Jim O’Donovan and Tatiana pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. He had stopped being surprised that his ’82 Honda was still running. After all, it had made the six-hundred plus mile journey to California from Utah so he could meet a random woman he had met on some internet chatroom. The two exited the car, Tatiana grabbing the bag of food from Del Mex.
“I’m fucking starving,” Jim said as he unlocked the door to the room.
“You’ve got a filthy mouth for a Mormon,” said Tatiana. Jim looked down at the ground and bit his bottom lip. “Not that I really care. I’m just saying you’re supposed to be all perfect and stuff.”
The two reached into the bags of food and started eating dinner. With a bite of his burrito in his mouth, Jim said, “There isn’t anything perfect about Utah.”
“Obviously, if I’m able to lure one of you down here just to fuck me.”
Jim swallowed his food and looked away from Tatiana. He wondered if he liked her or just the fact that she had a Russian name. That she used to be a prostitute and he was just looking for some kind of Dostoevsky-ion redemption. Or maybe he just had not been laid in three years and just needed to get some. He took another bite of his burrito.
“I just don’t get how someone like you survives in a place like BYU. Why did you go to school there? I mean, if you hate living in Utah so much, why didn’t you move away to go to college?” Tatiana asked as she ate her nachos.
“I don’t know. Just seemed like the right thing to do. It really isn’t as bad as I make it out to be. I mean people are all Jesus-freak like there. You can even freak them out by being too religious.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, I’m serious,” Jim said as he finished his burrito. “I was taking this one class. It was a philosophy of religion class. And we were discussing if God can know everything. Well, half the class says yes. The other half, no. So this debate starts.”
Tatiana picked up her food and moved from the table to the bed. She then picked up the television remote control and turned on the television and started flipping through channels, “We could order a porno movie.”
“Nevermind,” Jim said quietly. Tatiana looked over at him and Jim was looking down at the floor while eating a taco. She turned the volume down.
“Baby, I’m sorry. Tell me the rest of your story.”
“No, it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does. Stop being so sensitive. I just like television. I was listening. Finish telling me about how everyone isn’t crazy in Utah.”
Jim took another bite of his taco, “I’m just saying if you’re too religious you could freak people out too. So this debate starts about what God can know. So this guy starts speaking—and this guy was always weird, real pompous fuck—and what he says doesn’t really make sense. So he turns to this other guy in the class who was claiming God doesn’t know everything. And this pompous fuck cast the guy out.”
“Like threw him out of the class?” Tatiana said as she flipped through the channels on the muted television.
“Uh. No. He like made this religious sign with his hand and said ‘Satan, I cast thee out.’”
“That’s pretty fucked.”
“Yeah,” Jim said looking at Tatiana, who was looking at the muted television, “So this guy starts crying and runs out of the class.”
“Just for being called the devil?”
“Yeah. So I stand up and say, ‘This is a bunch of crap,’ and I walked out of the class. I walk out of the kid is just crying in the hall, saying, ‘Did he really call me the devil? How could he do that?”
“I don’t get you Mormons,” Tatiana said as she chewed on a nacho.
“So I just tell this guy to not worry about it. That the other guy is obviously crazy. And you know what, the next class that guy wasn’t there—the guy who called the other one Satan. And wasn’t in class for a week. The professor apologizes for the whole incident and says that the guy wasn’t taking the medication he was supposed to be on. And like two weeks late the guy finally shows back up and just sits in silence, like he was lobotomized.”
“Fuck. That is crazy,” Tatiana turned up the television and began watching The Cosby Show.
Jim finished eating his taco watching Tatiana eat her nachos while watching television. He thought about the incident in the college class. Maybe it did work, he thought. Maybe he did cast the devil out. There was no reason for me to leave. But I left anyways.
3.13.2007
3.12.2007
100 People:
xii. Rebecca Sturgis
At some point that night Rebecca Sturgis grew bored while hanging out in the cornfields around the bonfire in the middle of winter. She leaned over and nudged Florence to let her know she was leaving. Florence did not mind hanging out and smoking a few more joints, but Rebecca had grown tired of watching the other high school kids around her ingest some narcotic or other. She would not touch the stuff—she was straight edge—but she also needed to get away from her stepmom on the weekends so she took what company she could find.
Rebecca was driving and had just reached the edge of town. “I’ve got to fill up on gas.”
“You almost out?” asked Florence with her eyes half closed.
“I’m about half way. But my dad always says to fill up about half way during the winter because the car uses more gas. I don’t want to run out of gas,” Rebecca said as she pulled into the gas station. She squinted as the light of the neon Cum-n-Go sign hit her eyes.
Florence laughed, “Yeah, again. You don’t want to run out again.”
“Shut up, Flo.” Rebecca reached down and pulled the lever to open the gas tank and then zipped up her jacket. She opened her car door and placed both feet on the snow-covered ground and braced herself against the car in case she stepped on a patch of ice. She walked over to the gas dispenser and filled her car. She looked back on the road she had just driven up. It was black and she could barely make out the road she had been driving on. With nothing but snow and black to look out she tried making shapes as she breathed into the cold air. She wished she could make some kind of shape that resembled a robot, but she would have been content with blowing a simple ring.
The gas pump clicked as it finished filling up the tank. Rebecca turned around and removed the pump. She looked into the car at Florence. Florence’s head was slumped forward and gently swayed side to side. Rebecca slowly walked to the Cum-n-Go to pay for the gas. She entered and stood in line to pay for her gas. There was one man ahead of her paying for gas, a lighter, and chewing tobacco. When he was done, Rebecca, approached the counter. “Pump eight.”
“Pump eight?” said the women behind the counter, looking Rebecca up and down from behind her glasses. She turned around to check the amount. “Hmmph.” Then she turned back around and faced Rebecca with a frown on her face. “Six dollars and sixty-six cents.”
Rebecca handed her a ten-dollar bill. As the women behind the counter opened the register to retrieve the change she said, “I don’t know what you think is so funny. Think worshipping Satan is funny?”
“I was just filling up my car,” Rebecca whispered.
“You’ve probably been out in the fields worshipping the devil. I’m so sick of you kids.” The women dropped the change on the counter. Rebecca quickly scooped it up and ran out the store. As she was running to her car she stepped on a patch of ice and fell forward onto her right knee. Her right knee skidded along the icy asphalt. Her jeans tore, as did the flesh on her knee. She stood back up and limped back to her car. She was holding back tears and she slammed the car door.
“What’s up,” said Florence become alert again.
Rebecca started up the car and drove away from the gas station. She was sniffling and holding her right knee with one hand while driving with the other.
“What’s wrong,” said Florence, sounding more sober.
“Some crazy Christian whore in there. Started yelling at me for worshipping the devil because I pumped six dollars and sixty-six cents worth of gas. I hate this stupid dead town. I hate everyone in this stupid town. Just a bunch of stupid Jesus-freak rednecks here. I’m leaving here. I graduate in June and I’m out of her the next day. I’m going to a city, I’m leaving this stupid midwest, backwards America.”
Florence sat there—silent—until she began coughing uncontrollably.
“I hate this place. No wonder all the kids here spend their time wasted,” Rebecca said, as she rubbed her knee trying to forget the pain.
That night, after dropping Florence off at home, Rebecca went online. She navigated to the site for the University of Reno, Nevada and filled out an online application. Then she went to bed.
Rebecca was driving and had just reached the edge of town. “I’ve got to fill up on gas.”
“You almost out?” asked Florence with her eyes half closed.
“I’m about half way. But my dad always says to fill up about half way during the winter because the car uses more gas. I don’t want to run out of gas,” Rebecca said as she pulled into the gas station. She squinted as the light of the neon Cum-n-Go sign hit her eyes.
Florence laughed, “Yeah, again. You don’t want to run out again.”
“Shut up, Flo.” Rebecca reached down and pulled the lever to open the gas tank and then zipped up her jacket. She opened her car door and placed both feet on the snow-covered ground and braced herself against the car in case she stepped on a patch of ice. She walked over to the gas dispenser and filled her car. She looked back on the road she had just driven up. It was black and she could barely make out the road she had been driving on. With nothing but snow and black to look out she tried making shapes as she breathed into the cold air. She wished she could make some kind of shape that resembled a robot, but she would have been content with blowing a simple ring.
The gas pump clicked as it finished filling up the tank. Rebecca turned around and removed the pump. She looked into the car at Florence. Florence’s head was slumped forward and gently swayed side to side. Rebecca slowly walked to the Cum-n-Go to pay for the gas. She entered and stood in line to pay for her gas. There was one man ahead of her paying for gas, a lighter, and chewing tobacco. When he was done, Rebecca, approached the counter. “Pump eight.”
“Pump eight?” said the women behind the counter, looking Rebecca up and down from behind her glasses. She turned around to check the amount. “Hmmph.” Then she turned back around and faced Rebecca with a frown on her face. “Six dollars and sixty-six cents.”
Rebecca handed her a ten-dollar bill. As the women behind the counter opened the register to retrieve the change she said, “I don’t know what you think is so funny. Think worshipping Satan is funny?”
“I was just filling up my car,” Rebecca whispered.
“You’ve probably been out in the fields worshipping the devil. I’m so sick of you kids.” The women dropped the change on the counter. Rebecca quickly scooped it up and ran out the store. As she was running to her car she stepped on a patch of ice and fell forward onto her right knee. Her right knee skidded along the icy asphalt. Her jeans tore, as did the flesh on her knee. She stood back up and limped back to her car. She was holding back tears and she slammed the car door.
“What’s up,” said Florence become alert again.
Rebecca started up the car and drove away from the gas station. She was sniffling and holding her right knee with one hand while driving with the other.
“What’s wrong,” said Florence, sounding more sober.
“Some crazy Christian whore in there. Started yelling at me for worshipping the devil because I pumped six dollars and sixty-six cents worth of gas. I hate this stupid dead town. I hate everyone in this stupid town. Just a bunch of stupid Jesus-freak rednecks here. I’m leaving here. I graduate in June and I’m out of her the next day. I’m going to a city, I’m leaving this stupid midwest, backwards America.”
Florence sat there—silent—until she began coughing uncontrollably.
“I hate this place. No wonder all the kids here spend their time wasted,” Rebecca said, as she rubbed her knee trying to forget the pain.
That night, after dropping Florence off at home, Rebecca went online. She navigated to the site for the University of Reno, Nevada and filled out an online application. Then she went to bed.
3.07.2007
100 People in 100 Days:
xi. Alexander Banks
Alexander Banks was finishing a twenty-hour workday. That was how harvest time went. Getting up earlier than usual; going to bed even later. By the time Alexander and the other slaves got going to bed it was so dark, not even the lanterns could help them find their quarters. He had been picking cotton faster than most do the last weeks. His sister, though pregnant eight months, was still expected to pull her two-hundred pounds of cotton if she was to earn her food rations. Alexander picked enough to help here and then tried to make up what he needed so he could eat too.
Alexander had been born into this kind of life. At eleven he was expected to be a man, not receiving any forgiveness for being a child. He was to work the hours of his parents and older slaves. He was quickly taught this lesson when he received fifteen lashes for complaining about being tired.
He tried his best to smile and yes’m sir when his master came around. He had been threatened with being taken to auction in the best when he acted up. Alexander found the only sufferable part of being on the plantation was that he had family there.
Though in secret Alexander and the others discussed the possibility of some rumblings of revolution coming from the northern states. His faith had turned to Jesus but he did not know whether this coming revolution was the second coming of his Lord and Savior or just a ploy from the masters to see what boys needed to be disposed. Rule with fear, and keep the others in line.
At night he would pick at the blisters on his hand and feet, then washed away the blood and clean the wounds with the water his mama fetched from the well two miles south of their quarters.
One night as mama walked back from the well, she checked on their secret garden that they hid from the masters. This let the slaves acquire extra food to make up for their measly rations. The garden was dug up and turned over, completely ruined. Mama ran back to the quarters.
Alexander’s sister and father were asleep in on the dirt floor of the shack. Alexander was picked dead skin from the calluses on his hands. “Lex,” his moma said walking into the shack, “they done find the garden. Done dug it all up. This can’t be good.”
Alexander began rubbing his feet. “What’a you think they’ll do?”
“Can’t say. Maybe whip a few of us. Maybe break up some of the families. Auctions. Teach us good for trying to be self sufficient.”
“Can’t do nothing, I suppose mama. Just hope Jesus come soon to save us.”
His mama brought over the bucket of water and began cleaning the bloody wounds on Alexander’s feet. “No mama,” he said, “I can take care of myself. If you needs be doing something, go spin your yarn. Make some nice scarf or mittens to trade. We’ll be being short on food for the next while until we can get a new garden.” Mama put down the cloth she was using to clean his feet. She walked over and began knitting a scarf she had been working on by night.
“Careful they don’t find that. They’ll say you stole it, robbed them.”
“Son, I’ve made it some fifty years of this life. In the fields, not as no house slave. I work in the fields my whole life. Less time around the devil, the better. Jesus works with you in these fields. He can’t protect you in the home. God can’t be were the devil roams.” She looked down at the dirt floor, and then at her sleeping husband and pregnant daughter. “Jesus protect us a lot in these fields, and still look at our hard life.”
“I’m going to bed mama. It’s easier to feel Jesus when I’m not awake.”
“Let the angels minister to you son.”
“Yes, mama. The sun will peak soon and pack to the fields. Just pray that this rumbling in the states is the voice of God to free Israel.” Alexander picked up a blanket and limped over to a corner of the shack. He spread out his blanket on the dirt and lay down and went to sleep.
No more than two years later Alexander Banks was shot in the back. He was called to the house to help serve for a large party of masters celebrating the decision to succeed. One of the masters thought Alexander smiled too much at the women and needed to teach him the demands of justice for sexually enticing the white women. His body was taken by two other slaves and laid at the door of the shack of his mama, sister, and niece. Two slaves spent the night digging Alexander’s grave and burying his body. His sister cried. His mama yelled at God, demanding Jesus to hurry up with his returning and end the world.
In 1974, Robert Fogel and Stanley Engerman argued that slaves did not have it so bad in their book Time on the Cross. Alexander had been spending every moment since that book’s publishing, spinning in his small, unmarked grave. If you put your ear to the ground like an injun listening for the pending doom of the marching calvary above Alexander’s small, unmarked grave, you could here the whhiiiiiirrrrrr of his spinning corpse.
Also at that time, Jesus had yet to return and end the world.
Alexander had been born into this kind of life. At eleven he was expected to be a man, not receiving any forgiveness for being a child. He was to work the hours of his parents and older slaves. He was quickly taught this lesson when he received fifteen lashes for complaining about being tired.
He tried his best to smile and yes’m sir when his master came around. He had been threatened with being taken to auction in the best when he acted up. Alexander found the only sufferable part of being on the plantation was that he had family there.
Though in secret Alexander and the others discussed the possibility of some rumblings of revolution coming from the northern states. His faith had turned to Jesus but he did not know whether this coming revolution was the second coming of his Lord and Savior or just a ploy from the masters to see what boys needed to be disposed. Rule with fear, and keep the others in line.
At night he would pick at the blisters on his hand and feet, then washed away the blood and clean the wounds with the water his mama fetched from the well two miles south of their quarters.
One night as mama walked back from the well, she checked on their secret garden that they hid from the masters. This let the slaves acquire extra food to make up for their measly rations. The garden was dug up and turned over, completely ruined. Mama ran back to the quarters.
Alexander’s sister and father were asleep in on the dirt floor of the shack. Alexander was picked dead skin from the calluses on his hands. “Lex,” his moma said walking into the shack, “they done find the garden. Done dug it all up. This can’t be good.”
Alexander began rubbing his feet. “What’a you think they’ll do?”
“Can’t say. Maybe whip a few of us. Maybe break up some of the families. Auctions. Teach us good for trying to be self sufficient.”
“Can’t do nothing, I suppose mama. Just hope Jesus come soon to save us.”
His mama brought over the bucket of water and began cleaning the bloody wounds on Alexander’s feet. “No mama,” he said, “I can take care of myself. If you needs be doing something, go spin your yarn. Make some nice scarf or mittens to trade. We’ll be being short on food for the next while until we can get a new garden.” Mama put down the cloth she was using to clean his feet. She walked over and began knitting a scarf she had been working on by night.
“Careful they don’t find that. They’ll say you stole it, robbed them.”
“Son, I’ve made it some fifty years of this life. In the fields, not as no house slave. I work in the fields my whole life. Less time around the devil, the better. Jesus works with you in these fields. He can’t protect you in the home. God can’t be were the devil roams.” She looked down at the dirt floor, and then at her sleeping husband and pregnant daughter. “Jesus protect us a lot in these fields, and still look at our hard life.”
“I’m going to bed mama. It’s easier to feel Jesus when I’m not awake.”
“Let the angels minister to you son.”
“Yes, mama. The sun will peak soon and pack to the fields. Just pray that this rumbling in the states is the voice of God to free Israel.” Alexander picked up a blanket and limped over to a corner of the shack. He spread out his blanket on the dirt and lay down and went to sleep.
No more than two years later Alexander Banks was shot in the back. He was called to the house to help serve for a large party of masters celebrating the decision to succeed. One of the masters thought Alexander smiled too much at the women and needed to teach him the demands of justice for sexually enticing the white women. His body was taken by two other slaves and laid at the door of the shack of his mama, sister, and niece. Two slaves spent the night digging Alexander’s grave and burying his body. His sister cried. His mama yelled at God, demanding Jesus to hurry up with his returning and end the world.
In 1974, Robert Fogel and Stanley Engerman argued that slaves did not have it so bad in their book Time on the Cross. Alexander had been spending every moment since that book’s publishing, spinning in his small, unmarked grave. If you put your ear to the ground like an injun listening for the pending doom of the marching calvary above Alexander’s small, unmarked grave, you could here the whhiiiiiirrrrrr of his spinning corpse.
Also at that time, Jesus had yet to return and end the world.
3.06.2007
100 People in 100 Days:
x. John Johanson
The class: Philosophy 405R; Senior Topics in Philosophy of Religion.
The professor’s topic: The Mormon Concept of Deity.
The university: Brigham Young; Provo, Utah.
The professor asked the question. “What does the it mean to omniscient? What does it mean when we say God knows everything?”
Red raised her hand and answered, “I don’t think he knows everything everything. More that he knows everything he needs to know to do His work.”
John Johanson raised his hand. The professor recognized him. John slightly titled the screen of his Powerbook so his profile was not obstructed by the laptop screen. “I must disagree. God must know everything. All the little details.” John brushed his right hand over his hair, just in case any strands had broken loose from the slicked-back hair-do. “That is simply the definition of God—to know every grain of sand, every hair on our head.”
The professor spoke, “Two views of omniscience. Raise your hands if you believe that there are things God does not know; yet he knows what he needs to in order to bring about his work.” Red and twelve of the twenty-seven students rose their hands. John looked around the room, his lips slightly moving has he counted those with raised arms. “And the other view? That God knows all the details, every single fact that there is to know,” The professor continued. John and thirteen of the students raised their arms.
John laid back in his seat, arm raised straight, a slight smile on his face.
“So, about fifty-fifty on the issue,” the professor observed. “Anyone else wish to make a statement.”
Ryan raised his arm. “I just think it is ridiculous to think that God knows at what time I’m going to brush my teeth today. Or even if I’m going to brush my teeth. I just think that is absurd that God with bother trying to figure such things out.”
John had closed the top of his laptop. He called out, “Professor Sorenson, can I illustrate my point with a diagram?”
The professor agreed and John walked down to the board in the middle of the class. He picked up a piece of chalk and drew a dot in the middle of the board. John cleared his throat and again smoothed back any potential loose hairs. “God is progress. Progression comes through the acquirement of knowledge.” John drew another point on the board, and continued to create dots in a pattern on the board as he spoke. “We know God is where he is because he progressed in knowledge. He could only become God until he had all knowledge to ensure His plans are carried out. Now we know that this knowledge can decrease as well as increase. Satan’s knowledge had decreased since he fell from heaven.” John then began connecting the dots into a spiral shape. “If God has not increased in knowledge to know everything, as you say there are things he can’t know, then he must be decreasing in knowledge.” He traced the spiral shape from the out circles to the small point in the middle of the spiral. “Therefore, you,” he said looking at Ryan, “Are claiming that God is digressing to that level of Satan. We know this cannot be true. Therefore,” John rested the piece of chalk on the ledge of the chalkboard, he raised his right arm into a right-angle, staring at Ryan, and said, “Get thee behind me Satan.”
Ryan began sobbing. He grabbed his book, notepad, and backpack, and ran out of the room crying. Jim, who was sitting next to Ryan, gathered his belonging and stood up. He looked right back at John and said, “That’s a bunch of crap.” Jim looked at the professor, who seemed to him like a lost animal. Jim then exited the class as well.
John stood standing in the middle of the class. No one, not even the professor spoke. Finally the professor cleared his throat and asked John to sit. John walked back to his seat, brushed his hair back with both hands, and raised the screen of his laptop. He began typing. He took a moment to stop typing and look around the classroom. No one was looking at him. The professor began to speak, but John only heard to furious typing of his fingers. The clickity-clack of the keys spoke to him and he smiled as he typed the words I Am over and over again.
The professor’s topic: The Mormon Concept of Deity.
The university: Brigham Young; Provo, Utah.
The professor asked the question. “What does the it mean to omniscient? What does it mean when we say God knows everything?”
Red raised her hand and answered, “I don’t think he knows everything everything. More that he knows everything he needs to know to do His work.”
John Johanson raised his hand. The professor recognized him. John slightly titled the screen of his Powerbook so his profile was not obstructed by the laptop screen. “I must disagree. God must know everything. All the little details.” John brushed his right hand over his hair, just in case any strands had broken loose from the slicked-back hair-do. “That is simply the definition of God—to know every grain of sand, every hair on our head.”
The professor spoke, “Two views of omniscience. Raise your hands if you believe that there are things God does not know; yet he knows what he needs to in order to bring about his work.” Red and twelve of the twenty-seven students rose their hands. John looked around the room, his lips slightly moving has he counted those with raised arms. “And the other view? That God knows all the details, every single fact that there is to know,” The professor continued. John and thirteen of the students raised their arms.
John laid back in his seat, arm raised straight, a slight smile on his face.
“So, about fifty-fifty on the issue,” the professor observed. “Anyone else wish to make a statement.”
Ryan raised his arm. “I just think it is ridiculous to think that God knows at what time I’m going to brush my teeth today. Or even if I’m going to brush my teeth. I just think that is absurd that God with bother trying to figure such things out.”
John had closed the top of his laptop. He called out, “Professor Sorenson, can I illustrate my point with a diagram?”
The professor agreed and John walked down to the board in the middle of the class. He picked up a piece of chalk and drew a dot in the middle of the board. John cleared his throat and again smoothed back any potential loose hairs. “God is progress. Progression comes through the acquirement of knowledge.” John drew another point on the board, and continued to create dots in a pattern on the board as he spoke. “We know God is where he is because he progressed in knowledge. He could only become God until he had all knowledge to ensure His plans are carried out. Now we know that this knowledge can decrease as well as increase. Satan’s knowledge had decreased since he fell from heaven.” John then began connecting the dots into a spiral shape. “If God has not increased in knowledge to know everything, as you say there are things he can’t know, then he must be decreasing in knowledge.” He traced the spiral shape from the out circles to the small point in the middle of the spiral. “Therefore, you,” he said looking at Ryan, “Are claiming that God is digressing to that level of Satan. We know this cannot be true. Therefore,” John rested the piece of chalk on the ledge of the chalkboard, he raised his right arm into a right-angle, staring at Ryan, and said, “Get thee behind me Satan.”
Ryan began sobbing. He grabbed his book, notepad, and backpack, and ran out of the room crying. Jim, who was sitting next to Ryan, gathered his belonging and stood up. He looked right back at John and said, “That’s a bunch of crap.” Jim looked at the professor, who seemed to him like a lost animal. Jim then exited the class as well.
John stood standing in the middle of the class. No one, not even the professor spoke. Finally the professor cleared his throat and asked John to sit. John walked back to his seat, brushed his hair back with both hands, and raised the screen of his laptop. He began typing. He took a moment to stop typing and look around the classroom. No one was looking at him. The professor began to speak, but John only heard to furious typing of his fingers. The clickity-clack of the keys spoke to him and he smiled as he typed the words I Am over and over again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
