Stephen Valand
Jesus at Marshalls

Jesus bought a comb at Marshalls, but the cashier charged him a dollar and thirty cents. The comb was only eighty-four cents. He didn't notice the extra charge because of the cans of Mountain Dew he was buying. It just slipped his mind at the moment. He went back to the cashier before he got into his Volvo. Jesus loved his Volvo. He always said, "What would Jesus drive? A Volvo. Oh yeah." People got a little annoyed at Jesus whenever he did this, or pretty much whenever he did anything. He acted a little like a frat boy, and everyone knew it. Whenever he went to a party, he turned the sinks into beer taps, and after changing the water into wine, he chugged it. Now, it has started to get a little awkward. Jesus has been getting older like everyone does. He is starting to go through his mid-life crisis, considering that he did get the Volvo convertible. He was starting to realize that he couldn't keep mooching off of his father. He really has to get out into the workplace and do something for himself. "I did do some carpentry for a while, but I can't see myself doing that for the rest of my life. I have a bad left knee; it just wouldn't work," he would always think to himself. His father paid for his Volvo convertible; everyone knew that, and that started to bother him. It also bothered him that he bought this new comb, but his hair is starting to fall out. Jesus' hairline was receding, and it tore him up inside. In the mirror, he saw himself dying. He started to realize that he had wasted his life, and that all he had amounted to was sitting in the parking lot of a Marshalls, crying on his steering wheel, being overcharged forty-six cents on a comb that is losing its worth every time he takes a shower and sees the stray hairs stuck to his hand. Jesus sat in the car, crying and drinking his Mountain Dew. "This isn't what was supposed to happen," he told himself. "Dammit. Dad said it would be different. Why did I listen to him and go to Penn State?" Jesus saved his receipt that day, and used the forty-six cents to buy a pack of Big Red gum. He wished he had an extra quarter in his pocket, but he didn't. He really wanted the Milky Way bar.

Jesus at Target

Jesus stood in the fourteenth aisle of the Target store by my house, near the home appliances, but not near the microwaves and toaster ovens. Microwaves and toaster ovens were in the electronics department. I saw Jesus pushing his shopping cart up and down the aisles, looking for something. He couldn't seem to find it. He couldn't find whatever it was he was looking for. I tried thinking about what it was he wanted. What could Jesus have wanted out of Target?

The Target by my house has anything you could imagine. I once bought a desk lamp there for seven dollars. The day that I bought a desk lamp, that one day, that is when I started to believe in miracles. It was perhaps one of the defining moments of my life. I went to Target searching for something, and then I looked to the left and saw a box of Triscuits in the snack aisle, the snack aisle in aisle six, not the snack aisle in aisle eleven. They are different aisles with very different assortments of snacks. I didn't buy the Triscuits, but I did look to my right, and on my right, I saw a desk lamp. It was seven dollars. I bought it. I needed a desk lamp. In my mind, I knew that I needed a desk lamp, but I didn't truly know it until I went to Target. I could read my book when it was dark outside because of the desk lamp.

Nothing was the same after that visit to Target. I saw things more clearly. I saw things more illuminated, not only because I had a desk lamp, but because I was a whole new person. When I see things and see people, I try to get into their minds. I try to see through them. I tried this when Jesus walked into Target.

I wanted to see what was in Jesus.

He stood there in his sandals and long robe cascading majestically to his ankles. It was white silk with a belt holding it shut. I would have thought it was odd if it weren't Jesus. I guess, growing up in New Mexico, I just got used to seeing things like that. I don't know why, but it just seemed like he belonged in New Mexico. I wanted more than anything to go up to him and ask him a question. I didn't know what I wanted to ask him, but I knew that he knows everything there is to know. I could have asked him anything, or I could have asked him for an autograph and sold it. I wondered how much Jesus' autograph would sell for on Ebay. Would it go for more money if I had him sign a baseball bat? I should have brought a baseball bat to Target on that day.

I watched Jesus longer. He brought his scarred hand up to his chin and lightly scratched it. Jesus had an itch. He was vulnerable in a way that only Jesus could be. He grazed the shelves of Target with one hand and used the other to push his shopping cart filled with toilet paper and dog food. As he walked, his flowing hair danced on his back, making me wish I could have touched it. I thought that if I could only touch his hair, that I could learn something. I could have learned something about myself and learned something about Jesus. Learning something about Jesus became my mission for that moment. After I bought my desk lamp, learning about Jesus was one portion of my mission in life.

Jesus came to a stop. He must have noticed something he thought he liked. He wanted a toaster. He perused the vast selection of toasters. Each one was different in some way or another. He almost immediately passed over the ten-dollar toaster. That was the cheapest variety. He then passed over the fifteen-dollar toaster. He wanted a good toaster. At home, we always used the second-to-worst toaster. We always bought the second-to-worst everything. Having that made us not the worst; we were better than someone. That was important in our family. I thought Jesus would do the same, not because he needed the reassurance, but because it just made sense. What did he want out of a toaster? Make toast, did he want something more? I had no idea.

Jesus passed every toaster. The prices got higher and higher. I thought it was getting out of hand. Why was Jesus doing this? Why was he getting the expensive toaster, when all he needed to do was make toast? They all did that, not just the expensive ones. I tried rationalizing for Jesus. I thought to myself that maybe he needed a four-slice machine for the family, or if he held house parties rather often. But no, he didn't get a four-slice toaster. He looked at the toasters more and more as the prices went up, going quickly from the fake Target brands to brands like GE and Panasonic. He looked at the wide-slot toaster. I thought that maybe he just needed a toaster that he could toast bagels with. He didn't get it though.

Jesus bought a toaster at Target.

It was a normal toaster made by a real brand that cost forty-five dollars. Jesus strolled to the cash register with his shopping cart filled with toilet paper, dog food, and one over-priced toaster. Jesus looked at the covers of the tabloids on the rack while waiting in line. He didn't buy any, but put back each one after he flipped through the pages. After the cashier scanned his items and asked for the money, Jesus pulled out his wallet and gave the woman a debit card. The woman asked for identification. Jesus looked at her, and in one fluid motion, snapped his fingers, pointed to himself, and said, "Jesus."

Jesus is a jerk, I thought to myself. That angered me. I didn't want to get inside his head anymore. I didn't want to know what Jesus was thinking, or what he knew. I wanted Jesus to get hit by another car as he drove away in his Honda Accord that his father must have bought him. I didn't like Jesus anymore. I want to turn off my desk lamp.

Ted

Nobody trusted Ted. Ted tried figuring out why people distrusted him. He asked his friends why people shot momentary glances at him strangely. He wondered why people, even his friends, didn't trust him with normal tasks. Some people told him that it must have been because of his constant smirk, or maybe he just never got very close to the people that he wanted to trust him. Ted became frustrated easily. He just wanted someone to ask him if he could do something for him or her. It would have made his day if someone just asked him to tape something on television because his friend would be out of town. It would have made his life.

This was not that crazy of an idea, he thought. He always saw people doing things for others and getting hugged for it. Ted wanted a hug. He wanted someone to thank him. He wanted to pretend that it was nothing, when in actually, it was Ted walking two miles alone in the cold to buy blank tapes so he could tape a show for his friend. Ted wanted to be taken advantage of. Only if people used him, would he be happy. He was like the needle nose pliers that are hardly used. They just sit at the bottom of the toolbox begging to be used, begging to be needed.

It was unclear if Ted actually knew the real reason why people didn't trust him to do things. To everyone else, it was crystal clear.

Ted was a midget.

People would never ask anything from a midget. Midgets are inconvenienced enough, they all thought to themselves. This wasn't true. Ted still wanted to be inconvenienced. Only after being used, would he feel like a regular person.

Ted walked down the street to buy milk. He was getting skim milk because last time, he bought two percent, and it was spoiled. Ted looked at each person's face that passed his. He examined the crevices and reflections on each person's flesh. He thought that only in examining their outsides, could he feel as though he was a person too, not just a disgruntled milk-carrying midget. He stared into the eyes of each person. When the other person looked over at him, he would immediately avert his gaze. Being a midget, one would think many people would have looked at him, but that was never the case. People were afraid to look at a midget. Looking at them would have inconvenienced them. This was the major mission of anyone on a New York City street. Go about your business. Don't bother anyone. Breathe and walk, and you will breathe again.

Ted reacted the same way with other people with their own sets of problems. If he saw an amputee, he would look away. If he saw someone using sign language, he would look away. He was caught up in all the others' way of dealing with the bizarre.

On the day he bought the milk, Ted noticed a blind man walking next to him. The blind man rhythmically tapped his walking stick on the concrete ground and wore dark sunglasses over his eyes. Ted looked at him, and hastily averted his gaze, but then he looked back at the blind man. He looked a little longer this time. His eyes locked on the blind man. He wasn't sure if what he was doing was right or not. Did it go along with his long list of rationalized principles, like going hungry because seventy-five cents was too much money for a candy bar?

He was staring at a blind person. That had to be wrong, but at the same time, the blind person couldn't tell he was being stared at. This moment was entirely liberating for Ted. He was looking at something he shouldn't have been looking at. He was staring at the sun and his retinas weren't bleeding.

The blind man and Ted reached the end of the sidewalk. They both needed to cross the street. The blind man called out for someone to assist him. It was a busy intersection and probably best he didn't do it alone. Ted jumped at the chance and scampered over to the blind man. Ted reached up and placed his hand at the small of the back on the blind man as he guided him across the street.

Ted felt like he was something more than a midget at that single moment in time. He was so much more; he was just a man. He was satisfied with himself and with life. He went home after that day and drank his milk not as a midget, but as a blind man.

He felt like a ferocious blind warrior traveling throughout the land performing tasks for others. He didn't take into consideration the fact that he was an overweight midget that could see and had not left New York in the past three years. This didn't faze him. He was something more than he was the day before that one. He bought milk, and he liked it. He felt life, and he loved it.

<< Back to Issue 5, 2003