Nu Alpha Omega

by H. Claire Taylor

  “Fancy seeing you here,” she said dryly to her half-brother. “Oh please, don’t give me that look. It’s not my fault you crash naughty dreams. Save your judgment.”

  Jesus shrugged. “You don’t know that I was judging.” He leaned to the side to get a peek at Chris.

  Jessica glanced over her shoulder where Chris scrambled to cover himself with his balled up T-shirt before swallowing hard. “Sorry, sir.”

  Jesus returned his attention to his little sister. “Fun time’s over in college, Jessica.”

  “Uh, maybe you haven’t been following along, but fun time hasn’t even started for me in college.”

  “I’m unsurprised. College is full of meanies.”

  Jess nodded. “Not arguing with you there. Is that why you’re here? To tell me things I already know?”

  “No. Oh, well, actually, yes. But not about meanies. About your purpose in this world.”

  Always so serious, that one. It seemed wrong not to do what she could to fluster him. “My purpose? What was that again?”

  He stared at her sternly. “To bring peace to the United States.”

  “I’ll help,” said Chris from behind her. “I’ll help, Jesus, sir.”

  Jesus nodded mercifully. “That’s nice of you. Now Jessica—”

  “Yes?”

  “You need to get to work. There are plans in motion that could completely devastate the United States if they come to pass.”

  “Like what?”

  “That is for you to figure out.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I swear to— I don’t even know what I need to fix, but I’m somehow supposed to get to work fixing it?”

  “Yes. There is time for you to discover more miracles that will help you on your path, but you need to, you know, actually give a damn. Well, not literally. Although, maybe literally here and there.”

  “Oh … my …” Chris’s voice broke in. “I just realized.”

  Jessica turned toward him. “Realized what?”

  But he was staring past her, straight at Jesus. “It’s your birthday.”

  Jesus shifted uncomfortably. “Well, technically, no—”

  Chris was undeterred. “Should I sing ‘Happy Birthday’? Or maybe ‘Away in the Manger’? Or—”

  “Nope, no need. We’ll talk later. Bye, Chris.” Jesus snapped his fingers and Chris disappeared in a puff of powdery white, which hovered over the driver’s seat before eventually settling on the T-shirt that had covered Chris’s dong.

  Jesus returned his attention to Jessica. “I hate people singing to me.”

  “Even ‘Happy Birthday’?”

  “Especially ‘Happy Birthday.’”

  Jess nodded. “Same. But now that people actually know when my birthday is, I’d take a ‘Happy Birthday’ over the crap people on YouTube came up with last year.”

  Jesus frowned knowingly. “Trust me. It doesn’t get any better for a while. But eventually they’ll completely forget what they’re supposed to be celebrating, and you’ll be forgotten and can be left alone again.”

  “How long does that take?”

  He shrugged. “A thousand years if you’re lucky.”

  “A thousand …! I’ll be dead by then.”

  He chuckled. “We should hope so. But listen, it could be a lot sooner before they stop even worrying about your real birthday and start celebrating it whenever suits their vacation time.” He leaned an elbow on the window and lowered his voice, which Jessica didn’t understand, given the circumstance. “You want to know a secret?”

  “Um …” She gave the question serious thought, because Jesus secrets seemed a big deal. “No.”

  “My birthday isn’t in December.”

  “Okay.”

  “You want to know when it is?”

  “Nope.”

  “The first day in April.”

  “April first?”

  He nodded and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Pisces.”

  “Then why does everyone celebrate it in December?”

  He straightened up. “A million different reasons, but I think the pagans had a role to play. They always did throw the best parties. Bless those poor suckers.

  “The point is that you’ll eventually get to celebrate your birthday in peace.”

  “But I’ll probably be dead by then, right?”

  He chuckled. “Oh yeah.”

  “So how did you deal with it each year?”

  He gazed up at the space above her head as his eyes glazed over with memory. Then finally he said, “Nobody really cared about it.” He refocused on her. “Until the end, that is. Then they kept pestering me about it, you know, when it was clear I was doomed and they figured they should pull together some of the stories. But by that time, we all kind of knew the score, and they weren’t happy when I told them it was the day after I was gonna be, well, you know … crucified.”

  “Oof, yeah. That’s awkward.”

  “Tell me about it. They felt pretty bad, so Peter threw me a nice birthday dinner ahead of time. Great bunch of guys. I tell ya. You should find yourself a group like that.”

  “Followers?”

  He nodded.

  “I already have five hundred thousand on Twitter.”

  He stared at her blankly and blinked. “That’s probably too many.”

  She shrugged, making sure to keep Chris’s coat in place.

  “Maybe narrow it down a little bit but then get to work. The United States isn’t going to fix itself, that’s for sure.”

  And with a snap of his fingers, Jessica woke up in a dark room to the sound of Destinee’s bedpost tapping rhythmically against the wall.

  She looked at the clock and, sure enough, it was Christmas morning.

  Whatever that actually meant.

  The girl in the seat next to Jessica typed away on her tablet, seemingly oblivious to anything else going on in the auditorium. She’d paused from her technoabsorption just long enough to smile smugly at Jess as she’d taken her seat next to the girl at the very back of the Intro to Philosophy class, and knowing only those two facts about her, Jess felt okay about hating the bleach-blonde bitch.

  Twenty rows down, standing by the lectern at the front of the class was Ms. Gershwin. Not doctor, not professor, but miss. As Ms. Gershwin had explained right off the bat, either as a disclaimer or a stern warning, she wasn’t a professor; she was a graduate assistant who had to teach this class if she wanted to become an associate professor eventually. Nothing about any of this seemed to thrill her, and Jessica had half a mind to chat with her after class about a career change, but that seemed like more effort than it would be worth.

  The girl next to Jessica scoffed, and when Jess looked down at the tablet, she peeped into the messaging conversation the girl was having with someone named Jill.

  Jill says: So y’all banged?

  You say: If he’s so small you can’t feel him enter you, does it count?

  Jess grimaced and looked away but supposed the question might actually have enough philosophical undertones to count as staying on topic.

  Except the topic wasn’t yet anything philosophical. They were going over the syllabus. At 8am. On the first day of classes. It seemed unfair, and she struggled to keep her eyes open as Ms. Gershwin danced through class expectations, attendance policy, and the grading scale, which Jess didn’t much bother listening to, since it was presumably on the piece of paper in front of her. If only she could get her eyes to focus on the piece of paper to confirm.

  “Okay, so we’ll jump right into things next week with the philosophy of religion, beginning with Thomas Aquinas.”

  LOVE THAT GUY.

  Jessica pinched the bridge of her nose. Nope. Too early.

  OH COME ON. THIS IS THE GOOD STUFF.

  “Good” would be if you didn’t shout inside my skull when I’m tired, have allergies, and it’s eight fifteen.

  “We’ll also examine arguments for and against the existence of God, beginning with—�
�

  “Atheist!” a male voice from the crowd shouted as an indictment.

  Jess startled to alertness, scanning the room, trying to follow the direction of everyone’s eyes until she could locate the shouter.

  A corn-fed boy in a blue and black letterman jacket finally stood and faced the teacher. Jess felt a fight or flight response surge through her body, but she wasn’t sure why, only that it was there and more often than not, she ended up needing it.

  Ms. Gershwin set her copy of the syllabus down on a desk and folded her arms across her chest, unshaken.

  Jessica was impressed.

  “What’s your name?” Ms. Gershwin asked the irate manboy.

  “Lucas.”

  “Well, Lucas, I’m not an atheist. If anything, I’m agnostic.”

  Jessica couldn’t see his face from where he stood a dozen rows below her, but she could hear the shock in his voice as he said, “A devil worshipper?”

  “What?” Ms. Gershwin asked, her face screwing up with confusion. “No, not a devil worshipper. But you know what? My beliefs aren’t important in this setting. We’re discussing the views of others, and that doesn’t mean you have to adopt those beliefs as—”

  “I feel persecuted,” said another voice, this time a girl’s, and she stood up next to Lucas in the crowd. “I will not stand here and let my and my fellow Christian’s beliefs be subject to ridicule.”

  Does she know more than just Christians believe in you?

  ANNABEL? NO. SHE DOESN’T KNOW A LOT OF THINGS.

  Gershwin shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. “I’m not denying the existence of God. We’ll simply be talking about—”

  “Blasphemy,” Annabel said. “You’re talking about blaspheming and trying to drag all of us through the mud with you.”

  At the mention, a suspicion bloomed in Jessica’s mind, but God nipped it in the bud.

  NOT ALL OBNOXIOUS PEOPLE GO TO WHITE LIGHT.

  You mean there are people as bad as those at White Light all over the state?

  TRY WORLD. AND YES. MANY EVEN WORSE.

  Well, that was officially the bleakest news Jessica had received in a month, Jesus dream included.

  Is it wrong to debate the existence of you?

  OH ME, NO. I ENJOY THE SHOW. IT IS ONE OF THE RARE OCCASIONS WHEN THE HUMAN BRAIN DOES NOT UTTERLY DISAPPOINT ME.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Ms. Gershwin said patiently. “I don’t want anyone to—”

  “Are you kidding me?” a boy’s voice from only a row in front of Jessica shouted. She looked down at him in his faded flannel button-down left open either for comfort or to reveal his Flaming Lips shirt, Jessica wasn’t sure. “You’re going to let closed-minded Christians bully this entire class?” This boy remained seated, presumably because he thought he was too cool to bother standing up. Something about his smugness reminded her of Greg, and she wanted to tell him to shut the hell up.

  But she was no idiot. This was not a fight she wanted any part of. So she commanded her spine relax enough that she could melt lower in her chair and hope this shitstorm passed soon. Except it only seemed to be warming up.

  “Please,” Lucas shouted back. “There’s a difference between bullying and standing up for what’s right. Bullying is what happens to Christians on this campus every single day.”

  Ms. Gershwin tried to step in. “Please, everyone just—”

  “Are you kidding me?” demanded the cool boy. “When are you persecuted? The university has a student center just for Christians. A public university! Tax-payer money went into building that place just for Christians so y’all could sit around, sing your uninspired songs, and talk about how persecuted you are!”

  “Stop it!” Gershwin demanded, raising her voice, and for the moment, it worked. “There will be plenty of time to discuss—notice I said discuss, not argue—these things later. Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you’re all out of high school now. You don’t get to live in a bubble. You have to hear other people’s opinions, and you don’t get to shout at random times. If you have a question, you can raise your hand.”

  The persecuted pair sat down and Gershwin held her rigid posture as she grabbed the syllabus again, held it in front of her face for a few silent moments and then sighed. “Okay. Next section.”

  A hand went up toward the front of the audience, and Gershwin looked up, saw it, sighed again, and said, “Yes?”

  Though Jessica could only see the back of the girl’s head, she recognized the voice instantly. It was sweet like antifreeze and smooth like the flat of a knife blade. “What about Jessica?” Courtney Wurst asked.

  “Who?” Gershwin asked.

  “Jessica McCloud. You know, the one who thinks she’s the daughter of God. Shouldn’t we have some rules about her?”

  Jessica’s heart sank in her chest. Why did she even bother? She’d made it to class early, hurried to the back of the empty auditorium, and buried her head in a book to avoid notice.

  Heads started to rotate left to right, looking for where the famed Jessica McCloud could be sitting. Even Gershwin seemed interested, and Courtney did her the favor of turning in her chair and pointing directly at Jessica.

  She felt the heat of a three hundred gazes homing in on her.

  “Trust me,” Courtney continued, “I went to high school with her. She’s an oppressive force. If you say anything she doesn’t like, she makes you pay.”

  So no smiting her now, I guess.

  I WOULD HATE TO SEE YOU PROVE HER RIGHT.

  Might be worth it.

  I HAVE CLEANED UP BIGGER MISTAKES. EARTHQUAKES ARE GREAT FOR THAT, ACTUALLY. AND WE ARE ON A FAULT LINE …

  Please no.

  Everyone was staring at her and God was talking about earthquakes. Had her heart ever beat so quickly? She needed to say something. Her mouth hung open. “I promise not to do that. I mean, I wouldn’t want to do that anyway. I just—”

  “I don’t feel safe!” a brand new voice shouted, contributing nothing positive to the conversation.

  “I’m not doing anything!” Jessica demanded. She turned her gaze to Gershwin. “Seriously, I’m not going to say anything. I promise I won’t ever speak.”

  “My parents aren’t paying thousands of dollars for me to take classes under an oppressive religious regime,” cool guy said, standing, grabbing his backpack and heading through a gauntlet of legs until he reached the aisle and headed for the door.

  Gershwin stared at him incredulously until he was through the double doors of the auditorium, at which point she shot Jessica an accusatory glare.

  “If my parents knew I was enrolled in a godless class like this with the Antichrist herself …” Lucas said, neglecting to actually state what his parents might do if they knew. Maybe it was unfathomable. Jess hoped it was something involving a spanking or beating.

  He stood, grabbed his things, and also left the classroom with Annabel only a step behind him.

  As Jessica watching them go, not sorry to be rid of them, but knowing it was only the first rumbles of an avalanche, she caught sight of the girl next to her from the corner of her eye and turned her full attention toward the sex philosopher. The girl cradled her tablet to her chest like it was her baby.

  “I’m not gonna bite,” Jess spat quietly.

  The girl stood up, grabbed her oversized purse and left the classroom.

  “You’ll be hearing from my parents,” shouted a skinny brunette girl as she packed up and walked out, holding her chin high as the lower half-moons of her ass peeked from the bottom of her shorts.

  Jessica didn’t have a clue whether the girl was offended because she was religious or because she wasn’t religious. Maybe it didn’t matter.

  Students were grumbling and packing up their things by the dozens before long, and when a giant student in the row in front of her made to leave, mumbling about stupid white people, she had half a mind to see if she couldn’t sneak out behind him without anyone noticing.

  Except
she knew at least one person would notice: Courtney. The girl hadn’t moved from her spot or taken her eyes off of Jessica during the exodus, even as Gershwin plopped down in the chair at her desk and braced her head in her hands.

  When no more than a few dozen students remained—a number that seemed staggeringly high to Jessica and might have restored her faith in humanity a shade, except, oh wait, hundreds of students had just left class to protest her existence—Gershwin looked up again, presumably notified by the lack of footsteps that it was safe to proceed. Her eyes traveled over the scarcity of students, and she sighed. “Screw it. Class dismissed. Get out of here. Please.”

  There was no recovering her dignity or saving face; Jess knew how to read the writing on the wall by this point. But she also knew what she had to do.

  She waited until the classroom was empty. Courtney had taken her sweet time gathering up her things and smugly sauntering out of the classroom. But once she was gone, Jessica made her way down to where Gershwin had her head down on her desk.

  “Ms. Gershwin?”

  The graduate student looked up. Poor thing looked new to failure.

  “I’m really sorry. I didn’t want any of that to happen. I tried to stay quiet and keep to myself. If Courtney—”

  “Just go.”

  “Huh?” The teacher’s words felt like a sharp jab to Jessica’s windpipe.

  “Please, Jessica. Just go.”

  Jess turned and headed out of the classroom.

  If someone issues an apology but no one’s around to care, does it count?

  * * *

  “Trust me,” Chris said, handing Jessica his phone with the number already queued up. “Wendy will know what to do to smooth over the philosophy thing. Just call her.”