|
Cornflake Jesus
by Alex Casola I found Jesus. Not in the way that most people find Jesus. I didn’t walk through church doors, or see the light, or finally read one of the pamphlets covered in hell fire that I was somehow constantly finding in my possession, I actually found Jesus – in my cornflakes. I almost drowned Jesus, but I recognized him just as I was about to splash milk all over him. I, personally, am not the hugest fan of Jesus. We’re not the best buds my mother would like us to be, but I know the guy. I certainly know him when I see him. I know him well, in fact. He was sort of like the goody-two-shoes next-door neighbor: learn from the lessons Jesus teaches us, what would Jesus do, why can’t you be more like Jesus? How can anyone be held to those kinds of standards? Anyway, I didn’t feel much love for the guy, but I didn’t want to drown him either. It was a little weird for me to be looking at this guy in my cereal bowl after having avoided him for so long; it was a little unsettling. It figures, the cornflake was also about three times the size of a normal flake. So like Jesus to have to be three times normal size. So I took the flake out and protected that little bastard. I washed out the Chinese soup container I had lying around from the night before. I padded it up with some toilet paper and snuggled Jesus up into that little bed like he was my very first caterpillar pet, only I didn’t put any crushed leaves in for Jesus to eat – If a cornflake Jesus needs to eat, I guess he can turn the toilet paper into fish or something. So my little Jesus just sat in his bed for about two weeks while I tried to figure out what to do with him. Over those two weeks he haunted my room and eventually drove me from even wanting to come home. I moved the soup container from my nightstand to a discreet spot on my bookshelf and then finally into my closet – inside an old shoebox. Like a good Catholic, I felt guilty, and hastily apologized to Him for the smell before shutting the lid and shoving the whole thing behind a stack of blankets. But I still felt His presence. All through Sunday school and especially on major holidays I had tried to feel that presence. The guilt and isolation I had gone through not feeling that presence – I had thought I was missing out on a grand comfort, an ultimate best friend, that I just didn’t deserve, but as it turns out the presence of Jesus feels a lot more like being followed, or hearing floors creak in an empty house. And just like those creepy feelings, you can’t do anything about it. Sure my Jesus was tangible and I could have thrown him out, or tried to convince myself that some sort of destruction was accidental. I mean, I could have eaten the guy without ever noticing it was Him. But I DID notice and I couldn’t bring myself to flush him down the toilet, or crush him with my dress shoes like a common spider, or even just leave the little container somewhere where it wouldn’t be my problem anymore. As much as I fantasized, I just couldn’t do it. So after weeks of avoiding my room and the Jesus inside, I sold him. I set him up on eBay on a 3-week auction. I thought it might take a while to find someone interested in this particular merchandise, and I wanted to make sure he was in good hands. I let my local churches know (anonymously because I didn’t want to be the girl making a profit off of Jesus). And although I probably should have known better than to underestimate Him, it really didn’t take long for him get a little following going. He went for $874! I couldn’t believe it. If you think about it, like, Jesus is worth $874, I guess it sounds like a deal, but to me $874 was a huge windfall. I used the cash to buy myself a new couch. I probably should have donated the money or something. That’s what Jesus would do, right? But, as I’ve said, I never was very good at living up to those standards. Also, this couch had a recliner. It was a beautiful faux-leather couch. It was plush, and it fit my body better than a lover. Nothing I had ever bought had ever made me as happy as this couch did, and for the first time in my life, I felt comforted by Jesus – or at the very least by the money he made me. |
|
