Snow Angels
My friend Jimmy’s dad is taking me and him skiing for my eleventh birthday and I am frickin’ jazzed! Jimmy and I’ve known each other for two years now, since I moved to Sacramento, and I guess I’ve known Jimmy’s dad for two years too. He’s a nice guy I guess, and he says funny things like, “The holy spirit is in all of us, especially you children. I see Christ in all of you,” and things like that. Kinda weird if you ask me, but me and Jimmy think it’s kinda funny too. How adults use children to spread their ridiculous and illogical ideas without judgment or reproach, but with absorption? We get that. And I guess we know what he means too, cuz we are pretty divine.
When Jimmy told me that his dad wanted to take us skiing for my birthday, I was stoked. I mean, racing down a mountain on thin plastic slats? Amazing. I like slaloms the best. Bouncing back and forth between little ice-humps that, when timed perfectly, feel smooth and graceful. As if you’re being guided around their contours like water through a riverbed. It almost feels like it’s not me doing it, like I’m watching someone else do it. Or like someone comes down and takes control, not only revealing the correct path but pushing me along it. But of course it’s really me the whole time. I know cuz once I biffed it and broke my collar bone. Had to walk around in a sling for weeks.
Jimmy’s dad has a Suburban, all white and immaculate. Jimmy’s dad dresses in all white too. Come to think of it, Jimmy’s whole family dresses in all white! Huh! Can’t believe I didn’t notice that until just now. I guess I never really notice when something is weird until it’s gone and out of my face. Unless something is gross, like when Jimmy used to eat his boogers, then I notice it right away. Jimmy’s dad isn’t exactly gross, but he gives me that same feeling, like I kinda wanna puke. But maybe that’s just cuz he’s old.
Although this one time, Jimmy told me his dad wanted to take us to this awesome rock concert. So I put on my skinny jeans, and a ripped-up black denim vest with a Blink-182 button right next to my Misfits patch. I was ready to rock! But as soon as I climbed into that white Suburban, with that white, white family? I knew something was gross. When we got to Arco Arena, parked the car, and walked solemnly inside, I saw hundreds of people who looked exactly like Jimmy and his family. Some people were singing in high voices and foreign tongues. Others were huddling together and looking to the sky. A few were even crying and wringing their hands in an emotion so complex I couldn’t hardly identify it. It looked they were really happy, but also really sad at the same time! It kinda scared me.
When Jimmy’s dad handed me my ticket so that I could give it to the ticket-lady myself, I looked at the name printed long-ways across the front. It read, “Jars of Clay.”
I had no idea who that was and when I asked Jimmy’s dad who they were he said, “They’re just a spirited rock band with a positive message that I think you’ll savor.” When we walked in to get our seats I saw there was this big table out in front of the stage filled with hundreds of books. A sign hanging underneath the table read, “Free for New Believers!” Those same crazies from outside were streaming up to the table and taking books helplessly, eyes wet and glazed in their pallid faces, searching. I looked back at Jimmy and his family in horror as a man with an acoustic guitar walked on stage and started singing, “Open my heart, Lord, open my heart” over and over and over.
They beamed back at me expectantly. But what was I supposed to do? I didn’t want the Lord to open my heart! What does that even mean? “Go down and grab a Bible with the others, son,” Jimmy’s dad cooed, his benevolent face glowing righteously, “You need him in your life.” Shoot! I need him? All this time I’ve been walking around without this book that I needed? So I walked down to this big table and grabbed a little brown leather book. It felt nice, felt heavy. Had cool thin pages with gold all around the outside. I’m a pretty good reader, I mean I read Red Wall books all the time, but upon first glance this material seemed pretty boring.
When I got back to my seat next to Jimmy, Jimmy’s family expected more from me. I could tell by the way they looked over at me all the time. Like surveying me. I asked them what was going on. They asked me how I felt. I said I felt fine. They asked me what I thought about the book. I said it seemed like a nice book, I’d give it a shot. They didn’t like that. “What’s the big deal?” I asked, “I just got it two seconds ago. I’ll get back to ya!” Jimmy’s dad said something about actually reading it not mattering, but the feeling you get when you hear the words or something, but I couldn’t hear cuz the band started playing.
And man was I bummed. I felt betrayed and I think that rock music probably felt betrayed by association. People were putting their hands in the air and waiving them slowly from side to side. Chanting. Literally chanting for songs that lasted upwards of fifteen minutes. Occasionally people went on stage and were blessed. We, the audience, were blessed several times. People were blessing their neighbors and their families, and shooting blessings across the arena; there were blessings abound! Jimmy’s dad said I never got the full benefit of all these blessings though, cuz I kept getting up to, ‘go to the bathroom’. His scare-quotes, not mine. He said I went to the bathroom 23 times in total (I guess he was keeping track) which he said was an ominous number. I just told himthat the music made me feel funny, though, and he seemed pleased by that.
When the concert was over, everyone just got up, walked outside, turned on their cars and went home like it was the most normal thing in the world. I guess it was normal, nobody said it wasn’t. But it definitely felt gross. When I think about it, the music did give me a feeling. But not one that I liked. I felt watched, like my actions were being recorded and held against me. I ain’t so bad, am I? By all accounts I seem like a pretty stand-up guy. Made a couple mistakes, sure, but who hasn’t? Anyway, when they dropped me off at home for dinner, I didn’t know what to tell my mom and dad. “We went to a concert with a bunch of crying people,” I said, “and I got a new book!”
So that was the last time Jimmy’s dad took me and Jimmy somewhere. But this time’ll be different, it’s skiing! You don’t even have to talk to anyone when you’re skiing, it’s great! No words needed. You can just be by yourself riding along the slaloms thinkin’ about nothin’. Hold on... yeah, I think I hear Jimmy comin’ up the driveway!
___----___----___
A white Suburban pulls up the gravel driveway at 8766 N Spruce Ln. A little boy, Dougy Cartwright, sprints from the front door to the backseat of the Suburban on the passenger side. No more than four feet tall, he stands out because he’s dressed entirely in black. A man hops out of the driver’s seat to meet with Dougy’s father, Douglas. Dressed all in white, the driver looks scandalized by Dougy’s attire, but says nothing. Douglas and the driver put Dougy’s bag in the trunk and exchange a few amicable words. Things like: don’t worry he’s a good skier, just have him back by nine. And: no problem, Dougy’s a delight, he’ll be back in time for bed.
The men shake hands and the driver resumes his position at the helm. With a rumble the engine starts and the Suburban idles for a few seconds. Perhaps the driver is choosing a song, presumably a hymn of some kind, and then the SUV finds its gears and crunches its way out the gate. Let us all say a silent prayer for little Dougy.
___----___----___
“Alright, let’s go skiing!” Dougy exclaims as he enters the car. Jimmy immediately concurs by screaming inaudibly at the top of his lungs.
“Settle down now, Lord, you two are rambunctious,” Jimmy’s dad winces through a squished brow as he exits to speak privately for a minute with Douglas Sr. While they confer, the two boys have a moment to themselves,
“Duuuude, this is gonna be sweet, I haven’t been up to the mountains in forever.”
“I know man, this is gonna be unreal. Where are we goin’ first?”
“We’re goin to Sugar Bowl, right?
“Yeeeeee!”
“Well, we’ll go up Disney first, right? Camp there for a bit and see what happens. Is your dad gonna be with us the whole time, ya think?
“Shoot, I.D.K., it’s your birthday thing, he might wanna do something special or something?”
“Okay well, let’s ditch ‘em if we can. He a good skier?”
“Dece’”
“Word well we’ll see wh--”
And with that Jimmy’s dad reentered the vehicle, ending the conversation and beginning their sojourn. The journey’s first leg, as they made it out of Dougy’s suburb and out onto the open expressway, was serenely silent. Dougy looked out of the window as the flat arid ground became hilly and sprouted tall oaks and then rolled into a steady incline. Then the oaks turned into pines and other conifers, the air became colder, and snow spotted the ground in patches. A cold, clear river ran parallel to the road, tumbling over great jagged rocks and through staunch ice. Icicles hung from every edifice and birds gleamed in the morning mis--
“Have you read through your Bible yet, Dougy?” Inquired Jimmy’s dad, peering at Dougy in the rearview mirror.
Dougy blinked and fidgeted as though snapping out of something. “Umm...sorta, I’ve been skimmin’ it. Some of the stories are pretty cool, but a lot of it seems real, real boring. Like Zedekiah begat Obadiah and all that? Why’s that in there?”
“Well, it’s important for us to know the lineage of God’s children so that we may better understand where we come from and therefore, who we are today. Do you know that you are one of God’s children, Dougy?”
“I am?”
“We all are. All of us. Everybody. Every Christian in the world is one of His children, and He cares for us all like a Father.”
"But, my dad takes care of me like a father. God has never put me to bed, or made me dinner, or read to me.”
“God doesn’t provide for His children in the physical sense, Dougy. The Holy Father will take His children into the Kingdom of Heaven when we die, to live with Him forever and ever. Your dad can’t do that, can he?
Dougy looked somewhat perturbed by this question. “I dunno,” he shrugged, “how do I know that the Holy Father can?”
“It says He can right here in the Good Book,” Jimmy’s dad tapped the ratty leather-bound Bible he kept at arm’s length at all times, “if you’d bothered to read it.”
"Well Red Wall says that animals can talk, and that’s not true, so why does the Bible saying that God will take us to Heaven make that true?”
“Well, the people who wrote the Bible knew Jesus. Or knew people who knew Jesus or something—it doesn’t matter. Does Brian Jacques know Jesus, Dougy?”
“I dunno, maybe! He’s pretty cool!” At this, Dougy raised his arms in exasperation and threw his head back, making a disgruntled gurgling sound with his throat. “If I’m already white (and I’m already Christian, like you say) and I’m already going to Heaven, then why do I need to know all this?”
“Dougy, it is important for young men to develop personal relationships with our Lord and Savior. When the time comes you need to be able to draw upon His strength to defeat those who oppose His word. It’s not enough to just be white, Dougy, you’ve got to make sure that everybody knows you’re white.”
Jimmy’s dad’s voice had acquired a sermon-like cadence. It was rhythmic and hypnotic, as if the way he spoke was designed to distract from what he was actually saying. Dougy found it hard to focus, he kept shaking his head to stay on track. Jimmy turned red and scrunched down in his seat. Dougy couldn’t see how his being white and Christian could possibly matter. After all, he really had no choice in the matter. His dad had never rewarded him for things he couldn’t control. That’d be like celebrating diarrhea.
Frustrated, Dougy growled, “God, I just don’t se--”
“DO NOT use the Lord’s name in vane in this vehicle, Douglas!” Jimmy’s dad snapped, now glaring at Dougy in the rearview.
“Okay so that’s another thing I don’t understand. His name is God but I can’t say it? How can I have a personal relationship with someone if I can’t even say their name?”
“Do you know how many people say His name every day all day all over the world, Dougy? Can you imagine billions of people poking and prodding you, saying your name, vying for your attention?”
Dougy paused for a moment, squinting his eyes skeptically. “So… His children annoy Him? He’ll send you to Hell for trying to get his attention? What if we need help?”
“No, Dougy, our Lord’s forgiveness knows no bounds. He is a merciful and empathetic Lord, to be sure. He has patience for any lost soul seeking salvation.” Jimmy’s dad grew wistful and gestured limply, looking far into the distance. His face looked as if it were under a brilliant white light.
“Would He forgive the Muslims who did 9/11?” Dougy inquired hesitantly.
“Of course not Dougy, they’re Muslims. They have their own deity. Our Lord will surely smite them for praying to a false idol. But for now they sin with impunity, only to be cast into the pit of Hell upon their deaths. There they will writhe in sulfurous agony for eternity, shackled by chains of fire. Made a plaything, and forced to suck the Devil’s dick!”
“Jesus Chri--” reacted Dougy instinctively.
“That’s twice you have said His name in vain, Dougy, there will not be a third! Do we understand each other?”
“Yes sir, we underst--wait, Jesus and God are the same?”
“Yes they are all part of the Holy Trinity, but that’s not important right now, okay? Do you understand what’s at stake here? Do you know what’s at stake?”
Dougy shrugged absently.
Jimmy’s dad continued, eyes beginning to bulge, “Not just your soul, or my soul, Dougy, noooo. But humanity and the world itself! Right now, here on earth, roams the Anti-Christ. It could be anybody, it could be your precious Obama! But you rest assured he’s here now, plotting his takeover. The scripture’s say that first a man will rise to great prominence and amass many followers. He will claim to be the second-coming of Christ, almighty, to be bringing peace and comfort to the world. But he will only bring death and wretched famine! That’s how you know he’s coming! Death and famine! Why do you think we’re causing so much trouble over there in the desert? Because that’s where it starts! That’s where the Rapture begins! During the ensuing war, brought about by the Anti-Christ and his doomed legions, the sky will open up in Rapture, and all the Christians on earth will float into the clouds. Those left on earth will be beset by boils and rot. Forced to till the poisoned earth and to eat rats. To endure the loss of their friends and family and to know that an eternity of Hell awaits them when they depart their now grim world. But all the Christians will rise up into the sky and be greeted by Jesus Himself! The real Jesus this time! And with Him we will train, train with the sword and the shield to wage war upon the Anti-Christ and his Hell-bound army. Once we are ready, we will follow Jesus to earth and defeat the Anti-Christ. Jesus will destroy him in hand-to-hand combat as we, the holy, punish those who dare so brazenly to oppose us! It’s prophecy! It’s truth! It’s happening all around us, can’t you see? There are signs everywhere for those of us who know what to look for...We’re just waiting for the last sign, the four horseman, before the apocalypse begins for real. It could be literally any day now!” Jimmy’s dad was breathing heavily. Both boys stared horrified and agog. Jimmy’s dad brushed his hair back dramatically and adjusted his collar. “What I’m trying to say, Dougy, is that there isn’t much time left, okay? If you’re baptized one day too late, you’re done for, ya know? Don’t wanna miss the train. Okay, so here’s the deal: my son likes you and you seem like a generally good kid. I don’t wanna see you writhe for all eternity I mean you’re white for Christ’s sake! So look, I’ve brought some holy water with me, I say we get this over with right now.”
Jimmy’s dad took his right hand off the wheel and reached into this left breast-pocket, producing a small glass vial with a cork stopper. He yanked the stopper out with his teeth and turned around to face Dougy, his left hand still on the wheel.
“Quick and easy, baby, salvation on a budget. That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” Jimmy’s dad said, the words garbled in cork.
___----___----___
Swiveled almost 180 degrees, Jimmy’s dad flung holy water into Dougy’s mouth and eyes, baptizing and therefore saving him from eternal damnation. But as he did so, the violence of his fling caused his back to catch painfully (an old skiing accident) prohibiting him from rotating back into proper Suburban-operating position. In a panic, unable to see the road, boys bewildered, Jimmy’s dad slammed his left foot into what he prayed was the brake pedal. Instead, the car accelerated through a curve in the expressway and continued to gain speed until it collided right into a glorious old pine tree. Dougy and Jimmy were thrown through the windshield and from the vehicle like projectiles. But through some divine miracle, they were both wearing their ski helmets and landed in powdered snow, leaving them largely unscathed. As for Jimmy’s dad, I can only assume he’s in heaven training with Jesus or something.
