Easter Thoughts in September

I was going through one of my diaries today and found this little mini memoir I’d written back in the day. I can’t remember which one, so don’t ask.  It’s just perfect for a Monday.

 

There are days you look for incongruities and you find them, other times they find you. I’m an oddity myself, in this mission grown from adobe into a town. I look old, penniless and threadbare, my hair and beard like plants never turned and growing into the sun. I needed to be alone in a crowd today, so I went to a local eatery for coffee and rye toast.

I sit and observe.

The diner is done in a western ranch motif, nothing but cactus, and murals of cactus, and leftover tack from some dude-ranch gone bust. Yet, here there and everywhere, scattered among the cactus and tumbleweed are little oases of chachki eggs in pastel plastic baskets resting on plastic un-naturally green grass. It was if someone had ambushed the easter bunny and violently broken him open with a broomstick like some oversized pinata. The symbolism was irresistable. Immediately I thought, Christ is risen, and had a shopping spree at the first church of Wal-Mart. I often wonder what my first impulse would be on having been risen from the dead. Fortunately, I’m an atheist, and relatively free from the slavery of buying things to celebrate my holidays. A young woman and her son came in. He was in a white shirt, red tie, and proper slacks. He had new patent leather shoes and a cup or so of pomade in his carefully combed hair. She was wearing a sleeveless knee length dress highnecked in the front, fit it seemed, for the Fine Young Republicans Convention. I got a better look as she got closer. She was wearing flip-flops, and her toes were painted like gifts from the Cadbury Bunny, complete with glitter. Similarly, her fingernails offered a colorful counterpoint to the tats between her knuckles. Her hair was done up into what we used to call in the 60’s, a “beehive.” This particular hive had room for quite a few bees. I wondered if perhaps the B-52’s were in town, hosting an afterparty to sunday mass. She turned to speak to the waitress, who was gurgling and clucking over the young man’s finery, and if I were Mona Lisa, I’d have a smile. The back of the dress was cut clear to what plumbers often fail to cover up. It provided a soft cotton framework to what was possibly the most vivid and uninterrupted tattooing I’ve ever seen. There were skulls and knives, blood and barbed wire, hearts, viscera, candelabra, and banners containing possibly the secret location of Jimmy Hoffa. When she left, she said to her friend “I’ll see you after church.” “Happy Easter everyone!”
Perhaps they’ll all sing “Just as I am” at the altar call. I think she’ll be humming Frank’s “My Way” under her breath. If I were 50 years younger, and a lot less gay, I’d marry her.

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This entry was posted in atheism, Christmas/Religion, Hop Along Casually, Short Fiction and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Easter Thoughts in September

  1. judyt54 says:

    Christianity does seem to come in many colors these days, some of them tatoos…that is a funny, charming, slightly disturbing piece of writing.

    There does seem to be a fad these days for not one tasteful tatoo easily covered with a sleeve or a collar, but great blatant Event tatoos which always remind me of Ray Bradbury’s “Illustrated Man”, and they leave me weak with admiration–and horror–that anyone could go through that without needing a tranfusion or a stiff drink…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Carmen says:

    Oh, I loved that piece! Made me grin at the imagery!

    Liked by 1 person

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