It was a crazy thing I was doing. But that's the way I am. People used to elicit promises from me to "be on time," but I've stopped making promises like that, because I don't want to be on time. I want to be free.
So I was following this pickup truck, since it left the gas station. That's why I missed my turn to go home, and why I was driving back out towards 285 on Church Street, Christian in the back, my seven year old; we were going for a little ride.
"When the Rapture comes, this truck is yours," the bumper sticker said.
I had to follow it. I thought I needed to ask her about that, the driver, that is. In any case, we would have a little adventure, exploring, detouring, tailing.
Gotta have your fun, that's what I always say, and it was fun, for me. I stayed just far enough back that I could still read the bumper sticker. At some point I had to talk to her. I didn't really care how far she lived, I was just driving and thinking about this bumper sticker.
Is that what happens? They all leave, and we have the earth to ourselves? If that is true, I couldn't wait till the Rapture came. How wonderful it would be down here then, I thought. I would just have to ask her for a copy of her keys, or find out where she lives at least, so I could get the truck when the time came. If she'd just stop somewhere I could ask her. I did want to make sure no one else got it.
We drove off Church onto Scott, and continued towards 285, like I thought she would. I eased behind her as she eased onto the highway. Immediately she got in the lane to get off the exit to take 78 towards Athens. I wasn't going to Athens. I couldn't go that far. I was hoping she'd get off at Clarkston, or Snellville at worst.
I was sure the truck was a gas guzzler, but I imagine there should be less demand for gas after the rapture, so hopefully prices would come down.
"Momma, what does 'rapture' mean?" Christian said. He'd been staring at this bumper sticker as long as I had.
"It's, uh, judgment day," I said, absent mindedly.
We passed Clarkston. The further out we got towards Stone Mountain and Snellville the more I got the feeling that when the rapture came, there were going to be a lot of cars out this way. You could tell by the fish emblems so many had on them, but no one else was offering theirs up. Maybe they thought they would take their vehicles with them.
"What's judgment?"
"It's the end of the world." I glanced back. "I mean, that's not..." I had to think about how to frame this, "...it's when the believers go to heaven. The people who believe in Jesus."
"Do we believe in Jesus?"
I don't know why, but it struck me as weird that my 7 year old was asking me what he believed, weird that parents tell their kids what "we" believe, but true, I guessed.
"Do you?" I asked.
"Do you?" he replied.
"Define believe," I asked him.
"I don't know!"
"I believe he existed, but I don't believe he was God or anything."
78 became a local road, and she kept driving. If she would just stop, I could ask her. Why wouldn't she stop? Surely I got better gas mileage. How far did I want to drive anyway? Then I remembered that when I first spotted her she was pulling out of a gas station.
"We won't go to heaven?"
"I don't know."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not a Christian."
"I'm a Christian." I could hear him smiling.
"I don't know why we named you that," I said.
I was getting pretty far from home now, and not really looking forward to the drive home. This lady turned left onto another big road, 124 or something and kept going. I was actually getting low on gas.
"Where are we going?" Christian asked.
"We're going home," I said and pulled over into a strip center to turn around. I stopped for a minute and rested my head on the steering wheel. I looked back at Christian and smiled. "Dammit," I said, "I wanted that truck." I turned on the radio and Christian and I bopped our heads to the music all the way home.