Pops has just convinced the boys that it’s okay to start their stories in different places. Now the budding book writers have spread scraps of parchment on the table and are talking excitedly about what they should include.
“Common stories, so like … John the Baptist?” asks Mark hopefully. “I mean, I’m assuming you’d all include him. Everyone’s heard about the character who wore camel hair and ate giant bugs.”
“Yeah, that baptism was the start of Jesus’s ministry—plus fulfillment of prophecy,” agrees John. “Essential story material right there.”
“Or the time he fed thousands,” Mark continues, “or kicked out the pigeon sellers from the temple … what about those?”
John nods while Matthew and Luke scribble enthusiastically. “Different beginnings and some different stories, but lots of agreement still,” muses Luke. “Reminds me of teamwork in a hospital ward.”
Pops speaks up. “And not to be Captain Obvious, but you’ll all write about Jesus’s death and resurrection. Kinda important, right?”
Mary puts a finer point on it, saying, “That’s literally the whole point of the books. If one of you knuckleheads forgets to include that, I’m giving Sully green grass and water for a week and then locking him in your house.”
“Whoa, whoa,” protests Mark, “no need for that. We’re all pretty clear that it needs to be in each book. But a question for you, Mary. You brought Luke and me into this group, but have you thought about writing your own book?”
“Oh, I have. And I could. Perpetua, Phoebe, and I are in a writing group at Lydia’s house. But the time doesn’t feel quite right. I figure you men need to do your thing for a few hundred years … but there might be some surprises after that.”
With that, Mary stands and stretches. Pops stands as well.
“You four are smart enough to know that Mary’s even smarter,” he says, “and it sounds like you’re starting to agree on how to begin writing the four books. Which is welcome news, believe me.”
“Because?” asks Luke, looking up from his parchment.
“Because it’s closing time. You’ve out-argued and outlasted all my regulars, and I still gotta lock up and get home to feed the dogs. So vamoose, or however you say it in Latin.”
With a few more good-natured jokes, the four men collect their various writing materials, scooch out of the booth, and stand.
“Back tomorrow?” Pops asks.
“Definitely,” Mark agrees. “We’ve got a lot to figure out. Oh, and if you’re looking for a good jukebox tune to set the mood, maybe go with that U2 track ‘Until the End of the World’ … it’s haunting, in the best way.”
The four writers say goodnight, and Pops and Mary watch them leave, shaking their heads fondly. Mary puts on her shawl and grabs her purse.
“Mary, those four are going to need a lot of help along the way. You up for this?”
“Hell no. You?”
“Nope. Let’s hope that the helper Jesus promised shows up.”
“Amen,” Mary agrees.
As Pops finishes shutting down, he thinks about how there are enough Jesus stories to fill forty books, or maybe four hundred. At last he turns off the neon sign and locks up.
God help them, he thinks, beginning his walk home.
Until tomorrow, when Pops tells Mark about his past.
Image by Gemini.