Sneaking Jesus into the Drive-In?

After hours of a of long tedious meeting, I am in my office after 5, trying to close up shop so I can start the weekend. He is supposed to stop by to set up a time where we can work on this project again soon.

I hear the last of my staff locking the doors and rattling keys. I holler "Good night" just as I hear the security door shut, so they must not have heard me.

And then thunder. I look out my glass window to see that I am now in a carwash. Rain is coming down in sheets. I cannot even see across the parking lot. I can't make out the flag that flies over the jail.

My office is dark for a late August day and the light from my computer screen is illuminating my face. The message light on my phone blinks red, and my inbox is full. My cell phones are both vibrating every minute or so to tell me that I missed some calls. As I sit here and try to decide where to start, I hear a quiet cough.

He stands there in the doorway like the Angel Of Death. He arrived out of thin air. His body shaped like Beavis, his belt holding his pants around his square and slim hips. His balloon-sized head on his too-thin body. He wears khakis and a golf shirt, tucked in. It is vertical striped. Pasty skin, lips the same color as his skin....milky white. I don't think his blood actually circulates, maybe he is part zombie. His head is much bigger on top than it is on bottom, sort of like an inverted piece of candy corn. His glasses are thick and magnify his grey eyes. He's an alien in Dockers.

After catching my breath from the startling appearance, I invite him to sit. His knees form two points, like his body is made of coat hangers- not bones and flesh.

We arrange the date. We are cordially saying good night.. when LIGHTS OUT. Thunder and lightening instantly rumble through. I can't hear much else, and the odd darkness is infused with flashes of light from the computer power and the lightening itself.

He remains. He talks. About the weather. In short sentences. That have no point. He has no variation. In his voice. He is Alien.

He positions himself in the doorway again, sort of half middle-schooler, half cowboy, with his foot resting on the wall, leg bent under him and leaning back. Ah schucks. Should he walk me to my car? He wonders. In light of the conditions?

I find it a sweet proposistion, since I am sure this constitutes a major risk for one of his species. Rain water may have some negative affect on his alien compostion. So I politely decline.

After he leaves, and I make a short phone call in the dark, I make my way through the rain to my car. The place is a ghosttown. In the distance, through breaks in the rain, I see him behind the building. He's loading his trunk with a big object.

From the safety of my car, I drive by...and see that it is a large wooden cross with a crucifed Jesus on it. It must be four feet tall. It's painted. He is getting wet as he tries to shut the trunk. I drive on. Too disturbed.

I think I have just left the twilight zone. Welcome to my World.