What was it that stopped me this time? Jesus. Not anything too spectacular, and 
nothing to get worked up over, but I mean, it was Jesus, nonetheless. I had the blade 
buried in my skin and was right in the middle of committing the forsaken deed when he 
showed up, sitting on my toilet seat, wearing those awful looking sandals, you know, the 
ones that lace way up your ankle and look like they're nothing more than a piece of dried 
pumpernickel stuck to your foot by some dirty dental floss. Anyway, I only mention the 
sandals because that's what I saw first, seeing as how I was crumpled up on the floor of 
the bathroom, crying and sawing away at my arm. I noticed them and stopped, upset that 
I now had an audience. I immediately felt silly…imagine when I noticed the wearer of 
the sandals was Jesus. That was a kicker. I quit crying, I can tell you that much. Well, 
anyway, the next thing I noticed was the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It baffled 
me, so I stared at it for a while, not even noticing the blood that was now covering my 
favorite blue jeans. Finally he spoke.
	"What, you want one?"
	"Well…yeah."
	In retrospect, it seems somewhat inappropriate to take a cigarette from Jesus, but 
at the time, I really needed the nicotine. And he offered it, so one could argue that it 
would be equally wrong to not accept a gift from Jesus. That's what I think, at least. 
Anyway, after we had both lit up and were sitting there puffing away, it finally occurred 
to me to ask him all the obvious questions that would surely have been plaguing my 
mind, were it not for the present situation. At the moment, my thoughts were slightly 
more incoherent, though improving rapidly.
	"Where'd you get those sandals?" I started with. It seemed profound at the time. 
	"A friend."
	Ok. That was fair enough. Next question.
	"Whatcha doin?"
	"Smoking a cigarette. With you."
	Cool. Jesus and me, chillin'…I liked the sound of that. I nodded in understanding. 
Enough preliminaries, I wanted to get to the good stuff.
	"…"
	I opened my mouth to ask that all important, impending question that I couldn't 
really remember, but at that point I remembered the fact that I was a sinner, and all that 
rot, as well as the fact that I had been caught in my own bathroom in the middle of a 
suicide attempt. Talk about your divine intervention, right? But anyway, I thought I 
needed to apologize or something. They do it a lot in the bible, I justified. Suddenly it 
seemed like the appropriate protocol: confess your sins, THEN chill with Jesus.
	"Uh, sorry about the razor, and the blood, and uh-"
	I looked up at Jesus, hoping he would stop me. He was staring at a picture on my 
wall, so I sat down the blade that I had been turning between my fingers and continued.
	"Well, I'm a bad person, so I'm sorry about that, too…and sorry 
about…everything?"
	Well, that came out all wrong. Damn, did I have a way with words. I waited a 
minute as Jesus put out his cigarette on the edge of my bathtub.
	"It's cool," he said, not meeting my questioning stare.
	He didn't move to say anything else.
	"So, uh, we get to chill now, right?" 
	Boy, I sure hoped we did. Jesus and me, chillin'…the thought got more appealing 
by the moment. Maybe we could even have a hamburger later.
	"Yea, for a little while. You doin ok?"
	It was the most he'd said to me in the few minutes we'd been sitting there in the 
dimly lit, grimy bathroom. Looking back, I can think now of all the things I could have 
said, the advice I could have gotten, all the things that Jesus and me could have 
discussed. But at the time, when he asked if I was doin ok, I swear to you it seemed like it 
was. I forgot the fact that my jeans were soaked in a puddle of my own blood that grew 
increasingly larger. I forgot why I had even gotten to that point, why I had sunk that low, 
and why I felt like my bathroom floor at 3 in the morning was my final destination. I 
forgot about the bruises on my hip and cheek bones, the alcohol in my fridge, and the 
empty bottle of pills in my overflowing trash can. It was just gone, whoosh, like magic, 
and suddenly it was all about Jesus and me, chillin'. So I answered as such. You doin 
ok?, he asked. 
	"Yea, I'm alright," I replied, "Feeling better."
	"Good."
	Jesus looked kinda happy. I judged that by the slight upward twitch of his tired 
looking features, and the fact that he finally looked directly at me with his soft eyes. I 
was struck by how sad he appeared, and I felt the urge to maybe skip the hamburger; It 
looked like what Jesus needed was a hug. I was about to offer him one when he spoke, 
unexpectedly.
	"I really like you, you know. You're better than all this."
	That was a nice compliment, sure. But it didn't sit right.
	"Aren't you supposed to like me? Aren't you supposed to love me and stuff, 
right? Since you're Jesus?"
	"I do. But I like you, too. I just thought you needed to know."
	Well that was interesting. Somehow, though, it felt kind of nice to know that I had 
someone like Jesus to add to my list of people who like me. I smashed the remains of my 
cigarette on the floor. All the brilliant questions that I was sure I was supposed to be 
asking again slipped from my mind. I wasn't sure what to say, so I just looked at him. 
Stared, I guess, though I think that's impolite. Either way, whatever I did was enough to 
really take in his appearance, as ungraspable as it was. His eyes were soft. I already said 
that. His hair was a little dirty, and kind of long. For some reason that did stand out. He 
didn't wear a robe, just a worn out, faded tee shirt and some beat up Levi's. And the 
sandals, of course. But other than that, now that I think back, I can't think of what he 
looked like at all. But I stared for a long time, I know I did, because I remember being 
fascinated by the sheer depths of his appearance. Maybe that's why I can't remember it. 
Or maybe it was the anti-depressants that still were coursing through my system. 
	"Why are you back down here?" I asked him.
	
	"On Earth, I mean." I had to clarify.
	"I make the trip every now and then."
	"From heaven?"
	"No. From Mars."
	I think he was kidding, because at that point he snorted amusedly. I'll bet he gets 
asked that a lot.
	"So not from heaven, then?"
	"No."
	"Then…from where?"
	"…"
	At that point I'm not sure if Jesus said something I don't remember, or if he said 
something I didn't understand, or if he didn't say anything at all. Whatever happened 
gave me a tremendous feeling of closure and contentedness, as if a part of me had been 
put to rest. I decided not to press the issue any further.
	We sat in silence a few more minutes, Jesus having produced another cigarette 
from somewhere I didn't see, and he lit up again. 
	"So are you going to be ok?" he asked.
	"I think I am." 
	I genuinely was feeling better at this point. 
	"Then I think I'm going to go."
	For some reason, this didn't shake me up as badly as I had thought it would. I just 
smiled at him, my first real smile in a long time, and held out my hand. Where I was 
expecting a handshake I got pulled up into a hug, and me and Jesus stood there in the 
middle of my bathroom, arms around each other, feeling nice and Kumbaya. 
	"You coming?" he asked, stepping toward the bathroom door.
	"Where?" I asked. I hadn't bathed in a few days. I'd need to shower first.
	"Where I came from."
	"Not heaven?"
	"No."
	"Oh." I thought about it for a minute. It all seemed good until I thought of the 
stray cat that wandered around the parking lot of my apartment building. If I left, nobody 
would be there to feed her. It seemed a little unimportant, but then again…Anyway, I 
think Jesus knew, too, because when I went to say no, he cut me off.
	"You're right," he said. "How could I have forgotten; she needs you. Stay."
	"Ok. That's fine."
	Jesus didn't say anything. He just stood there, looking at me with those sad, soft 
eyes, his indescribable hand resting on the door knob.
	"It was really nice, uh, chillin' with you," I said, kind of lamely. It felt weird, but 
	I guess it was appropriate. Then, before I could even think about what I was saying, I 
blurted out, "What's up with the bible?" Immediately I felt bad, but Jesus just gave me 
that gentle, tired look, and almost seemed amused.
	"I'm not sure. I think…" For the first time, he looked for words. "The truth's in 
there. You just have to take it in the same dose as the lies. It's like life, I guess."
I didn't really get his answer, but then again, I didn't hardly get my own question. 
But that ended it really, and Jesus moved to open the door. I gave a little wave as he 
stepped out, and noticed that in the spot where I had so recently opened my veins, there 
was only smooth, white skin. I smiled. Before closing the door, without warning, Jesus 
threw me another cigarette. I caught it.
	"Thanks. I needed that," I said.
	"I know," he replied as the door was closing. "I always do."
	The door clicked shut.