My uncle had recently found religion. Taken Jesus into his heart. He'd been born again.
Or, as my father put it, “Bullshit.”
My uncle’s Jesus was the kind of savior who not only (more)gets you into heaven, but helps you get rich too. He insisted that Jesus was the reason he could now afford to live on a golf course. He owned three Cadillacs, a horse, a sailboat, and a condo on Kauai. After saving his soul, Jesus, apparently, had arranged for him to make a killing in pharmaceuticals.
And now, my born-again uncle was three under par. We were playing for ten dollars a hole, and my father and I had already lost seventy dollars apiece. Apparently the Lord wasn’t just a good stockbroker. He was one hell of a caddy.
“Jesus wants your father to make that putt,” my uncle said to me. “But not until he asks to be saved.”
The putt missed by two yards.
“What about you?” my uncle asked. “Are you ready to accept Jesus as your personal savior?”
“Everyone talks about wanting to accept Jesus,” I said. “But how do we know Jesus wants to accept us? He must have some criteria, right? You know, standards. There are some pretty shitty people out there.”
“Jesus accepts everyone,” my uncle said. “No matter what they’ve done.”
“What about Hitler?” I said.
My uncle walked to the edge of the green, and dropped a sixty-foot putt without even looking up.
“Hitler,” he laughed, pulling his ball from the cup. “Why does it always have to come down to whether or not Jesus would forgive Hitler?”
There are the ten toes...count 'em...one two three four five six. Ya, OK then. And the fingers - they're all there. Wiggle wiggle. Got 'em and flaunt 'em.
The nose. (Something stinks. We'll have to deal with that later.) Neck cracking, knees creaking but everything bending the wa(more)y it's supposed to. Far as I can remember.
Everything is a little bit foggy. Ok. A lot foggy. Like I can't really remember much except I know I'm human. Or supposed to be human, or act human...something. It will come back to me. (I hope.)
The legs (my legs MY legs) are wobbly. My head (the head it's mine) is confused - not in the emotional or intellectual way in which I have been laying here confused for several moments now, but in a physical way. As in, I'm having trouble determining which way is up and keep finding myself falling down. Extremely disconcerting and it will make the mission difficult to accomplish.
Mission? There's a mission? (Damn.)
But I know I'm sure I remember I'm supposed to act human here. So in times of confusion one must go through the checklist. There are criteria that must be met for successful integration: Bodily appearance (hence the toe-count). Predictable reaction to stimuli (hence the confusion the all-out existential what-the-fuckness. Right?). Smile (when in doubt, smile).
Check, check, and now...(show them pearlies) check.
Feet down, hair up.
Find the light switch...OK, that's where the stink is coming from...just scoot that out of the way...and that's better then. (Hope he didn't feel that.)
Good this is progress.
And there (right over there how could I have missed it before?) is the door. And behind it I hear voices and the tramping of feet so many feet.