Like a good daughter, i inform God that there is a hurricane coming tomorrow. Alex, my youngest brother and His youngest son, is fading in a hospital on the West Coast.
“Great. I could use a break from work,” He says.
Soon, He starts filling the cooler with ice for the road, making travel arrangements for us all to rent a house close to my brother. i pack a swimsuit but God is not interested in the beach. He would rather be thrifting, adding more tchotchkes and forgotten paintings by forgotten artists to His hoard.
i ask God what i should do about reporting into my job this week and He shrugs.
“You’re an adult—figure it out,” He tells me.
i reassure God that He’ll make it to the hospital in time to save Alex. Surely, by now, He must be tired of losing sons. Each one, dropped from his protection like a contact lens on a bathroom floor, dissolving blue, cracked and undiscoverable into the tile. i know Mom is tired of it but she won’t say a thing to God about it.
Sometime later we finally get on the road. Mom, who took the first shift, is tired of driving after seven hours straight—so we stop at a gas station. After a bathroom break, i slip into the driver’s side and glance into the backseat. God is gone.
“Mom, where is He?” i ask.
“Inside, i think,” she says.
He finally comes back and offers to relieve me and take the next shift of driving but i shush God; tell Him that i haven’t forgotten something i read once—that apparently, He needs more rest than we do.
i watch Him doze in the backseat of the car. He looks cute despite the fact that He does not breathe and all of his eyelids vibrate like Motorola beepers when He sleeps.
“Why is He even here?” i ask Mom. “He never actually helps with anything.”
She throws me a sharp glance.
“This is not the time to discuss God,” she says, resting her face into the pillow propped against the passenger side window.
Later, we are driving through El Paso when a radio broadcast informs me that the famous singer Frankie Beverly has just died. i feel guilty—perhaps he would still be alive if God weren’t on this road trip with us. Nothing good ever comes of God prioritizing His sons. The DJ begins to play Beverly’s song “Before I Let Go” in memoriam.
God stirs and opens each of His eyes, one by one, like white lilies of the valley, all bursting deadly into heavy lidded bloom.
“Are we there yet?” He yawns.
