Into the Wild

On a dim afternoon where a dark grey outlines the clouds in the sky, it feels like this is it. The streets of New York match the boundaries of the world and the people move together in this limbo. Off to the side a man sits in his wheelchair, watching the people dressed in their blacks and browns going by. He looks at the children skipping lightly to keep up with the long strides of their parents. He hates them. He tightly grabs the wool blanket that covers half his legs. It only covers half his legs, because the other halves of his legs are gone.

He loosens his grip when he feels warmth surrounding him. It’s snowing and he gazes at the white flakes, and he looks to see who else is noticing them. The children exclaim to their parents, but they don’t care, but the kids do, and he still hates them, because they don’t love the snow for the same reason he does. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, but with the breath comes the smell, and it smells like the offspring of Adam and Eve. Also of old man, long past the expiration date, but that was his own chronic smell he didn’t mind.

There is a clank of solid metal against warped aluminum that distracts him. Someone has dropped some loose change to clean out their pockets into his cup, from which he had just finished drinking his hot chocolate. He had so much change in the backpack he kept on the back of his wheelchair it was beginning to make him tilt backwards.

It was never his intention to have people give him money. For a while he was angry with them, but after he looked in the mirror one day he couldn’t blame them. He thought he looked scary, but apparently to them he looked pitiful; he had all the dimes and nickels to prove it.

He remembers it’s getting near Christmas, so he looks at his pocket calendar and is surprised that today is the 21st. After hastily packing his cup and pocket calendar into his backpack, he rotates the right wheel slowly to merge into the traffic of people. He looks above some of the smaller buildings of the city and sees the copper dome top of the synagogue turned worn green; his destination.

The wheel chair shakes when he goes over a small bump, which he realizes is the curb only just before a red Honda Civic hits him. His wheelchair falls to its side, weighted down by the force of the change in his backpack. However, the momentum flings him over the white cross walk lane. He hears gasps and he feels thick liquid when his head connects first to the ground, and feels burning skin while his body touches ground; rubbing his clothes quickly and tightly against his skin. Soon he doesn’t feel anything past his neck when he rolls over.

Some feet come rushing toward him, some stay, and some walk backwards. He lies there face to the ground and he thinks about the day God took his legs away from him. Hands pushed him to see the sky and the snowfall, but heads begin to block his view, so he closes his eyes so he won’t have to look at them.

He sees the white circle of light, so small, but he knows he isn’t going anywhere. He feels Heaven and Eden beating down on him, it feels full and good and clean. But it shrinks and is gone, and he feels the absence of God when he opens his eyes; it’s horrible. He sits upright, blood still wet on the ground, but no wounds to say they caused the spill.

The crowd around him backs away quickly, startled by his resurrection. A woman begins reciting chapters from the New Testament about Jesus and his miracles, and he crawls to his wheelchair. The loose gravel sticks to the palms of his hands. He tries to ignore the woman talking about Jesus; she aggravates him more than the children. He hates when people deem things miracles. This isn’t a miracle; he couldn’t die.

Every once in a while he used to try to put a bullet through his head, but only wake up a few hours later to the stench of the left overs on the wall.

Someone had turned his wheelchair upright, but he managed to slowly get into the seat himself. He doesn’t say anything and he ignores the questions from the people around him.

Turning a corner he is in a new traffic of people that don’t know, don’t know his “miracle,” and don’t know him. The last thing he ever wanted or even wants to be, is famous, but he’d managed to accomplish it regardless of his intentions. Looking ahead he sees his final destination is only a block away. He thinks the stone steps and architecture add a calm to the over-stimulating buildings, which are constant. It feels nice to have a sanctuary to go to, even if it’s under God’s watchful eye. He traces the smooth dome top’s transition into old grey brick and stone. The staircase sticks out, because it’s too sharp and shapely, not worn like the rest.

He rolls up the ramp with some difficulty; he is a scrawny man, whose clothes hang on him too loosely. Pressing the handicap button on the side of the door he waits to enter the synagogue. It’s Friday the 21st 2012, and he arrives to the evening service fifteen minutes late. He considers how long he was knocked out for and becomes angry with himself for thinking that he might actually go toward the light this time. “Only until judgment day,” he tells himself, and even then he is skeptical He will accept him.

He sits on the outside left isle, in the back, and stops his thoughts to listen to Rabbi Jeremy. He is reading a story from the Talmud; a story that took place during Genesis The Rabbi tells of a beautiful woman who was made with Adam, they were two lights that came to earth as man and woman. The man in the wheelchair becomes startled and begins to cry. He can’t concentrate on the rest of the service, because he’s crying so much. He moves out into the lobby where he can’t be heard, but everyone knows he’s sad, even if they don’t know why. He can’t stop thinking about the woman that came to earth with Adam and he wishes he could listen to the rest of the story, but it hurts so much in his chest. It hurts more than it has in the past. Never had he heard the story about the woman not named Eve told by a Rabbi. It made him upset to be reminded, but happy someone else knew.

After the service Rabbi Jeremy came to see him.

“It’s good to see you Seth, how are you?” Rabbi Jeremy asks in an earnest tone. He kneels to see eye to eye with Seth, and even then he must hunch to be level.

Seth has already finished wiping away his tears, but redness surrounds his eyes.

“Come, let’s go to my office, I have some nice hot cocoa… and mayhaps get you showered and shaven”

Seth nods his head in approval.

Rabbi Jeremy wheels him down the isle and brings Seth to his back office where there is a comfy couch he sets Seth next to.

“I notice you excused yourself during service I-,”

“I didn’t realize you knew the story about Lilith, the woman born with Adam,” Seth says, moving from his wheelchair to the couch. He relaxes as the material surrounds his limbs and he sinks deeper.

“Yes I know the story, several versions about it actually,” Rabbi Jeremy says, “I suppose the story has some weight with you, unless there was something else on your mind when you came in?”

“No, I always have her on my mind.”

“So you’re having romance troubles?” he asks confused.

“How long have you known me Jeremy?”

“About thirty years.”

“You trust me?”

“Of course.”

“I realize you are a man of faith, but I also realize you are a man of reason, and even though I know you will get old and die, I want to savor your friendship while I have you.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, I haven’t had a drink in-,” Seth hesitated for a second, “in over three hundred years.”

“Ok, ok, I was just wondering. You don’t have to worry about loosing my friendship Seth, just say what you have to say.”

“I was serious about the three hundred years.”

He becomes frustrated by the look Rabbi Jeremy gave him. He starts to cry from wanting to tell Jeremy the truth.

“Please,” Seth sobs, “I need to tell someone.”

“Alright, Seth,” Jeremy says quietly, making himself comfortable in his chair, “I’ll humor you.”

It was sometime around the seventh day in the East of Eden when there were two lights in the sky, brighter than the sun at full height. I became dazed at the sight of it, but I wanted to see what God was creating next. For the past seven days he had been making all kinds of things, we, the animals, were one of the last. Now, there were these two lights landing somewhere on the East of Eden. I ran as fast as I could, following the glow to their final resting place.

This was before my legs were taken away from me.

I came to a field where there lay two angels without wings, but with rather curious added body parts. I went closer to examine them, but man moved and startled me. I found a nice place in the bushes to watch them both. Woman slept soundly, but man seemed to be waking.

He looked around and was fast to notice the beauty lying next to him. Man slowly touched her waist and drew back quickly. He then put his whole hand on her waist and felt her, she did not stir, and he continued examining her with his hands gently, until the Voice of God spoke. Man was startled by him, but regained his composure when the Voice told him not to be afraid.

The Voice consoled man and called him, Adam.

“Adam, the creature who lies next to you is woman, her name is Lilith. You are the stronger and she is to complement you. This place you are in is Eden, where you shall stay.”

Adam looked around at his Eden, but nothing could hold his interest, except Lilith. She was and is smooth and creamy, like fresh-wet clay, so full of life and a face with such potential.

“God made her too beautiful,” I had thought, wondering if God knew what He made.

Adam touched her with his imperfect growth and made her stir. She awoke to him on his knees over her, she screamed, and ran from him. He stayed where he was, confused and frustrated by her plight.

Stupid man didn’t know what he had done.

I ran after Lilith, watching from afar as she stopped, and cried under the Tree of Knowledge. I walked out from the distance to speak to her, “Lilith? Don’t be afraid.”

She looked up from her teary hands and saw me. “Who are you?”

“I am one of God’s creatures just like you. Why did you run away from Adam?”

“He was frightening,” she told me, innocently. I laughed a little at her sincerity and she smiled at my laughter.

We talked happily to one another, I told her about Eden, and creation, until Adam came. He saw us sitting together and became angry, that is when he named me “Snake.” The word flowed out of him with a hiss, which would become another evil trait to match my name. Adam took Lilith by the wrist and bade her to come with him, to lie with him, but she did not want to and told him so. Envy became apparent in his eyes, although he did not know it. He left Lilith with me and went away.

What we did not know was he went to God and spoke of Lilith’s misdeeds. Since Adam was the stronger, God granted his wish for a new woman to be made. He claimed this one was not complimenting; him as God originally promised. This is when Lilith was replaced with a piece of Adam’s flesh; Eve.

Lilith was banished, and wandered as far as the Red Sea. I was left to mourn her absence. Meanwhile, Adam’s new bride was appeasing his lust and everyone in Eden was happy except for me.

At first I blamed God for listening to that fool, Adam. But I realized he loved Adam and would do anything to make him happy, so I decided to put punishment unto him.

It was during high noon when Adam was out getting lunch, leaving Eve to herself; sitting under the Tree of Knowledge. I hung from the branch and whispered in her ear, suggestions, that she must be hungry; she should eat an apple. At first she resisted, proclaiming God would not be pleased, Adam would not be pleased. But weak minds from defective flesh can be easily swayed.

She ate from the Tree, Adam saw her, and God sees everything. They were banished to live as mortals and I chose exile as well, only God took away my legs as final payment for my sins.

“You are the Snake from the Genesis story?” Jeremy asks.

“Yes,” Seth says plainly.

“Alright I humored you and the streets must have finally gotten to you, Jesus Christ,” Jeremy argued, but his voice held some fear that it might be true.

“Look at me Jeremy! If you take away my facial hair and add a month of healthy living conditions I am the same twenty- something year-old man you met thirty years ago.”

“Then why do you look human?”

“Satan hates the humans, so when you do him a favor, he’ll do anything for you.”

“So… you haven’t told this to anyone?” he asks, nervously rubbing his hands together.

“You’re the first human.”

“So… why did you want to tell me?”

“I don’t want to carry it anymore, I want you to know that the Snake is sorry for kicking you guys out of a good deal, and I want people to know Eve is not the ideal woman.”

“It’s getting late,” the Rabbi says, running his hands up and down his face, “you should sleep here and we’ll continue this talk in the morning. I need time; I’m sorry Seth.”

Jeremy’s face looks older when he walks out the door, and Seth regrets telling the Rabbi his story. The Rabbi’s face is stretched thinner, Seth feels guilty, but he feels lighter; better.

Rabbi Jeremy is sitting upright in bed, his wife’s sleeve brushes lightly against his arm. It’s 5 minutes before midnight, he has meditated for two hours about what he had just heard. He turns to his wife and asks her if she would forgive the Snake, if he asked for it. She tells him, “Yes, if he was sincere.”

That night, at 2 minutes before midnight, the snow was in a haze of white and Rabbi Jeremy forgave Seth.

That night, at midnight, the snow clamed and the last flake fluttered down and settled on the roof of the Synagogue. Seth died in his sleep, thinking of Lilith, and how beautiful she must look tonight.