23.Z sat alone on his cloud.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there. Just as he was unsure of how long he had been in heaven at all. In a way it felt like his first day. But so much had happened, and besides, was there such a thing as days anymore?
It seemed like only yesterday when he was hit by that bus. Hit by a bus . . . What a joke. After all of the worrying Z did about dying. After all of the different scenarios that played out in his head that would befall him and end his existence. The diseases, the environmental catastrophes, the random acts of violence . . . all it took was him being distracted by some sort of shiny object that redirected his gaze, which, if it had stayed its original visual course, would have seen the Greyhound number seven coming right at his head as he leaned over to get a closer look.
And what was that shiny object? He never found out. He at least could have seen it a little more clearly to make his death seem a little less stupid. Maybe it was a tiny portal poking through, signaling from the dimension that he was currently residing in. Or maybe it was just a fucking nickel. Z would never know.
Entering heaven was easy enough. Yes, many people entered at once, but no one had to wait. No one checked Z’s credentials or eligibility to enter. That had already been determined. It was for all intents and purposes the type of heavenly entrance one would have thought entering heaven would be.
Z then briefly met God, and the meeting was quick but far from disappointing. Z followed his fellow newly deceased freshmen to a great clearing—a meadow that was the brightest green Z had ever seen. But much like entering heaven, though there were many there to meet their creator, there was no wait. God stood tall, a perfect blend of all genders and races. Not just of human but animal as well. To put it simply God looked like a beautifully magnificent Everything, and as Z approached, God greeted him with the most perfect and genuine warmth he had ever felt. But it was very brief, and as Z was led to his cloud by a pair of sexless cherubs, he felt a great longing for the next time he would meet the sovereign of the universe. Not just for the thrill, but for a chance to get to know them better.
Now Z sat on his cloud alone. The light was perfect, as it shined on a much-needed solitude.
Peaceful solitude, without the pain of loneliness. This was exactly what Z had wished for in his imaginings of the afterlife. His whole life he always felt swarmed. His therapist told him this “swarmed” feeling was a result of him being easily inundated. Easily overwhelmed. Even so. Even if that was true. Even if Z was easily inundated and overwhelmed, that didn’t mean that the people in his life weren’t, also, inundating and overwhelming. He felt possessed by these people. His wife, his kids, his parents, his sister, even his dogs. They wanted all of him all the time.
Months before he died, Z had a recurring nightmare. He would be tied to his bed with ropes, his legs spread wide. As he lay there, splayed out, every one of his close relations marched single file into the room. One by one, everyone he knew approached the bed and crawled right up his ass. Once they were all inside, Z could hear them haggling about which parts of his mind, body, and soul belonged to them. He just lay there paralyzed as they argued, staking their claim on his organs, his personality flaws, his fashion sense.
Z was no dummy. He knew how cliché this dream was, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a combination of terror and depression when he awakened. In real life, most of these “ass miners” would characterize him as selfless. And he tried to agree with them. Not only to their faces but internally. But when Z had clarity, he knew this was all bullshit. Z wasn’t selfless. He just never lived as his actual self. Only as a mirage that the people closest to him had created.
And then came death. And although it was a bit embarrassing, and frustrating (just what the fuck was that shiny object), with death Z actually felt a great release. Now, as a spirit, or angel, or whatever he was, he had the chance to live, or rather not live, he had a chance to exist, or rather not exist as himself. This made him feel a happiness and ease he had never felt. The best part was, he had eternity to feel this way. To exist this way. He would never not be himself again.
Z sat on his cloud and gazed into the everlasting imitation of morning, tears flowing down his cheeks. Every tear held every wasted second of his self-erasure. Every tear rolled down, cleansing him of his invisibility. And as the last tear fell, he heard the unmistakable choir of his maker’s voice.
“Hey there. How’s it going today?”
Z couldn’t believe it. This was unfathomable. God was taking time out of their busy schedule to give Z personal individual attention. Z was touched. However, Z being Z, he also registered the very real possibility that this special care might be just one of those “heaven things.” Maybe millions, even billions, of people in heaven were simultaneously having a one-on-one with God, each feeling as flattered as Z. But even if that was the case, it didn’t matter, at least not right now. Right now, it all felt pretty great. Maybe that’s really what heaven is all about, thought Z. Self-confidence.
“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks so much for checking on me.”
God laughed.
“Well . . . you’re welcome, I guess, but I’m checking on millions of people right now, silly. Not just you. It’s my job. Know what I mean?”
So Z was right. It was one of those “heaven things.” Even though Z had prepared himself for this possibility, that this moment only had the illusion of individualized attention, an ego was an ego. Sure, Z had just been thinking of the possibility that God was, quite literally, “spreading the love,” but it was one thing to wonder it and another thing to have God rub it in his face.
Maybe God didn’t mean it like that. Maybe Z heard it wrong. Maybe God’s tone was different than the tone Z was used to. It certainly wasn’t the worst thing someone could say, but at the same time Z still couldn’t help but feel a little miffed.
God patted Z on the back. “That doesn’t mean that I’m not totally focused on you right now, you know? That might not make sense, but it’s the truth. This is all of me. And the me that is checking in on someone else right now, that’s all of me, too. I know it defies all logic, but that’s the thing. I define logic. And that’s not a brag, it’s a fact.”
Z felt more at ease. “No, I get it. Thank you for saying that.”
God nodded their head. “Of course. And again, just to be clear, I don’t know if I’ve told you this already, but I never brag.”
Z slowly nodded his head. What a thing to say, he thought. I never brag? But . . . isn’t that a brag?
God gave a nervous chuckle. “Well, I just want to make sure you know that. Because to me there’s nothing worse than a bragger. I hate insecure people. Well, hate is a strong word. I don’t hate anyone, but insecurity is a big turnoff. Me myself, I’m never insecure. I can’t be. I literally can’t afford to be insecure. I have a universe to run. A pretty great universe at that, right? Sure, it’s not perfect. What is? But it’s a universe, and I should get at least some credit for that. Now I know what you’re going to say. If I’m so secure, why do I need the validation, right? Great question. It’s natural that me wanting that validation might come off as insecurity, but it’s not. I just deserve it. There, I said it. I deserve the credit and, sue me, I want to be acknowledged for that. That’s my right, right? At least I can ask for that? After all I’ve done, right? I mean, I invented sex, for crying out loud. That’s pretty cool. Right?”
“Right,” replied Z. But obviously Z didn’t want to say right. Obviously, Z wanted to say wrong. I mean, this was terrible. Just terrible. The whole conversation had quickly taken a pathetic turn. God was shaping up to be one of the most insecure people (or beings) Z had ever met. Though, honestly, it wasn’t much of a surprise. Z had always suspected God of insecurity. I mean, sending people to hell just for not believing in you. What was more insecure than that? But maybe God didn’t do that. After all, Z didn’t know if hell actually existed. He hadn’t talked about it with anyone yet. Z hadn’t really talked about anything all too substantial yet. All the conversations he had had with anyone were sort of built around getting settled in. This current conversation had been one of the longest so far. But if that was the case, if God did send people to hell, who would dare talk about that up here? No one would, that’s who. Including God. If God was insecure enough to send people to the worst punishment imaginable just for not believing in them, they probably wouldn’t have the self-awareness that they were doing that because their insecurity ran so deep. But then again, this was God, and maybe God operated on different modes of behavior. Maybe it was only perceived as insecurity from Z’s limited human perspective. Z started biting his nails. He wanted out of this whole convo. Out of this moment. But, at the same time, he really wanted to know. This was one of those “lifelong” questions of his, but the only way he’d know the answer was if he asked, and if God was sending people to hell for not believing in them, it was completely possible that God would do the same thing to someone who questioned them about it. But maybe not. Maybe God would be glad to talk about it. And even if the conversation went south, maybe God would still give the questioner a chance to change their perspective before they were sent down below. That probably was the case. God didn’t seem so bad as to have a “one strike, you’re out” policy. Even if God was off-the-charts insecure, God still seemed amicable. They weren’t defensive in a hostile way. But then again, Z hadn’t really said anything that would rub God the wrong way. He was just letting God monologue. Which was no skin off Z’s nose, either. He had let people monologue his whole life, plus he wanted to hear what God had to say. Who wouldn’t? Could you imagine how arrogant someone would have to be to meet God and not just listen, and think they had something to add to the conversation? Someone like that would be the biggest asshole in the universe.
Z had moved from his nails to biting off his finger skin. The desire to ask God about the whole hell thing only grew. It was like having to take a shit, and the closer you got to the toilet, the more you had to take one, to the point where when you’re taking down your pants, the shit is practically falling out of your ass. That’s what Z felt in his mouth. His mouth held the soon-to-be exploding shit, and God was the toilet.
God had to understand that people came to their new home with millions of questions. God was right there. God knew what being right there would mean. That it would mean many moments of mystery-solving for their children. God would have to know that everyone who met them would want to ask them every question they’ve ever had. How could asking a question be a damnable sin? Z was so perplexed. He didn’t know what to do.
God probably would have heard a lot of these thoughts Z was having, but fortunately for them both, God was too distracted with their own body to pay attention. For no clear reason, God had begun flexing. God held up their arm in front of Z’s face and made a muscle. “Look at that, huh? I made it the perfect size, right? It’s really a bulge, but not too big? To me, if I made it bigger, I’d look too body obsessed, right? Here, feel it, is it too much, or not enough?”
Z was taken aback. As Z felt God’s muscle, he started to get angry. Z tried to conceal it, and God still seemed too self-obsessed to notice the change in Z’s temperament. As Z’s anger grew, God’s bicep got warmer. Then hot. Till the point that holding it made Z feel like he was palming a burning hunk of coal. Z whipped back his hand. God looked at him inquisitively.
“What’s wrong?” God asked. “You seem to not be enjoying our time together. Was it my muscle? I should have warned you, it can get quite hot. That’s a little thing I did to myself. The hotter I look, the hotter I am to the touch. Cool, right?”
What the hell was God talking about? Where had this come from? Hotter to the touch, the hotter God looked? Z’s head was a cyclone of growing contempt. The kind of mental state you should never talk to God with, especially when they were showing off their body. Without thinking, Z snarled at God, “I don’t know. I guess. Why is that cool?”
God’s eyes shifted. Their voice dropped a register. “Why is it cool? Isn’t it obvious?”
Z had dug himself into a hole, and he began to frantically try to dig himself out. “I’m sorry, God. I’m sure it’s very cool. I’m sure I just don’t get it. Honestly, I might be in a bit of shock from my burned hand.”
God smiled. “Of course. Totally understandable. Let me explain. See, the hotter I look, the hotter I am to the touch. And that’s because . . . because . . .” God paused. Their eyes darted back and forth, searching for an answer. God let out a frustrated sigh. “You know what, I’ve forgotten why. Wow, that’s annoying, huh?”
Z’s fear was in a head-to-head race with his anger. He was terrified, but couldn’t help but wonder why his beloved solitude had been interrupted for this. He knew he couldn’t just let loose with finger-pointing. If there was anyone you had to humor, it was God. And so Z did. “It’s understandable. I’m sure you have a lot to remember, and even you can’t be expected to remember everything.”
God’s eyes softened. “That’s right. No one has to remember more than I have to remember. Could you imagine if you had to remember as much as I do? I mean, your head would explode!”
It was clear now to Z that all God wanted him to be was a yes-man, and so Z obliged. “Absolutely, you literally have to remember everything.”
“That’s right!” God bellowed. “I literally have to remember everything. I have to remember everything, everyone, and everything everyone does and says every second. And when I say everything I’m not just talking about earth. I’m talking planets. I’m talking asteroids and stars, and aliens! So sue me if I can’t remember the reason I made myself hotter to the touch, the hotter I look! It’s not nearly as important as remembering, say, oh, I don’t know, making the earth revolve around the sun.”
Z gave a chuckle. “Definitely not. You gotta wonder why someone would even do something like that.”
God cocked their head. “Do something like what?”
Z diverted eye contact from the eyes of his maker. “Like . . . like . . . make yourself hotter to the touch, the hotter you look.”
God cocked their head further. “What do you mean?”
Z stumbled. “Oh, I don’t know.”
God leaned in. “No. Explain. What did you mean by that?”
Z started shaking. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
God leaned in some more. “You don’t think that kind of thing is important. You don’t think me making myself hotter to the touch, the hotter I get is of value?”
Z half laughed. “You said it wasn’t important.”
God coughed. “But I didn’t say it was unimportant.”
Z couldn’t see straight. Let alone string his thoughts together in a way that could in any way help with navigating this. At this point it was as if he was on autopilot. It was like his words were not his own, which was probably why he said:
“Yeah, but if you said it was unimportant, you wouldn’t be wrong.”
God smiled a smile. A smile that held no joy. A smile that held the plagues.
“Is that so? Please, oh pretty please, tell me what you mean by ‘unimportant.’”
Z tried to backtrack and play dumb. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Just please forget it.”
But God didn’t shake it off. Instead, God’s whole visage seemed to grow darker. Like they had stepped into the darkest shadow of shadows. “You’re lying to me. You’re lying to the Lord thy God. You know exactly what you meant. You think I’m a narcissist, don’t you?”
Truth or lie? Which one would be worse? God was on high alert. There was no lying to God. But maybe God would appreciate a lie. Maybe a lie would be more forgiven than a harsh truth. Then again, lying to God could also be seen as a full disrespect of their intelligence. Perhaps the most offensive thing about lying to God was Z thinking that he could get away with lying to God. But then again, maybe a lie would show respect. After all, there was no proof that this was how Z felt about God down deep, even though it was. It could just be taken as a momentary lapse in speech, and the lie would almost act as an apology. Like “I’m so sorry I said that that I’m going to just pretend that I didn’t.” However, even if God got upset, it didn’t necessarily mean punishment. Maybe Z would just get chewed out. It might be really scary, but what’s a little scare? He’d get over it. Z had to make a choice. Whatever it was, some sort of choice had to be made.
So Z made a choice.
“I mean . . . can I be honest with you, God?”
God stepped even farther into the shadow that was covering him. “Can you be honest? You must. You must be honest to your maker. Speak, mortal!!!”
“Well . . .” started Z. “Honestly, the whole muscle thing, and having me feel the muscle, it all feels a bit . . . oh, I don’t know . . . a bit . . .”
“A bit what?!”
“A bit . . .”
“A bit what, mortal human?! A BIT WHAT!!!???”
Z’s whole body clenched as he finally squeezed out, “A bit . . . insecure.”
God’s shadow-self grew darker. “Are you saying I’m insecure?”
There was no stopping now. What’s done was done. It was impossible to turn back.
“A little, but all of us are. Heck, you invented insecurity, didn’t you?”
God’s vocal register steadily got lower. “No. As a matter of fact, I didn’t. That was Satan. Satan invented insecurity. Everybody knows that.”
Z desperately tried to turn it all into a philosophical discussion without seeming like he was challenging God. “Really? But insecurity’s such a human thing.”
“Sure, but I’m not human. I’m God. Satan likes to play in the human emotional sandbox, not me. Why would I invent insecurity? Insecurity is vile and sad.”
Vile and sad? Z couldn’t believe that God was using such words for such a normal human condition. And at this point, Z’s frustration with God’s whole perspective made him forget that this crazy perspective was coming from God at all. Z felt like he was having it with some sort of shitty right-wing family member at Thanksgiving. And whenever stupid debates like this arose, it was next to impossible for Z not to call out his opponent’s inconsistencies. And in this case God was certainly no exception. So Z pressed on.
“So? You didn’t invent emotions?”
God’s eyes reddened. “I invented the good ones. Happiness, joy, fun. That’s all me. But the rest, like sadness, and anger, and of course insecurity, that’s all the devil.”
“You didn’t invent sadness or anger? What about sadness over the loss of a loved one? Isn’t the sadness in a way the expression of that love? And what about anger when it’s used to get someone to stand up for what’s right?”
God grabbed their head. Almost like they were about to tear it off. “Yeah, well, that type of sadness and anger was me. Dammit! You got me all turned around here.”
Z now was feeling a rush. He couldn’t believe it. Was he actually about to win a debate against God? He felt a sudden sense of pride. He wondered how many people had had the guts to take God to task like this.
Z took a triumphant stand. “It’s just hard for me to believe that you didn’t have something to do with insecurity. Even insecurity can do good things. Look at comedy. So much comedy comes from insecurity. Also, insecurity can stop people from doing hurtful things. Sometimes—”
God cut Z off with a thunderclap.
“Enough! Listen to me. Let’s get this all straight, you fucking arrogant asshole. Listen up and listen good, ’cause I’m only going to explain this once. Everything that has a good outcome, that’s me. All the other bad-outcome stuff, I let Satan do.”
Z knew he now had them. “So you don’t think insecurity is totally bad?”
God grunted. “Of course not! I don’t think in terms of bad or good. I’m not a judgmental prick like you.”
Z squawked. “You think I’m judgmental?”
God shook their head in disbelief. “Do I think you’re judgmental?! I know you’re judgmental! I made you judgmental, bitch!”
Z could have gotten scared here, but he was now enjoying this all too much. All possibilities of consequence had left his mind. All he could do was gloat in his satisfaction of having God against the ropes. “Oh, you made me judgmental, huh? So are you saying that being judgmental is good?”
God was now fuming. Fuming in a way they had not in centuries. They pressed their fingers to their temples. “Look, you’re really pushing me here. I really don’t like being pushed like this.”
Z started to laugh. He was on a roll. “Why is there war?”
Steam was now seeping from God’s ears. “Oh, we’re going to start with this now?”
“It’s a simple question. Why is there war?”
God started breathing really hard. “I . . .”
Z was exhilarated. He had never felt this alive. Especially when he was alive. “Why is there war?”
God’s whole body started to spasm. “I . . . I . . .”
Z threw up his hands to the great everything. “God! Creator of all things, except, of course, negative emotions, I ask you . . . why is there war? You did create war, didn’t you?”
God shook a shake they hadn’t shaken for a thousand years. “I . . . I . . . I don’t know. I don’t think so. I can’t remember.”
Z laughed. “Yes, I know how busy you are. But try, won’t you please! Answer me why!!!”
“NONE OF YOUR MOTHERFUCKING BUSINESS! THAT’S WHY!!!”
Z smiled a smile that didn’t hold the plagues, but he did his best.
“If I can be honest with you, God: you don’t seem like someone who doesn’t brag. You seem like someone who is quite addicted to bragging. You also are exceptionally bad at accepting accountability. On top of that, you are one of the most defensive individuals I’ve met. Frankly, all of this adds up to the fact that I think you’re actually . . . very insecure.”
With this, heaven ripped with an ear-piercing screech. The sky cracked open. God darkened once again. And God grew. Grew to the size of a thundercloud big enough to cover the whole earth.
God’s eyes filled with tears, and rain fell on every inch of heaven. All was flooded with God’s humiliation. God squatted down so that Z was standing right in front of their giant eyes. As God blinked, Z was splashed with more tears, and the tears were so hot they scalded Z’s skin. Much worse even than God’s hot bicep.
“You really make me sad,” God said. “And not the good sad. The bad sad.”
God’s soaking-wet eyes blinked, and everything surrounding Z began to swirl in a giant vortex. The heavenly floor opened, and as Z looked down all he could see was fire, and all he could hear were screams. It wasn’t hard for Z to guess what that was. God stood back up, still giant and still very, very, very upset.
God then blew a gust of hurricane wind from their mouth, lifting Z into the everlasting, and then, with no clouds to catch him, Z fell.
And God rested.