99 Stories of God

59. Looking Good

“I want chiseled features,” she said. “I would be so happy.”

I didn’t know her. We were volunteers digging up fountain grass at the Ironwood Forest National Monument. Those were the first words she’d spoken. She was round and pale and not very tall either.

“You can get them,” I said.

“Really?”

“Plastic surgery. Sure.”

“They don’t call it plastic surgery anymore,” she said. “The Devil’s going to be on TV tonight at seven. KGUN. It’s not generally known but a fact nonetheless.”

“Excuse me,” I said. I moved away from her toward an old man chopping at a large clump of big, plump, vigorous adaptable fountain grass with a hoe. But I left him shortly as well, fearing he might have a heart attack in the heat. He would have been offended by my concern, I felt. He probably wanted to die in the desert anyway, helping the earth, one of those people who wanted to die a clean, hard death in the desert.

He didn’t look at all like my father, but I thought of my father, who was in Westerly, Rhode Island, living it up on dialysis. He wasn’t going anywhere. There was so much wrong with him, so many things, but “I want the dialysis,” he’d say. “Nobody’s shoving me into that next room.”

“Don’t you want to know as you are known, standing before the Father’s throne,” I’d tease him. It’s from a hymn called “Innocents.” He used to be a pastor. “Nope,” he’d say.

He’s changed. People change. Even I have changed, though not much. But if I watched KGUN at seven and saw the Devil there, I’d be a different person.