by M. Reed

Created on: September 18, 2008

FINDING JESUS

"This is a police report," she announced, twisting her lips like she'd just bitten into a lemon. Then she waved the damn piece of paper as if the young man had asked for a better view.

"Oh?"

"It says you're convinced" Her arm fell, her eyes searching his as if she desperately sought to read his mind. "you're God."

He said nothing, crossed his feet, slumped in his chair and sighed.

"Okay, what's your name." She perched her left flank on the corner of a table placed ten feet in front of the dejected young man. Then, from a well worn brief case, she pulled out a chewed up pen, a battered clipboard and a tattered pack of official looking forms.

"We already tried that. It didn't work so well," he groaned.

"Your real name."

Already anxious and short of breath, the young man was troubled by the implication he'd lied about his name in the first place, which he hadn't. Not only that, he was more than a little put off by her tone, rude as it was. He cleared his throat to buy time while he sized up this disrespectful person so inclined to express herself with an urgency he didn't share.

"The day and where you are, as well," she added, busily scribbling.

He couldn't imagine what she was writing on those damnable forms since he'd not yet said a thing, but he knew a mental status exam when he heard one: who, when and where. He was usually quite good at those, given how many he'd taken.

"I would have to say it's Monday," he announced, bolting out of his slouch, no longer confused.

"Yes?"

"Yes, indeed," he nodded. "And that this is some sort of hospital," he continued. Then he tried to imagine himself at a spelling bee. That always helped.

"Very good."

The young man noticed she used a bright blue ink that matched not only her pleated skirt, but her eye makeup as well, oddly enough.

"Go on."

"Although I'm not quite sure what kind..." He glanced rearward, toward sloppily painted, cinder block walls done in a rotten green. "...of hospital, I mean." Having noticed the steel mesh windows, he added helpfully, "An asylum, maybe?"

"Well, not exactly," she shrugged. "But close." More scribbling. "And your name, again?"

"I never gave it to you the first time."

"Excuse me?"

The young man suddenly found himself moved to speak in a louder voice, as if she were hard of hearing. "I said I never gave it to you the first time. Why would you say again?"

"You seem angry." She tilted her head and launched a glassy glare. "Why is that?"

"Why is what?"

"Perhaps you need some time to cool off."

"But, I'm

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