A Martinez - Divine Misfortune

Teri, wryly grinning, withdrew a jar of spaghetti sauce from a bag. It would’ve been nicer if Janet had remembered to bring some spaghetti to go with it.

“I’m a terrible bomb shelter shopper. I admit it. Happy?” said Janet. “But you’ve been against me dating your god from the start. So why are you acting all smug about it now?”

Teri extracted a tinfoil lump from the freezer. She couldn’t remember what it was, though it didn’t smell quite right. Like year-old meatloaf or halibut gone bad or maybe stale melted plastic. She pondered peeling back the foil and revealing the mystery, but decided her sanity wasn’t in a state for any more surprises. She threw it in the garbage.

“Go ahead,” said Janet.

The mystery foil had derailed Teri’s train of thought. It took her a few seconds to catch up to the conversation.

“You’re just dying to tell me I told you so,” said Janet. “So do it already.”

Teri laughed. “Damn, you really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“I was wrong,” said Teri, “about you and Lucky.”

“You’re saying it’s a good idea now?”

“Oh, hell, no. Terrible idea. Horrible idea. Gods and mortals should not date. That’s just obvious.”

Teri paused, holding up a six-pack of off-brand banana-and-chocolate soda pop.

“It’s delicious,” said Janet.

“Then you take it.”

“Maybe I will.” Janet grabbed the pack, peeled off a can, and popped it open. After taking a sip, she calmly walked over to the sink and spit it out. She stuck her tongue under the running faucet. “Well, it sounded good. But I just thought it was worth trying.” She stuck out her tongue. “Got any crackers?”

“Uh-hmm.” Teri smirked again.

“You don’t wear smug well,” said Janet.

“I think you wear everything well, honey,” said Phil as he entered the kitchen.

“Thank you, baby. Here, have a Hot Pocket.”

“You’re too good to me,” he said.

“I know.”

Janet and Teri put the conversation on hold until Phil had zapped his snack in the microwave and returned to the living room.

“Lucky is banana-and-chocolate soda,” explained Teri. “Or at least, he was supposed to be.”

“I hate metaphors,” said Janet.

“Too bad. Because you’re going to have to listen to this one.” Teri took the remaining five cans of soda and put them in front of Janet. “This is what you do. Pop open a banana-and- chocolate soda. Sure. Why not? Maybe you’ll love it. Maybe not, but hey, let’s give it a shot. What do you have to lose?”

“You’re losing me.”

“No interruptions, please.” Teri pushed the cans forward. “But here’s the thing. Maybe you kind of like the soda because it’s new and different and at least you can say you had the experience. But, ultimately, you know that banana-and-chocolate soda isn’t going to become your favorite soft drink. Even if you drink the entire six-pack, the odds you’ll ever buy another six-pack are minuscule. And that’s assuming that they’ll even keep making the soda, which is highly unlikely also.

“Dating gods is just the same. It’s a new experience, good for a story and a chuckle. But you don’t plan on doing anything more. And if by some chance you do develop some feelings, you know the god will take off before it gets serious.”

“Commitment issues? That’s your deep metaphorical insight? Hell, I could’ve told you that.”

“Ah, but here’s the catch,” said Teri. “Sometimes, even when you don’t mean to, even when you do your best to avoid it, you end up liking the banana-and-chocolate soda. A lot. And the soda likes you back. A lot. And then, before you know it, even when you didn’t want it, you find yourself looking forward to cracking open your favorite soda. And worrying about if they ever stop making it.”

“Can we ditch the metaphor at this point?”

“Okay, but you know I’m right.”

Janet glowered. “Okay, so maybe you’re right. So what?”

“So… nothing. Just an observation. Just so you know, I think Lucky really does like you a lot. And not just in that divine-infatuation way.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

Janet smiled, then frowned, then smiled. “Crap.”

“Welcome to a relationship,” said Teri. “Whether you like it or not.”

“You don’t have to be so happy about it.”

“Sorry. I just think it’s funny, that’s all.”

“So what am I supposed to do now? I’ve never really been in a… well, one of these things. Not even with a mortal.”

“Play it by ear,” said Teri. “That’s how everybody else does it.”

“And doesn’t that usually screw everything up?”

“Usually.”

Janet ran her fingers along her necklace and slouched. Crap.

Someone cleared his throat. It was Lucky. He stood on the table. Actually, he hovered a few inches over it, in a transparent projected form.

“Help me, Obi-Wan. You’re my only hope.”

The hologram chuckled.

“Sorry, I just always wanted to do that. Just thought I’d check in. Quick and I are lost in the collective unconscious right now. But we’ve got it figured out. A singing taco drew us a map on the back of a napkin.”

He cocked his head to one side and listened to a voice only he could hear.

“No, Quick, that’s not a turn. That’s just when the pen slipped. Remember?” He scratched his head and turned his attention back toward Teri and Janet. “So it might take a while longer than anticipated, but we’ll get out eventually. Just hang in there, kids. We’re on it. Quick says hi by the way.”

He started to fade.

“How long were you standing there?” asked Janet.

“Technically, I’m not standing here,” he replied. “I’m just projecting.”

“How long?”

“Not long.” He looked a little embarrassed, but that could’ve been her imagination.

The doorbell rang. Teri answered it.

“Hello,” said the stooped, withered old man. “Have you considered the value of changing your religion?”

“About once every three minutes,” she said.

“Close the door,” said Lucky’s projection. “Close it now, Teri.”

The man stuck his foot in the doorjamb, to keep her from getting the door shut. His shoes sizzled and burned with a sulfurous, yellow smoke. He didn’t seem to mind. With one thin arm, he threw the door open, knocking Teri into Phil’s arms.

“You can’t enter here,” said Lucky. “This is my temple.”

Gorgoz’s mortal disguise cracked. He grinned, revealing crooked and misshapen teeth. He stepped across the threshold, and immediately burst into flames. He took three more steps before collapsing in a heap of blackened bones.

“You have to get out of here,” said Lucky. “Right now.”

The skeleton raised his skull. “Oh, but we were just getting acquainted. What’s the rush?” He stood. By the time he was back on his feet, his flesh and suit had re-formed. His liver spots had doubled in size, and his skin had turned a mottled puke green. And his eyes were two bloodshot orbs. He still smoldered, but the rate of regeneration had equalized, evening things out. The smell of burning flesh, along with his natural rotten-fish odor, was nauseating.

“I’m warning you,” said Lucky, “if you harm one hair on these mortals’ heads-”

“You’ll what? Hmmm. You’ll what? You’re not even here. And even if you were, you couldn’t stop me. Your favor is as worthless as the rest of the pathetic gods, shackled by the rules and regulations you’ve surrendered to. So why don’t you do us all a favor and shut up? I’m trying to have a civilized conversation here.”

The mortals eyed all the possible exits. Gorgoz snapped his fingers, and every door and window closed and locked. And for that extra touch, he materialized various venomous serpents to guard them. Except for the front door, where he placed a two-headed mutant beast, something between a bear and a shark. The malformed creature was awkward, more likely to roll over people trying to exit than actually bite them. But that would have been just as fatal.