It is Risen

by H. Claire Taylor

  “And I was like, ‘My body my rules, bitch!’ He didn’t like that, but who cares? Not my fault he didn’t know how to pull out.”

  Jessica glanced up at the woman. She was toned, wore yoga pants and a shirt that Jessica assumed was created in an African village, though even as she assumed it, she knew it was a bit of a logical leap. The girl had her blonde hair pulled up into a high bun and leaned across the table toward her friend—like one might do when one didn’t want the entire cafe to hear—as she loudly explained the situation. Her golden-skinned friend looked on with mild interest.

  “So then Craig’s like, ‘it’s my baby, too,’ and I was like, ‘duh, why do you think I’m asking you to go halvsies with me on the procedure?”

  “Craig’s such a caveman,” said the friend.

  “God, right? Like, where can I find a woke man in this town?”

  They were using words she knew, but following along with the attached meanings was a different skill entirely. She went back to the book.

  I marvel at my resilience at such a young age, and I don’t believe I would be the man I am now had I been persuaded by an external source to believe I was special, blessed. I suspect I would have become deaf to my inner voice, the one that endures even to this day and doesn’t speak in trite pleasantries, but shows me through sensual means that I am, indeed, a crucial element in the dawn of a new age.

  I weathered each and every one of those swine-like men, for I knew in my heart that this was the test the Lord had sent for me, this was what He required I endure to ensure that I was strong enough to carry out His work later on.

  And I know now that I passed His trials. Each and every one of them, though I may have faltered temporarily along the way.

  The first of Deus Aper’s many trials was Dale. Dale was Greed. He moved into our ramshackle home, hardly more than a shanty, when I was but one year old, yet weaned off the breast of a reluctant madonna. Dale was on disability. The war had done him in, he said. My mother was on permanent disability after my biological father shot her through chest, pellets from the shotgun permanently damaging her right lung, causing her sighs to sound like the wind pushing open an old rusty gate at the end of a quiet country road.

  “We’re gonna be late for the march,” announced the blonde, standing abruptly and yanking Jessica’s attention back to her.

  “Fine,” said the golden-skinned friend, “but I need to grab some food for the road. You want anything?”

  The blonde hedged, nibbling her lip as she thought about it. “Nah. They don’t have any good vegan stuff here.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot you do that now. Well, I’ll meet you out by the bikes.”

  My mother was on permanent disability after my biological father shot her through chest, pellets from the shotgun permanently damaging her right lung, causing her sighs to sound like the wind pushing open an old rusty gate at the end of a quiet country road.

  Shit! It just didn’t make any sense! Jessica didn’t feel strongly one way or another on what women did with their bodies, and she was no expert on the self-sacrificing lifestyle of vegans, but from what she did know, they definitely shouldn’t be getting abortions, right? The illogic was numbing and irritating at once.

  … permanently damaging her right lung, causing her sighs to sound like the wind pushing open an old rusty gate at the end of a quiet country road.

  Seriously, though, how could a person object to eating a chicken’s unfertilized egg but then go and remove their own fertilized egg without any moral objection?

  Stop being judgmental.

  I’m not being judgmental. I’m just trying to be logical.

  “Shit.” Jessica closed the book. She’d thought she had a little momentum, but now it was ruined and she was more frustrated than before.

  KEEP READING, CHILD.

  I can’t focus.

  YES, YOU CAN. YOU JUST DON’T WANT TO FOCUS.

  Is any of this even true?

  YES. STRANGELY, MOST OF IT IS FACTUAL. AT LEAST THE EARLY CHILDHOOD.

  So, it’s a lie later on?

  PARTLY. BUT SO ARE MOST MEMOIRS. JUST WAIT TILL YOU GET TO HIS TIME IN CARLSBAD.

  What happened in Carlsbad?

  NO SPOILERS.

  Oh, now you’re all holier than thou about spoilers.

  NEWS FLASH. I AM ALWAYS HOLIER THAN THOU.

  How is he allowed to lie so much and get away with it?

  HUMANS ARE GENERALLY ALLOWED TO DO WHATEVER OTHER HUMANS DO NOT STOP THEM FROM DOING.

  Point taken. I’m going to do something about it.

  I SUGGEST YOU RUN WITH ENDURANCE THE RACE THAT IS—

  You know I hate running.

  She packed up her things, shoved a handful of pennies into her pockets for the trip, and headed back to the condo.

  It was time she gave Wendy Peterman a call …

  “You have to know a lawyer,” Jessica insisted, staring down at her laptop screen from the moderate comfort of her sleek living room couch.

  Wendy’s I-don’t-have-time-for-this expression stared back from her corner office in downtown Dallas. “Of course I do. If you must know, I’m dating two lawyers at the moment.”

  “Oh wow. I didn’t need to know that, but good for you, I guess.”

  “Very good, Jessica. Very good. But you’re still not suing Jimmy Dean. Not yet.”

  Jessica flopped back on the couch. “Why not? This is an open and shut case.”

  Wendy pressed her lips together. “Clearly, TV dramas have not done you good, Jessica. In real life, there’s no such thing as an open and shut case. The legal system is built so all a person can hope for is an open and maybe two years later settled out of court with shared fault case. Plus, you think Jimmy would commit such obvious libel without expecting you to sue? Have we met the same conniving narcissist? He’s baiting you. He wants you to sue.”

  “Really?”

  Wendy sighed. “Well, maybe. I honestly don’t know what he wants you to do yet. But trust me, I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. It’s not easy dating two lawyers, so I’m in as big a hurry as you are.”

  Jessica nodded, then paused. “Wait. Are you just dating them to get legal counsel on this?”

  “Duh. You think I’d pay the insane hourly rates for advice on a pro bono case?”

  Jessica wasn’t sure what to say. “Thanks for taking one for the team, I guess.”

  “It’s fine. They’re both skilled lovers. Although Devon is just a little too … I don’t know, clingy? So he’ll be the first to go. Listen, I have a meeting in five, so I gotta wrap this up. Here’s the plan. You’ve been neglecting Twitter and Instagram lately, so two birds with one stone: those are your platforms to dispute Jimmy’s claims. He can’t speak for you there; only you can. Your followers are hungry for word from you, and you’ll be able to cut off the rumors at the pass, since none of those people read books anyway. They’ve probably heard rumors and commentary at this point, but they haven’t heard directly from Jimmy through his book. You might still have time to set the record straight. Get them on your side.”

  “But the trolls—”

  “Trolls are like HPV, Jess. Everyone who’s lived a life worth living has them. They may flare up here and there, but the vast majority of them never amount to anything worth worrying about. Just ignore it and keep tweeting.”

  Wendy’s office phone buzzed beside her, and she glanced down at it. “Gotta go. Just do what I say, okay?”

  “Of course. Good luck with your—”

  Wendy’s face disappeared, replaced by black, before Jessica could finish.

  Okay, if Wendy was willing to date two lawyers to help the cause, Jessica could be better about social media.

  She snapped a picture of the book cover with her phone, drew the word “lies” over the image with her fingertip—that seemed like a very social media thing to do—and then started typing the caption: This foreword is 100% not by me. I’d never work with Jimmy. What a loser. Sad.

 
She read it a couple times. It didn’t sound like anything she’d actually say, especially that last bit, but she’d been an apt pupil of Twitter and Instagram lately, and she’d learned to code switch, so …

  She checked again for typos, then posted.

  The comments flowed in immediately. She checked Instagram first, hoping it could give her the support she needed to venture into darker social platforms …

  Baeatthebay I knew it! So happy rn.

  DrewskiBrewski512 Proud of you. Hope you’re doing okay.

  NativeTexaCali You go girl! Sue him for all he’s worth!

  claireorwhatevs I believe you.

  The support was nice. She’d take it, soak it in.

  Okay. Onto the next.

  She opened Twitter and already her notifications were in the dozens from people liking and RT-ing and replying to her post. She braced herself, trying to recall the Instagram love. Let it give me strength. Then she read the comments.

  Abortion Kween @FemDem97

  Replying to @therealmccloud

  when u kinda feel for a religious zealot bc she a victim of co-opted feminism

  Southern Fride @2fast3furious

  Replying to @therealmccloud

  only sad thing here is you bitch

  Christians 4 Jesus @stopmuslimists

  Replying to @therealmccloud

  quit ruining our country America is for Christains

  Jimmy4Prez @whitelightfight10

  Replying to @therealmccloud

  sumus omnes porcos u fat whoremunger pig oink oink!

  Ur New Daddy @crimsontablet

  Replying to @therealmccloud

  go fix me a sanwish

  She tossed her phone onto the couch beside her.

  Yep, she thought.

  Wendy was right. I guess I have HPV.

  Chapter Three

  Despite Miranda’s past insistence that the lighting in Jessica’s condo was perfect for this type of thing, it was proving impossible to get a shot of the damn cupcake that didn’t make it look like a big, mushy turd.

  She stepped back from the kitchen island where she’d staged her photo studio and reassessed.

  Maybe it wasn’t the lighting that was making this Instagram undertaking such a pain in the ass. She squinted at her creation.

  The cupcake looked remarkably like a brown turd.

  That’s what she got for trying to add chocolate on the inside.

  I should definitely learn how to bake.

  Didn’t matter. She’d mastered the art of a warm, moist chocolate chip cookie, so she grabbed one of those from the cooling rack, switched out her subjects, played around with the angles a bit, then snapped a series of photos. These were sure to garner plenty of social approval when paired with the hashtag #diditallforthecookie, though she wasn’t entirely sure why that should be amusing. Was there a double meaning she was missing?

  God, in all His finite wisdom, had suggested the hashtag that morning during His daily motivational lecture. She figured that listening to him on this one rare occasion—not about His intended topic of safe food handling, but about the hashtag—was easier than trying to think of something clever for herself.

  Staring at the picture on her phone, she wished for the thousandth time that her personal branding wasn’t so literal. Her browned face stared back at her from the top of the cookie, winking in a way she might expect from a man at a bar thirty seconds before he slipped something in her drink.

  She selected a filter and posted the photo, and the notifications came flowing in immediately.

  With great effort, she set her phone facedown on the counter and ignored the feedback.

  The timer beeped and she walked over to the oven, pulling out a small sheet of warm yeast rolls.

  While she let them cool, she returned to her phone and, her impulse control failing her completely, scrolled through the comments, despite knowing it was a terrible idea. Even on Instagram, a mean one would crop up every dozen or so comments. There was no safe place.

  The first few were encouraging, though, saying the cookie looked good and Jessica’s image looked beautiful on it. One even posted a crying emoji that Miranda had previously explained meant someone was laughing so hard they were crying, and not that Jessica had actually made someone cry. Her hashtag even got some love, which she knew pleaseth the Lord greatly.

  Then the trolls arrived.

  WhiteLightPower Your baking is a mockery of Jesus. You will burn in hell. The only thing of yours I want to eat is you know what.

  She yanked the phone away from her face, her eyes remaining glued to the comment.

  What the hell? No! I don’t know what! What of mine do you want to—oh.

  SumusOmnesPorkHer Typical woman stays at home and bakes and makes the man do all the real work. Jimmy4Prez!

  She cursed, put down the phone, and returned to her yeast rolls, which seemed much less appealing now.

  Ignore the HPV trolls. Everyone has them. They don’t mean anything. They just want to make me mad.

  She stared down at the rolls and hovered her hands above them, shutting her eyes. Her miracling had improved tremendously over the past few days of practice. Before that, it’d been a while since she’d last performed a miracle of any sort, but it was just like riding a bike—one she didn’t necessarily have the ability to steer but stayed upright and kept from going into traffic nonetheless.

  She breathed into it and felt the tide of her power flow through her body and down her arms.

  Does Jimmy know about these trolls? Does he do anything to stop them? Or does he encourage them?

  She felt the energy tug free of her left hand out of sync with her right, pulling her attention back toward the divine task. When she opened her eyes, she groaned.

  While they were now gluten-free, her fixation on Jimmy had managed to screw up the batch.

  Each image that stared back at her—and some that didn’t stare in any particular direction—looked like someone had taken a picture of her when she’d least expected it. On one, she was clearly caught blinking. Another had her mouth lulling open, one eye drooping, and yet another had a chunk of her ash brown hair blowing in front of her face.

  And so was the truth of her miracles—focus wasn’t a necessary component, but a lack of it usually ended with her looking stupid.

  As she scanned the images, not a single one was usable for Instagram, and anger swelled inside her at the waste of an entire batch. Well, she supposed she could still eat them while watching trash TV. Yeah, that would work.

  I wonder if Law & Order is on.

  Of course it was. But TV would come later. For now, there was a singular task she needed to complete, and stat. (Law & Order would still be on whenever she got around to it.)

  Grabbing her phone, she scrolled through her list of missed calls until she found the one with the right area code and pressed talk.

  There was a single ring, hardly enough time for her to realize this was a terrible idea, before a familiar voice greeted her on the other end of the line.

  “Jessica, dear child! What a pleasant surprise to hear from you! How is Austin? I’ve heard it’s a city of sinners.”

  “Cram it, Jimmy. Are you sending trolls after me online?”

  He tsked. “Jessica, daughter of Deus Aper and light in this dark life, I would never send hate to you in any way, shape, or social media form.” His voice lowered, growing somber. “But yes, I have heard of the torment you’ve endured from anonymous accounts claiming to have an affiliation with White Light. It’s such a shame.”

  “I hate you. Just wanted to reiterate that. Also, have you done anything to discourage those people from tormenting me?”

  Waiting for a response, all she heard was Jimmy mumbling indistinctly to someone else.

  “Wait,” she said. “Where are you? You’re clearly putting on a show.”

  Balls, I should have picked up on that sooner. This is Church Jimmy.

  “Oh Jessica, the one they call Christ
, I’m just sitting here with my friend Leonard Oberhausen, chatting about the book.” He chuckled. “I guess I should specify. My book, although I can see why you would assume I meant the Good Book. And by the Good Book, I mean Biblio Deus Aper.”

  As he continued to laugh airily at his stupid comment, Jessica struggled to recall where she knew that name from. Leonard Oberhausen … It was like she could hear someone saying it. Leonard himself, maybe. Yeah. She could imagine someone saying, “I’m Leonard Oberhausen.”

  Oh crap.

  “You’re giving an interview right now?!”

  “Oh yes, this is all on camera, though I suspect they’ll only include snippets of it.” He whispered, clearly not to her, “She’s a little camera shy for obvious reasons, but she says hello.”

  “Call off the dogs, Jimmy. At the very least you’re allowing the trolls to multiply. You might even be working with them. I don’t know. But make it stop. I know you can do that.”

  “And then what, dear child?”

  “What do you mean …?” She struggled to read between the lines. Jimmy couldn’t be regular awful Jimmy when he was on camera, but he was obviously trying to communicate a regular-awful-Jimmy message to her nonetheless. He wasn’t stupid, so he’d know she wouldn’t answer the phone if he called back later.

  And then what? Ah. He wanted to know what she’d do for him. That wasn’t a huge breakthrough, since he always wanted to know that.

  “And then we’ll see. Just do it, Jimmy. For the love of my father, just do the right thing for once in your stupid, dumb life.”

  He laughed. “Oh Jessica, you’re such a joker. Yes, I love you back. Tell your promiscuous mother hello for me and that I’m praying for her every night.”