Chapter Two
You hear rapid footsteps coming down an intersecting street ahead of you. Puzzled and alarmed, you stop dead in your tracks, petrified with fear. You can’t load your britches because you haven’t eaten for days, but you nearly piss what’s left of your pants when a healthy, muscular, well dressed young fellow rounds the corner and approaches you, smiling from ear to ear. As he draws near, he calls out your full name in the clearest, most distinctive, masculine voice you have ever heard. He greets you with the firmest, friendliest, sincerest handshake you have ever known.
Though you are taken aback, something deep inside your soul leaps in joyous recognition, belying your bewilderment. Who is this guy? Where did he come from? He looks like a million bucks, and he’s genuinely happy. You haven’t seen such joy emanate from a human countenance since, well, ever. You sense that his cheerful demeanor is only the tip of the iceberg, revealing but a wee glimpse of the profound joy that permeates every fiber of his being.
Though you take him for a complete stranger and a bit of a lunatic, he obviously knows exactly who you are, and he is not the least bit offended by your cautious astonishment. He hugs you and slaps your back cheerily as he introduces himself as your grandfather.
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot! Your grandfather? Right. He’s only been dead for decades. You went to his funeral when you were a young teenager. He was crippled and frail and ninety-seven years old when he finally croaked. This strapping young fellow standing in front of you is barely in his twenties, strong and handsome, perfectly groomed and clean shaven, and undeniably straight. He exudes a sound mind, steady resolve, perfect confidence, and a robust sense of moral uprightness. He’s no ghost. He’s solid, sturdy, and very much alive.
His war wounds from the 1940s are gone. Nary a scar. And he has hair. Thick, healthy, well trimmed hair. He might as well have been a famous actor as a wounded, tired, old soldier who withered away and died of cancer and diabetes.
A few minutes later, you glimpse a pretty, young girl in the cutest summer dress walking calmly toward you and this fellow who claims to be your grandpa. This adorable girl can’t be a day over seventeen years old, picture perfect, tidy, modest and well mannered. She is the epitome of purity and grace.
Exuding a seemingly paradoxical combination of childlike innocence and the wisdom of eternity, she is not the least bit afraid or put off by the perilous, sinister, squalid environment that surrounds you. Nor does the fellow seem to feel there is anything capable of harming her, any threat from which he would need to protect her. This evidenced by the fact that he left her a hundred yards behind when he came running to greet you.
You can't help but stare. You catch your breath. Just before you give in to the temptation to develop a full blown crush on the girl, the fellow standing next to you with his arm around your shoulder lights up with a whole new level of youthful exuberance. He smacks the back of your head in good-natured horse play and says, “Grandson, meet the love of my life, my dear, eternal wife, your grandma!”
She curtsies and greets you with the sweetest smile and the most feminine, angelic voice ever to grace your ears. Her radiant beauty tugs tears out of your eyes and evokes tender emotions you never knew the human heart could feel.
Your jaw drops. Hotel ... Foxtrot ... Sierra! You dare not say that out loud in her presence. Her very being makes you want to clean up your language and be a better man.
Still baffled speechless, your gut tells you these two strangers are not strangers, but are indeed who they claim to be. One nutty, over exuberant guy alone may not entirely convince you, but with this girl as a second witness, you know to the core of your soul what is true, though your mind still has trouble processing the reality of it.
Welcome to your first encounter with resurrected beings. Mark my words; you will be seeing a lot of them in a few decades, so wrap your mind around it now.
Post Omerican Easter Page 2
