Well, I get to the ranch, and there's all these people milling around and asking when the whole thing's supposed to start, and who the hell set it up, and stuff like that. Then a powerful bright light shows up, and they all get quiet. And I get this scared feeling, because right smack where the bright light is stands a man in a blinding white robe, and he stretches his arms out to us. All around me, people are oohing and ahhing and rolling their eyes back in their heads like that girl in The Exorcist movie I seen once. Then I notice that some other of the people are stomping around kind-of mad like, saying, “What's all this shit about anyhow?” and “When's the TV people gonna show up?” Then one smart alec yells, “Hey, everybody! Smile! You're on Candid Camera!” Some people laugh, but most of them are real serious and some cross themselves. I figure those ones are the Catholics, because although I don't, some of us Catholics, especially the old-timers, do that when hearing something holy or scary or that someone's got cancer and like that. Anyways, there I am, ready to sprint on over to talk to the man in the white robe. I mean, if it sure enough IS Jesus, then I aim to get my points in, 'cause God knows I sure can use some.
Next thing I know, I'm right up there face-to-face with him, so I take off my cowboy hat, and I surprise myself by saying, real respectful-like, “Lord, why are some of those guys over there saying what's all this shit, and like that?” That's not what I mean to ask him at all, but there it is – right out in the open, and I can't call it back.
Nice and gentle then, he answers me that those are the non-believers. He sighs real deep, and he's just so darn sweet that I don't rightly know why, but I get this little lump in my throat. For a minute I think I might cry, but I don't. Instead I say, “And are you fixing to smite them right here and now with the jawbone of an ass or something equally awesome?”
He says, “No, no. Not right here and now anyway.”
So I finally get around to asking what I came to ask in the first place. “Well, Lord, what about me? Am I gonna make it? Salvation, I mean. Am I heading for heaven, or – well, you know – the other place?”
He does a really Italian thing, then. He holds out his hand, palm down and wiggles it a little, like saying with his hand, maybe yes, maybe no. And here I always thought he was Jewish, not Italian, but then, I guess he wants to be everyman for us.
“Lord, I don't mean to be disrespectful,” I say, “but what kind of answer is that?”
I look to see if he's mad, and I'm set to duck, in case he goes for an ass's jawbone, but he just smiles so beautiful at me and says, “Well, son, it depends on how you behave from now on.” And then, just like that, he ups and disappears clean out of sight.
So I never do find out. Guess I'll just have to wait 'til I die, only by then it'll be too late.