A Face

She told me that I wore my face well.

It didn’t seem a romantic overture, but I began to wonder

Whether someone else might wear it better.  Could prurient

Hands uncover the truth – that my face is ill-fitting, too tight

Around the nose, loose around the ears and eyes?

Perhaps it does not flatter my soul.

It may be an imposter, my face.  Draped across my mind

And heart, it pantomimes love, laughter, and beauty, never

Quite telling the truth, no matter how it tries.

Yes, I wear my face as well as I can, you see.

Because it is only polite

To wear a face.  They wouldn’t have me naked, telling

Them all what fools they’ve been, wearing their faces so. 

And we all do not wear them well.  Faces too big or too small,

Too morose or melancholy do their wearers an injustice.

She told me that my face was fashionable,

For the time being, anyhow.  As though I had chosen it,

Picked it from among my faces that morning.  But I did

Not choose.  Perhaps my face, reflected in hers, 

showed only how well she wore her own.

Abject Happiness

Let's say Adam and Eve never ate the apple and realized how nakey they really were.  What if the serpent had never tempted  her and she'd decided to use it in some kind of burlesque act she was putting together to surprise Adam for their anniversary?  Maybe a burlesque show falls under the "knowledge of good and evil" clause, but I'd like to think God would've allowed a little sexuality in the Garden.  I mean, he created it for us to enjoy within the confines of holy matrimony...or something.  The point is, where would we be today if nothing bad had ever happened in the history of the world?  We're talking no pain, no war, no illness, no Kanye -- perfection, folks.

Eulogizers, motivational speakers, and pithy quotes love to remind us about how we can't experience joy without pain, love without loss, Sam Adams without Busch Light, etc.  How hollow and meaningless would our collective existence be, then, if we'd been spending all of history dancing naked in a garden with the Almighty's radiant love pouring all over us?  Sure it sounds like 19 layers of awesome, but we wouldn't have a clue.  We love to imagine the absence of evil and suffering as some kind of euphoric bliss -- a hundred billion hits of Ecstacy -- but could we really feel like that if we'd never known anything else? 

It seems like it would be a system shock, you know, when you first spring from his mind, or loins, or the abyss, or whatever.  You'd be completely overwhelmed by the perfection and warmth at first, owing only to the fact that any kind of external stimulus is brand new and kind of freaky.  But I might be wrong there.  It's God, right?  He can make you instantly joyful and serene.  The laws of man don't apply to him and it's within his power to give me knowledge of the vast blessings he's bestowed upon me without my experiencing any kind of suffering.

So let's say God's filled me with his love...juice, and my rib-wife and I hang around with all of the other couples watching guys appear out of nowhere and inviting them to join our hilariously madcap Jenga games.  Ok, ok, so we do other things too.  You gotta sing God's praises and perform sacraments, but for the most part we hang around getting along really well with one another and having an awesome time.  It seems like we'd get a little bored eventually.  You know, a little antsy to do something else for a while.  It's only human nature.  But it seems like I'm wrong there again.  God ought to be able to keep me satisfied for all of eternity, right?

The answer's "yes" in case you were confused. But it brings up an interesting question: why did he create us in the first place?  The obvious answer is that we were created to love and worship him.  And while that sounds a touch narcissistic, I'll roll with it.  So God created us as pets or children, take your pick.  He loves us, wants the best for us, and the only thing he asks in return is that we love him forever and ever, amen. 

That's cool.  That's really cool, actually.

Anyway, he sets up this garden where everything is perfect and we're free to do as we please, because the only things we please are the things that please him.  Now, this is where it gets confusing.  He made it all, right?  In the beginning there was the word...and then there were toasters, and badgers, and grandmothers, and paperclips.  At some point he had to decide to create the tree and the fruit that contained the knowledge of good and evil.  Why?

He loves me.  He loves my bone-lady and our immaculately-conceived children in ways our puny human minds could never imagine.  Still, he put this beautiful tree and its fruit right in the middle of the garden and told us to stay away or else.  Apparently loving him was too easy.  He wanted to make it a challenge.  Seems like a cruel thing to do to your most beloved creations.  And I know some would say that good and evil had to exist in humans.  God can't control us, only make suggestions.  But the truth of the matter is that if he is, in fact, God, everything is his to manipulate.  He didn't have to create evil and suffering.  He didn't have to tempt Eve.  He didn't even have to make the tree.  The bottom line is that he could have made us perfect and happy and let us roam free.

But what fun is that?  The image of God as an angry little kid with an ant farm has been beaten to death.  I don't think he's angry, he just wants to make things sportin'.  There are a number of good theories as to why he did it.  Maybe he realized there would be no larger purpose for us if there were no pain and suffering to sort through, so he was trying to give us the opportunity to create our own purpose.  Shades of carrot-on-a-stick incentivism, but it still seems to come from a good place.  Of course, if I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt, I also have to play devil's advocate.  Maybe he was just bored with perfection.

It seems to me that God was probably doing humankind the biggest solid ever.  He was saving all of us from a fate worse than pain, suffering, and death: abject happiness.  He knew that our joy and love would be completely meaningless if he sustained it by himself.  Sure, everything would be awesome (from the perspective of the current population of sinners), but it might as well be hell if we don't know what we've got. 

So thanks, big guy, for doing the best you could in the situation (you created) to give our lives some meaning.  Maybe next time you could try making a huge bouncy house instead of necessitating the Holocaust. 

I mean, I don't think I could ever get tired of a bouncy house!

Nina Simone & Public Transportation

Daphne was rushed; all broken heels, stiff back, and sore smile muscles as she waited for the bus.  The show had been a “smashing success” by the gallery owner’s own proclamation and several of her pieces had already sold.  Fortunately they were the pieces she’d secretly wanted to sell; proportions not quite right, tiny flaws invisible to the casual viewer, and amateurish composition.  They were the mistakes – artistic abortions that collectors treasure when they fall from the womb of someone famous. 

Her knee bounced as she craned her neck to look for the bus.  When it finally arrived, she was first in line, all but prying the doors open with hands exhausted from too much shaking.  Each stoplight was met with a furious eye-roll and another check of the watch that would not stop ticking.  People insisted on getting on and off at every stop.  Old women, wheelchairs, and all manner of lacksadaisical conversationalists slowly destroyed any hope Daphne had of making it home on time. 

She stumbled down from the bus, but caught herself on the fire hydrant.  Her portfolio slipped and landed hard on the pavement.

“Shit!  Of course…,” she mumbled to herself.  She dragged her belongings into the building and pushed the buzzer for the apartment, but Dan would not answer.  After at least eleven attempts and on the verge of tears, she resigned herself to the thought of six flights of stairs and that temperamental lock the landlord was always making promises about.

The apartment was spotless.  Each and every book and knick knack was in its place, carefully arranged to create the illusion of nonchalance Dan was so fond of. Daphne set her things against the wall as she peered around the corner into their tiny, Formica-drenched kitchen.  No Dan.  No pots and pans.  No “kiss the chef” apron, half-empty beer, dancing and singing along to the Police.  She frowned and sighed as her gaze drifted across the room.  He had lit every candle they owned and placed them throughout their living/dining room.  The stereo was softly crooning Nina Simone and the table was set with their mix-matched dinnerware atop the only picnic tablecloth they owned.  Chicken marsala with the appropriate sides sat losing its own appetite while their two chipped wine glasses waited patiently for the show to begin.

Daphne walked over to the table and touched the chicken before picking up the glass.  Nina’s voice swelled in the room as Daphne went to the window and sat on the bench there.  Rain was beginning to fall against the glass and she watched the fat drops run down the window as she hummed along and drank.  It soon grew dark.  Her glass grew empty, as did the other, and humming became full-fledged singing.  The singing slowly gave way to crying as Nina declared “be my husband, and I’ll be your wife.”

Bitterness came creeping in at the edges of her mind.  Where the hell was Dan?  She was only an hour late.  He could have waited.  He knew it would be impossible getting out of the show.  She’d promised him she’d be home as soon as she could.  Why had he gone to all this trouble if he was going to ditch her anyway?  Fuck you, Dan.  Just fuck you. 

Through the tears and the rain she saw someone running down the street toward the apartment.  His sweatshirt hood was up to protect from the rain, but it was clearly soaked through.  His hands were jammed into this pockets and a large paper package was clenched under his right arm.  Daphne’s heart jumped, but she quickly reminded herself of her newfound distaste for Dan and prepared to give him a piece of her wine-soaked mind.

Squeaking tennis shoes, fumbling with keys, and cursing to himself, Dan fought desperately with the door, praying that Daphne wasn’t already home.  When the door finally burst open, they stood face to face for a moment; Dan, soaked from head to toe, his elbow scraped and bleeding, clutching the package, and Daphne glaring with an empty wine glass in each hand.  His apologies began just as her accusations started, drowning out Nina’s moans of strange fruit and poplar trees. 

Dan’s glasses had been slowly fogging up since he came inside and he was quickly blind to the world.  Daphne’s yelling slowly turned to crying laughter as she watched his gestures grow larger and voice louder behind now-white eyes.  Obviously too upset and proud to admit he had no idea where she was, Dan’s mounting frustration only increased Daphne’s amusement.  She let him flail helplessly for a few moments before setting the glasses down and slowly approaching him.  Catching both of his arms, she put them around her waist and took his glasses off, setting them on the counter.  Dan was still upset.

“…and I made the chicken too early because I thought it would take longer, but the cork wouldn’t come out of the bottle!”

“Dan,” she said evenly.

He stopped and looked at her.  “Damn it, Daphne,” he said, “I screwed it up.” Her hand grazed his elbow and he winced.

“You look like shit, dear,” she said and they both smiled.  “What the hell were you doing out there?”

He brought the package, ruined by the rain, up to their faces. “I forgot the flowers…”

Three Gifts

            “If you were only allowed to give me three gifts during the course of the rest of our lives together, what would they be?”

            She looked up from the crossword, biting the end of her pen.  “Love, love, and love, what else is there?”

            Dan was staring out the window at the people on the street.  He shook his head absentmindedly as Daphne spoke, but turned to look at her as she went back to her puzzle. Leaning forward, Dan put his hand over the paper.

“Seriously, Daph, I’m talking about a gift – a real, physical gift to give someone.”

“Dan, I don’t understand what you’re saying; three gifts for the rest of my life?  How is that relevant to anything?”

He chuckled and picked up her hand, rubbing the engagement ring on her slender finger. Her expression softened and she rolled her blue-green eyes as a wry smile slid across her face.

“You’re in for a lifetime of this, you know?”

“Sometimes I still wonder why I agreed,” she said.

Dan’s hands went to his heart as he slumped over in his chair.  Daphne kicked him, but he didn’t move.  She stared for a moment. Dan’s eyelids flickered.  Finally, she gathered up her things and stood.

Daphne turned to the man sitting next to them and gestured, “Apparently, my fiancée is dead.  I’m pretty sure he’s got some cash in his wallet.”  The man grinned and nodded as she went to throw away her coffee cup.

The hood of his sweatshirt adhered itself to the back of his head as Dan burst out of the shop.  He spied Daphne at least two blocks away walking on the north side of the street to avoid the wind.  She was going out of her way to step on the crunchy leaves.  He began to jog after her.

Dan was slender, genetically predisposed to the sport he loved so much, but his staccato gait had been the cause of too much prejudice and mockery by his high school coaches.  Now, each chance to run was a race – against the sun, a car, a leaf, or his fleeing fiancée.  They always ended in slow motion, Dan’s arms raised in triumph.

“Won again?” Daphne teased as he approached.  “It’s really not a race if you don’t tell me.”  She jumped with both feet onto a leaf, twisting her feet to prolong the satisfaction.  He lunged in front of her, stealing the next leaf, and she leapt onto his back, kissing his bearded check.  He walked with her on his back.

He said, “When are you going to marry me”?

“Aren’t we already?” she replied. “I mean, look at me.  I’m already on your back.” 

He shifted her weight and began running down the sidewalk.  They narrowly missed an old couple walking together as Daphne shouted an apology, her speech punctuated by each of Dan’s steps.  They approached a busy intersection.

“I’m gonna kill us both if you don’t give me a date!”

She began beating his chest, “God damn it, Dan! Stop!” Leaping off his back, she shoved him to the ground. Dan slid on the pavement and his jeans tore.

Rolling over, Dan laughed, “Damn, Daph. I was just–“

“Fuck you!  You’re always ‘just…’ and I’m tired of it.” She turned, pushing her hair back, and began walking away.

He watched her walk. He grinned. Finally, he stood, checked his freshly-trendy jeans, and walked toward her.  Dashing behind trees and rolling from cover to cover, Dan stealthily crept up on Daphne.  She remained stalwart, eyes forward, daring the world to antagonize her further.