Always Back of the Line by Terveen Gill

Either I’m looking at your ass or the back of your head.

Nothing else seems to appeal to me.

Not the sights or sounds around me. There’s nothing special about where I usually stand.

I’ve been doing this for so long that all my questions have abandoned me.

Why me?

Is this a joke?

Was I born unlucky?

Questions without answers are like women without husbands. They appear meek and confused but don’t have a shred of patience. And the minute you leave them alone, they’ve forged new relations.

My wife didn’t find this analysis funny. The only thing she liked was the thought of being without a husband.

So I’m left standing alone – metaphorically.

Literally – there are always tens and hundreds in front of me.

Where do they come from? Who knows?

Do they simply arrive so that I’m not the first one – nowhere near the front of the line?

It could be a conspiracy. A curse of some kind. A lesson in patience?

Sorry! That ran out the day I discovered there’s even a long line to meet Jesus, not the son of God, but the brother of Juanita, a homeless artist whose sketches were magnificent, yet he continued to starve.

His pitiful condition touched my heart and supposedly the hearts of everyone else – on the same damn day.

How does that even happen?!

The line snaked for miles around corners and trees, and by the time I reached Jesus, he had found a home, gotten married, and resembled a plumpish berry.

My wife’s casserole and my white shoes bit the dust, one collapsed in my hands, the other choked at my feet, I laid them to rest after Jesus refused my charity.

I ain’t poor no more, Saar. That wus back in 1982.

Oh lord!

If you see me coming, don’t rush or frown. You’re probably already way ahead of me in terms of time, sanity, and distance.

But if you ever find yourself behind me, feel free to stare at my butt.

I’ve been squatting and deadlifting for this momentous occasion.

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