Reunion

Reunion
(Jan 2009)
Josh MacLeod

Being a god means no longer being accountable.

You will be given power. Yes.

You are not of this world. Oh, yes.

Yours is a power of creation. And, yes, again, yes. This is what I was given, the power to shape the universe to my will. To work miracles that drive men mad, to waken them to the larger world. I have done all this. I have seen wonders and terrors, beauties and abominations.

That I have been marked by this, I cannot deny. That I have been made Greater, I cannot forget.

And yet, the world calls. Mundane, stifling, as fragile as a reflection on water. I don't know how phones reach here. I was given a cell phone, though I've never paid a bill I know of. Told to answer it. Mostly it's other gods. Sometimes mortals with prayers. But never a wrong number.

This time, it is my mother. "Are you coming to the family reunion, Donald?" No mention that we haven't spoken for at least ten years. No explanation of where she found this number. Only the question.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm busy."

And there is silence, for a brief moment. "Too busy for family?" And her voice has need in it, and pain. And my Duty rises up inside me, like heartburn, reminding me I must answer pain, must work to free the world of snares. That the God Of Cracks is more than shielding from bureaucracy, more than making stands in the moments between moments, more than letting broken things fall through to heal.

"It seems not," I say, and ask for the date. My voice is different, to my ears: more Donald than Power, more man than god. I remind myself of all I am, and how small is what I am not.

*

The rain is not my doing, not consciously. The caterers not arriving was mine: one more glitch in the system, one more crack for things to fall though. They wouldn't trust online maps as readily, which was reason enough for what I did, even if not the reason entire. I am waiting for someone to suggest cannibalism, listening to voices, trying not to wish for some lightning.

"Road coming here was, dude, slipperier than frog snot!" "Can't we just order pizza?" "And then I said: form 224-f? Really? That isn't even my department!" "And after the lancing the baby was fine." "So I told her I didn't date protest ants! Get it?" "After he broke my heart, I told him that was just more pieces to love him with. Then he slapped me with a restraining order." "So I said, 'No, this is how you use a boning knife' and the trial is probably next year." "Donald?"

I turned at the last voice. "Aunt Agnes?"

She waddled over, weighed down by foundation, wobbling on high heels like a druken top. "Donald! Dear little Donnie. How are you?"

"I am."

"That's just wonderful! What are you doing for a living?"

"Finances," I said, which was true enough.

"Oh, a shame. I'd hoped you'd become interesting," she tsk'd. "No wife yet?"

"No."

"Everyone need a good woman. Or a good man, hmm?" She winked a few times, eyelids cracking.

"No." I put some of what I was in my voice.

"Oh, well then. No need to be like that, now, is there?" She sniffed. "Why, Gilbert is still in the Service, and our little Shadow is a hair follicle replacement engineer, and Agnes Jr. has three grandchildren, but one of them --."

"What does Shawn do?" I said, feeling the weight of things unspoken between words.

She hesitated, then said: "Hair, at a very fine salon. And he's looking for --."

"I am a God," I said.

"Oh, moved down in the world, have you? Become a CEO?"

I stared at her, and dropped the Veil. She stared back, holding her purse a little tighter.

"Well. That's done horrible things for your hair, that I can tell you!"

"Pardon?" I said, and people turned. The veil held for them, but they weren't entirely stupid, not quite all lemmings. A few headed for cars, making excuses.

"Probably the god of some big, important thing, like not seeing family, hmm?"

I could, now, see some Protection about her, and almost pitied the god who must have Chosen her.

And I reached out, with my nature, and opened cracks.

People gasped, blanched, fell to the ground. Even Agnes reeled slightly at the collective stench.

"I do hope you have another one," I said to my mother, who had turned the colour of curdled milk, and then I went home, not caring if they saw my step through the world.

I turned my cell phone off, and gathered up my power. It would take some work to ensure this miracle was lost in the celestial bureaucracy, but it was what I was About.