Bus Stop

I found God two weeks ago, standing on the corner of Lexington and Main. He was waiting for the bus with a newspaper tucked up under his arm and an attaché case hanging from the other hand, just like a regular Joe.

I didn’t say anything right away – I wasn’t sure it was really him, and if it was, he was God, for crying out loud – just sort of stood fidgeting with my hands in my pockets and snuck glances at him out of the corner of my eye. His dark hair was in need of a trim and his neat beard was shot through with grey; his tie was a colorful confection of bright yellow rubber duckies dancing across a hyper-blue background, and the creases in his tan slacks were razor-sharp. When he noticed me looking at him he flashed his straight white teeth in a friendly smile.

“Yes?”

I blushed a little then, but I leaned in closer to him and said, “I’m sorry, but you look so familiar – aren’t you God?”

His smile widened and he switched his attaché case to his other hand. “That I am,” he said, extending his free hand toward me. “Good to meet you, Daniel.” His grip was firm and his palm was pleasantly cool; I couldn’t help smiling myself as I took my hand back.

“Wow,” I said, running a hand through my hair and trying not to stare at him. “It’s so crazy just running into you on the street like this. I can’t believe you take the bus just like everybody else.”

He chuckled, and the sound rolled and echoed through my insides. “I find it’s a good way to stay grounded. Don’t want to fall out of touch with people.”

“Right, right. That’s great – that you think about it like that, I mean. I mean –”

“I know what you mean, Daniel,” he said, and there was a twinkle in his dark eyes.

“Right. I mean, of course you would, you being God and all…” I trailed off, shoving my hands back into my pockets with an embarrassed grin. There was a short silence, during which God flicked a stray piece of hair away from his forehead and switched the attaché case back to his right hand.

“How’s the family these days, Daniel?”

“Oh! …Um? Well, they’re all right, I guess,” I said, shrugging. “They’re never going to believe me about meeting you, though.”

His teeth flashed in another smile. “Do you believe it?”

I nodded vigorously, worried I might have offended him. “Of course I do! Man, I’m going to remember this forever.”

“Well then,” God said. He sounded pleased. I relaxed and grinned back at him before I remembered my manners and asked him how his Son was doing. “Fine, fine.” He looked a little wistful. “He’s been too busy to visit lately, but he’s a fine boy. I’ll let him know you asked about him.”

I didn’t know what to say to that (the Father, talking to the Son – about me!) so I grunted an acknowledgement and stared at my sneakers, suddenly feeling shy and awkward. God didn’t seem to mind – he started humming, a nice tune that I thought I should recognize, but didn’t. “You’re a good boy, Daniel,” he said suddenly. I glanced back up at his face, dumbstruck, as the bus squealed to a stop in front of us. God smiled and winked at me before stepping up to the bus doors. They opened with a pneumatic hiss.

He was halfway up the steps when I found my voice. “Hey, God?” He paused and glanced over his shoulder. I smiled. “I’m glad you’re real, you know? So many people are phonies, but not you – you’re solid.”

I can’t be sure, but I think his eyes might have misted up a little. “I’m glad, too, Daniel.” And then the bus doors closed, and he was gone.