“Coffee Crossing” Chapter One
The Day I Found Jesus
But will he vote for Trump?
Jesus was hitting on me, was my first impression. I’m used to that. Tall, blonde, mid-thirties, not too repellent in the looks department. I don’t mind, so long as they can show a depth of character that didn’t come out of a book of pick-up lines.
He sat down at my table. Dead giveaway, that. Even more so when we are supposed to be practising social distancing, and there are limits on the number of seats in cafes.
“Mind if I sit here?”
Well, he was wearing a mask. It would be rude of me not to let him. Besides, there might be some of that wine magic involved, and I’m not going to say no to that.
There are some things that probably shouldn’t be said, and I usually recognise them about half a second after I’ve said them.
“You don’t look like your pictures, anyone ever mention that?”
He rolled his eyes at me. Imagine that. Jesus being all judgey.
“You thought I’d be white, have a beard, flowing robe, Gideon’s Bible in my pocket, that sort of thing?”
“Well…”
“I’m not even a Christian. Never was.”
I must have raised my eyebrows.
“Well think about it. There weren’t any Christians at all in those days. Physical impossibility.”
“What about this time around? You’ve got a lot of choices to pick from. Surely one of them is the one true faith?”
Coffee break
Our orders arrived.
“Now who was the flat white?” the waiter asked. He was cute. He had a little hipstery beard, an apron, a nice smile.
“Oooh, yes, pick me!”
He smiled at that. But hey, a woman needs a good coffee. I checked his hand. No wedding ring.
“And the latte would be yours, Sir?”
That’s right,” Jesus drew a deep breath of the rich aroma. “You’ve just saved a life.”
The waiter smiled. Somewhere inside, other bits of me smiled in unison.
I admired his trim bum as he glided away.
“Forget it,” Jesus said, “He’s not interested in women. Um, not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
I spread my hands out. “How do you know?”
“I can see into people’s hearts. And, uh, other locations.”
Fair enough. Some guys — and gals — have some pretty revealing tattoos in places where you can’t see them without a warrant. I remember one guy had “Mum” tattooed on what must have been a painful part. I said, “Aww, that’s cute!” at the time but a bit later on I realised that not all of it was immediately visible and it actually read “Maximum”.
The one true Church
I pressed him. “Baptists, Catholics? Oh God, please don’t tell me it’s the Mormons?”
He made a face. “Look, I was born in Texas. The Methodists were as close as we got. But I was a Jew, which surprised the hell out of my parents. And everyone else in Archer City.”
“Archer City? I’ve been there!”
“I know.”
“It’s where Larry McMurtry has that fabulous bookshop.”
“I know.”
Of course he did. There wasn’t much else to Archer City beyond a crossroads, a courthouse, and a Dairy Queen.
“But I was actually born somewhere else. Again.”
“Bethlehem?”
“Loving, just down the road.”
“Prophecy?”
“Flat tyre.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, the universe has a sense of humour, eh?”
He stirred his latte, sipped it, and sported a foam moustache for a second before licking it off.
“Speaking of loving, that’s why I’m in Melbourne.”
“Saving souls?”
“Nah, the coffee. Heavenly.”
He sighed. I sighed.
“And the lockdown. Qantas cancelled my flight, and now they’ve closed the borders.”
“You can fix that? You’ve got the power, right?”
He shrugged. “Some things are out of my hands.”
I considered America. Don Trump had promised boots on the Moon before 2024, but the way things were going, the Covid-45 infection numbers would get there long before NASA.
“Probably a good thing, the way Texas is handling the pandemic.”
“I should be there, saving lives. Got a speaking tour starting in Fort Worth — you know Bass Hall, with the big angel statues outside? Of course you do — and a triumphant entry into DC a week before the election.”
“Careful, mate,” I said. “The way you look you’ll end up under some copper’s knee, getting tased every time you complain.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “Maybe I should put in a postal vote first.”
“Good idea. Who you voting for?”
“Not saying, lady. Just bidin’ my time.”
Britni
More coffee with Jesus:
