blanket for his jean jacket. As Sina slipped out of the house, the singing got louder. He didn't care that the rain fell over him and plastered his hair to his skin. Turning his face to the dark sky, Sina closed his eyes and listened.
* Fun Fact: I picked Imagine because I felt it was a song that really got to Sina's core; that honestly spoke to him.