Words
Meeting at a Bus Station - First Draft - 11/4/01
Did I ever tell you about the time I met God at a bus station in Buffalo, New York?
It wasn't like a planned meeting. I'd have taken God someplace nicer, if that were
the case. You know, at least like a sit-down restaurant. Maybe even somewhere that
required a tie.
It wasn't a long meeting, either. We didn't discuss The Issues. We didn't talk about
death, or eternal life, or why the world is so fucked up and ugly. I wasn't prepared.
I didn't have notes, index cards, whatever. I didn't remember to ask the important
questions. I didn't remember to ask God if God was pissed that we killed God's son.
The trade center bombing was a distant memory, the plane crashes still a future event.
Cult suicides were commonplace, not on my mind. Same with abortions, and people
killing abortionists.
So I didn't think to ask if God was okay with what people were doing in God's name.
When I met God, God was an overweight black woman, maybe in Her mid-sixties, sitting
on a bench waiting for the same greyhound I was waiting for. Buffalo to Syracuse. God
doesn't need to travel in style. God needs to get where God is going, and apparently
God needs to do it cheap.
We didn't form a relationship, me and God. Although sometimes I think that's what was
supposed to happen. Sometimes I think I was supposed to get to know God, and to pursue
that knowledge. Bible. Torah. Koran. God's luggage didn't match.
She asked me to keep an eye on it. She was nervous about a group of guys standing by
the pay phone. They didn't look like nice people. The bus station in December isn't
exactly a country club. It's cold and grey and dirty, pretty much like Buffalo
in December.
God wanted a sandwich, and She didn't want to lug Her bags across the terminal to the
little sandwich place. But God was nervous about the guys by the phone booth. She
laughed at Her own silliness, but it didn't change things. I looked like nice people,
I guess. God asked me to watch them. The bags, not the people.
I watched them. I didn't know this was God, at this point, but I'm perfectly happy to
watch someone's bags in a bus station in December. She chose correctly, I guess. I
suppose God's got a knack for that. You'd expect so, anyway.
God sat back down with Her sandwich, and She thanked me for watching the bags. She
asked where I was going. Syracuse. I'm going to Syracuse.
What's in Syracuse?
Family. Mother, Father. Two younger brothers. Two younger sisters. Brother's
girlfriend, now his wife, sister of my ex-girlfriend, who is and probably always will
be still my friend. Other people I love and want to spend more time with. People that
are the reason it was so difficult for me to live in Buffalo, where I didn't meet a
single person I liked in eight months. People that are the reason that it's so difficult
for me to live in California, although at least here there are people I like.
God said family was important. And God told me some stories about Her life. In the past
year, God said, She'd lost a mother, a sister, and another relative to cancer. Bad news.
God said She'd spent so much time grieving that She didn't really even know what to think
anymore. She felt burned out. She felt used up. God was tired. Tired of death. Tired of
the horrible time before death, when all of God's emotions were in a constant state of
lunatic flux.
Optimism, pessimism, joy, anger, bitterness, defeat, sorrow. God had gone the distance.
God had run the gamut. God was on excellent terms with all of those.
And God was still smiling. God was thanking me for watching Her bags again. God asked me
if my family was healthy. I nodded. Sure, illnesses here and there, but overall, healthy.
In nineteen years I'd only lost an Uncle and a Grandfather. Out of about forty close
relatives, that's not a bad track record. God was glad to hear it.
I'm lousy at small talk, but God didn't seem to mind. I was genuinely interested, I guess
She could see that. She told me about watching Her mother die, day by day. She told me
about how She tried to be strong for Her mother, and how Her mother had always been strong
for Her. God told me I was lucky not to have seen much death. I told God She was right. At
this point, I think I was starting to understand who I was talking to.
We sat quietly, waiting for the bus. God was flipping through a magazine. I was reading a
book. Or skimming, maybe. Mostly I was thinking about family. About friends. About people
I loved who weren't sick, who weren't dying, who didn't need me to be strong, but who were
being strong for me.
When our bus came, God wouldn't let me help carry Her bags. They didn't match, but it was
obvious that God had been carrying them a good long time. God was being strong, maybe for
me this time.
The bus ride was long, and I didn't see God when we finally arrived. I haven't seen God
since. Once in awhile, I think about God, and I hope I'm being strong for Her. God's
gone through a lot of shit, but God was still smiling. God was still laughing.
Some people meet God in dreams. Some people get to know God through prayer, meditation,
trances. Some people see God in drugs. In sex. In scenic views.
Me? I met God in a bus station in Buffalo, New York.