The Infamous Jesus Story

If you are Christian and take easy offense to people warping your religion and religious figures, you may not enjoy this story. But I have had a lot of people--mostly authors--on twitter that requested I post this story. It is about Jesus and how he wants to be a dancer. He is also engaged to a man named Lance. Like I said, you're probably not going to like it if you're super religious. But whatever. It's for English class and I think it't pretty neat. So, without further ado, here is the Infamous Jesus Story!

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Jessy Christopher’s Christmas Miracle

Christmas: my least favorite time of the year. If the people of the world aren’t forgetting me so they can concern themselves with money, gifts, and Santa Claus, they are worshipping me even more than they usually do. No matter what, begging me for a Christmas miracle.

It’s always the same ever year—the world goes crazy on and around my birthday. I still get glimpses of that night in the major. It smelled like goats and the magi who brought me gifts. They didn’t smell much better. Ever since then, I’ve been walking around, making miracles. All because my mom got knocked up by God.

         

Nobody understands what I really want. I don’t want to be a carpenter, or a miracle man. No, what I really want to do is be a dancer. I’ve fist-pumped with the Jersey Shore Crew, partied with Paris in Paris, and even attended a few traditional dance classes, and I am well on my way to becoming a star.

         

I’ve tried not to use my fame to my advantage. I’ve even given myself a pseudonym: Jessy Christopher, and so far nobody has caught on.

One night, I sit in the purple leopard armchair in the apartment I share with my fiancé, Lance as we drink our earl grey and watch Dancing With the Stars. It’s a tradition in our house; it has been since we began dating three years ago. I look at the screen and think about how I wish that could be me.

         

I know it’s finally time to tell Lance what I’ve been keeping from him. No, not that I am the savior of humanity—he figured that out when he saw me come back to life after a cookie making disaster. “Lance,” I am hesitant, yet excited to tell him of my plans. “What if I told you I wanted to move… to New York?”

Lance looks at me and grips his chin, scratching the short facial hair I’ve grown to love. His eyes are deep in concentration, and his thick eyelashes bat a few times. It’s his thinking face. “Well, the economic situation in New York isn’t as bad as it is here.” We’ve been living in California for a while. “I guess we could look into it.”

I squeal in excitement and rush across the room to plant a kiss on his cheek. He smiles meekly at me, pushing his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip of his tea. “We’d better start packing.” Lance says, and sets the cup on the table.

“Hey!” I say, pointing to the cup. He nods knowingly and picks it back up, placing it on a coaster before standing up to go to our room.

It’s been two weeks since we’ve moved to New York and I still haven’t found any work. I almost had a callback for a Broadway show, but the director muttered to me, “Jesus, you’re good. But you don’t have enough experience.” I smiled at him and left. I was worried at first that he had caught on, but of course he didn’t. Nobody can tell it’s me, as long as I keep the beard cut.

So, I’ve been living in a cozy apartment with Lance. He’s found another job in accounting, and that’s what’s been supporting us. He bugs me to ask my dad for help sometimes, but me and the big man haven’t been close since I came out of the closet. He never actually told me he was disappointed in me, but when he struck me down to earth to live here for an eternity, I got the hint.

“We’ll make it work.” I say to Lance, every time he brings up money. And we always do. I can perform miracles, of course. We look out our apartment window and watch the snow silently fall upon the city, turning the cement covered streets white.

Lance walks over to the kitchen, no doubt to prepare some tea for us. When he opens the cupboard, he yells and I rush over to him. He’s lying on the ground, covered by a pile of cash. I extend my hand out to him and he takes it, lifting himself off the ground with my help.

“It’s a Christmas miracle!” He exclaims, wrapping me in for a tight hug.

“It sure is.” I say, and glance out the window. I see a cloud in the shape of a face, and I can almost swear I see it wink. “It sure is…” I say again, this time to myself.

After we take our money to the bank, we go back home, and head to bed. I know it’s going to be a great holiday this year.