Editors note: a few weeks ago, a bearded gentleman in flowing white robes, an unearthly glow about him and, curiously, blue wrap-around sunglasses, dropped by our offices for an unscheduled chat…

Rolling Stone: Welcome oh Lord my God, Messiah…
Jesus: Please, please call me J.C.

RS: Um, ok. J.C… I guess my first question is, why are you here?

J.C:  Well, there’s been a lot of talk about me lately and I wanted to kick out some real truth. I thought about TV, but all the interview shows didn’t appeal to me. You’d think that the 700 Club would be a good place but to be frank Pat Roberston would soil his Depends if I ever actually showed up. O’Reilly maybe, but I know I’d never get a word in edgewise with him. And if I went on Maher’s show he’d probably stick me between Ann Coulter and Alec Baldwin and that much hairspray and make-up aggravates my allergies. You’ve had a lot of my look-alikes on the cover over the years so I figured this was a natural place.

 

RS: One of the great debates over the centuries is what you actually said. It’s all second hand.

J.C: I was never much of a writer. I’m more of a performance, in-the-moment kind of deity. Mostly I relied on the disciples to take good notes. But you know my luck, thirteen of them and not one knew shorthand. Ever try and write in Aramaic when the rhymes are flowing? And then Paul, Luke and a few of the other ones decided that they could punch up my stuff when they got it published. I mean camels and needles? I said it more simply: don’t be a selfish prick. And then the whole language thing. For example, the Golden Rule actually ended with “no foolin’” but that didn’t translate too well into Latin.

 

RS: There’s a lot of talk these days about the Bible, especially the Old Testament.

J.C: I was talking to Dad about that the other day.

 

RS: Uh, by “Dad” you mean God, right?

J.C: The Alpha and the Omega, baby! Yeah, he was saying how the Old Testament has been taken the wrong way. He was in kind of a dark place then, literally angry at the world when that stuff came out. He’s always been much more theatrical about things – burning shrubs, talking snakes, writing things in stone, what have you.

But in his defense, that fire and brimstone shtick was big back in the old country. You had snake charmers working ambrosia halls from Sparta to Khartoum, people stuffing cats for the afterlife. Crazy. Leviticus started as a reaction against a whole lot sheep buggering when those shepherd boys were taking long walks with the flock and then He lost the plot and it turned into this whole sacrifice and wife slaying bit. But, you know, One tends work in the medium of the times.

 

RS: So, I’m sure everyone wants to know… When’s Judgment Day and what will it be like?

J.C: The End is going to big but I’d like to keep the actual date a surprise… Say, do you have any plans for next Tuesday?

 

RS: Why?

J.C: I would wear cool clothing that day if I were you… Ah, just messin’ with you. Let me just say that in keeping with the theme of that day there’s going to be a whole lot of “activist judging” going on.

Ah, just messin’ with you. Let me just say that in keeping with the theme of that day there’s going to be a whole lot of “activist judging” going on.

 

RS: What did you think of Mel Gibson’s movie?

J.C: You know I was kind of hoping for another Lethal Weapon. Some bad guy, some car crashes, some martial arts moves, Joe Pesci. He slew me with the whole bit about the drive-through food in the last one. Turns out he made a bio-pic. When I first saw it, I thought, you know “been there, done that.”

RS: Lastly, why the wrap-around shades?

J.C: Bono has stolen so much of my act I thought I’d repay the favor. Peace out!

He passed the small shop every day. “Wishing Well” stenciled across a faded red awning with “a place where dreams come true” in gothic script below. It seemed always in a casual state of neglect — never looking quite abandoned but never quite open.

In the five years that he lived in the City, he passed by her as well. They knew each other — friends of a sort — but never close. Certainly not as close as they wanted but could not say. There were hints: she would drop small compliments; he would contrive ways to run into her. But these moments never blossomed into more. He knew she was involved with a “friend” and he was tangled by his own fractured relationship.

Seeing her one day with her friend he felt as if a heavy blanket had fallen across him. It was then he realized he was in love with her. Every breath burned in his chest. Every sense dulled as if the world had turned monochromatic. He walked in torment. His waking world the nightmare mirror to dreams where they were together.

Cloaked in this self-darkness he first entered the shop. He was surprised the door was open and was startled by the clang of an old sleigh bell against the door as it knocked back into the frame. Sunlight filtered at odd angles through dirty, cracked windows, catching the assorted items sitting haphazardly on shelves and the floor. There were old watches, printed postcards from the Victorian era, old phonograph records, engagement rings. It was a time capsule of 150 years of other peoples’ memories.

In the back corner, surrounded by unlit white wax candles lay a set of small figurines. As he bent to look at them he admired the exquisite detail. Made of porcelain, they were done in what looked like every fashion style of the past two centuries — from corsets to leather motorcycle jackets. Unlike the rest of the shop, these statues had no dust at all on them and no marks.

Presently, the owner came through a tattered curtain leading to a back room. He looked simultaneously young-old as though an old man’s eyes were grafted to a younger face.

“Welcome to ‘Wishing Well.’ Have you had a chance to look around?”

He turned toward the proprietor, “Yes. I’ve passed by many times but never came in. I was curious.”

“Ah, many people ignore us…then one day, they just come in… just like you. Anything I might interest you in?”

He thought those old eyes winked slightly at this question. “So is this a gift shop?”

“Of a kind. We collect things, mostly.” The proprietor paused and smiled slightly. “We also, as the sign says, grant wishes.”

He chuckled politely, “so how much for a wish?”

“I tell you what. I’ll give you any wish you want if you’ll come back and help me in the shop. I just need some things moved in here. It’s time I straightened up.”

He helped the old man move what seemed like a never-ending set of boxes, old clothes, papers. He spent several weekends there, and still the volume of things to move and account for seemed endless.

And during that time, he asked her out. Months passed and he felt enveloped in bliss. He had a surprise. He would propose at the top of the giant Ferris wheel by the lake. It was where they ended their first date and shared their first kiss. He stopped by the shop — he wanted to give her an ornate antique engagement ring he had seen amongst the endless boxes.

“Ah, it is my only customer,” the proprietor smiled.

“Tonight is a special one,” he said looking over the shelf of rings. “I’d like to give her that gold-filigreed ring. Can you size it?”

“But of course,” and there was that crinkled smile in his eyes again. “It may already be the right size.”

He compared it to a ring he had taken from her and it was a perfect size match. This was good karma (if he believed in that sort of thing). “Perfect. Do you have a box?”

“I do. In the back. You can come with me. And, you can help with things as we discussed as payment for your wish”

“Sure,” he said as he followed the proprietor through the curtain. “But I really can’t stay tonight.”

She waited for him for more than two hours that night. In the following weeks and months, she never heard from him; no one did. It was though he vanished from this world.

Heartbroken, she slowly put her life back together. In time, she returned to the man she left to date him and then they became engaged. Weeks before her wedding, she passed by the Wishing Well and decided to stop in. She couldn’t come up with anything that fit “something old.” Maybe the curious shop had something.

She walked in and looked around and was drawn to the collection of figurines. One, in particular, caught her gaze. The dark hair and kind eyes were somehow very familiar.

The proprietor emerged from the back. “May I help you miss?”

“Hi. I’m getting married and I’m looking for something old. I thought this statute was kind of neat. What is it?”

The old man had the faintest smirk. “Ah. Yes, that is a statute symbolizing an old myth.”

As she looked down at the statue she thought for a moment that the eyes glistened.