Drinking Beer With God

God came to me in a dream last night.

I had been really drunk at Susan's party - I remember the wobbling of my steps, the spinning in my skull. Susan kissing me good night a little more thoroughly than a married woman should, and me not giving a damn.

The next thing remembered is my pillow.

Then God was there.

He wasn't the lightning-bearded horror of Revelations, or the wise old grandfather. Just a guy, about five-ten, with a bit of a gut, receding hairline, and perfect teeth.

Immaculate teeth. I remember thinking how odd it was that I cared about this guy's teeth. I never was a tooth person before.

And he was naked. But that didn't matter. For some reason I was fixated on his perfect gleaming teeth. Despite the beer gut and receding hairline, I somehow knew it was God. Maybe it was the teeth, but I doubt it.

I was suddenly afraid, my still-drunk brain reeling with the memories of all the times I'd said: "Well, if God were here, I'd ask Him why it was that way."

Suddenly I was ashamed of all those times.

And then God told me why anyway.

We traveled that night, in my dreams. Across the Universe, through the world. I saw DNA up close and personal, saw a race of aliens discovering the usefulness of fire.

And it all finally made sense.

I shook God's hand (getting a nasty shock from static electricity, which we had a nice laugh over), and invited him to have a beer with me sometime.

It was about then that I woke up, sweating in my bed with the phone ringing at 3:47 am.

Susan was on the phone. Josh, a co-worker of ours, had tried to drive home and succeeded in wrapping his car around a telephone pole. He was in the emergency room at St. Mary's.

By the time I showed up, the doctor was telling everyone that Josh had just died.

I started to tell Josh's wife about my dream to console her, to explain it, but the meaning of it all had blurred off into that place that forgotten dreams go.

Josh's wife only cried harder.