Beth At My Door

There was a knock, knock, knock at my front door, early. It was one of the few days where I’d managed to sleep in.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Oh.”

Knock, knock, knock!

“Seriously?”

Knock, knock, knock!

“Go away!”

Knock, knock, knock!

“Jesus!”

Knock, knock, knock!

“Ohhhhhh.”

I dragged my sorry arse from the warmth of my bed.

“Kill them now!”

2011

I pulled on track pants and a hoodie.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Coming!”

I swung the door open to see Beth standing there, punching a fisted hand into her other hand.

“Josh, Josh, Josh.”

“Beth. Good morning.

“Josh, Josh, Josh.”

“Beth?”

“Josh, Josh, Josh.”

“Beth?”

“Have you ever thought I was Jesus, Josh?”

“What?”

“You have never thought I was Jesus, Josh?”

“No, Beth, I have never thought you were Jesus.”

“Never, Josh?”

“Never, Beth”

“Oh, okay.”

“Why do you ask, Beth.”

“I’ve been reading, Josh, that people think schizophrenics think they are Jesus, or God?”

“But, Beth, you are not schizophrenic.”

“No Josh, I’m not, but people think I am.”

“Do you think you are God?”

“No, Josh, not at all.”

“Well, isn’t that what you were reading about, even though your not schizophrenic.”

“It was Josh.”

“Shouldn’t you be reading about Autism?”

“I know all about Autism, Josh. Ask me anything?”

“Well, is that saying that religion feeds psychological disease?”

“You shouldn’t say that, Josh.” 

“Are the crazies just the next evolution of the god-botherers? Is that what it says?”

“Are you calling me crazy, Josh.”

“No, because you are autistic, Beth, not schizophrenic.”

“No, I’m not schizophrenic, Josh.”

“No.”

“I think it is saying that the mentally disturbed think they are Jesus.”

“That’s what it is saying?”

“People think I am mentally diseased?”

“But, you are not Beth, you are not.”

“But people think it of me.”

“I think you need to worry less about what other people think.”

“You are right, Josh. You know you are right.”

“I know I am right.”

“Good talk, Josh.”