One night, I dreamed that I was walking along the beach with a hippy in a white dress and sandals.
I didn’t think this dream strange, because I frequently dream of men in dresses.
What struck me as strange were the footprints in the sand and the fact that scenes from my life were playing in the sky.
Including the one from the Love Parade in 1999, where I did that horrible thing to a microphone on a float.
I keep my head down and pray no one notices it was me.
Jesus answers my prayer, “Everyone knows it was you. The birthmark on your ass is unmistakable.”
I glare at him. “Thanks for that, by the way.” I look behind us. “What’s with the footprints?”
The numbering of the footprints is strange. Sometimes, there is one set of prints, other times there are two. Under the scene of me from the 1999 Love Parade, there are about 50 sets of prints.
Jesus smiles and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Sometimes we walked together. Sometimes I carried you. Sometimes I abandoned you out of pure embarrassment.” He gestures to the 1999 scene. “Sometimes, what you were doing drew a crowd.”
“I hate this beach.” I look off into the distance. “Are those drag marks?”
Jesus rubs his neck nervously. “Yeah, you sorta tripped over one of those hissing turtles and hit your head on a rock. Then the turtle bit you and you got stabbed with a syringe full of Demerol, so I had to drag you for a bit.” Jesus surveys the ground. “There sure are a lot more syringes on the beach as compared to the last time I did this.”
I look up into the sky to see the results of my hepatitis test. “Negative.” I let out a whoosh of relief. “Thank God.”
“You’re welcome.” Jesus is smug.
“Don’t get cocky. You’re the one who got me stabbed with the needle by dragging me through the slums of Daytona at 2 am. Why are we here?
Jesus gestures behind us. “For the symbolism…and the need for footprints.” We both admire the footprints. “Can’t really do it at WalMart, you know? Plus, WalMart is Satan’s domain. Ironically, he prefers the frozen food section.”
“Valid point.” I agree. “So I guess the moral of this story is that you are kind of like a benevolent stalker.”
“Sounds about right.”
“So you watch me all the time?”
“Well, not all the time. You’re not a very interesting person. I mainly only tune in when you’re doing something interesting.” Jesus stops on the beach, winded. “Wow, I am really out of shape.”
“Same.” I turn towards the lights lining the strip. “You know, we could probably do this in a bar instead. Create a much more interesting fable, called “The Time Essa and the Messiah got Drunk and Passed out on the Beach.” I look at Jesus hopefully. “Can you still do that water to wine thing?”
Jesus shakes his head. “No, but I could go for a Mojito.”
“Sounds good to me.”
We stumble up the short incline into a ocean side bar and our footprints get washed away by the surf.