Last night, I had a library program to preside over. It was the first night of our World War I series, a grant-funded viewing/discussion program (thank you NVR, ALA and NEH). Unfortunately, it's also migraine season for me, and I had a whopper last night and was freshly out of my migraine medication. Benadryl helps with the nausea a bit, so I got through the whole program without having to bolt from the room. By the end of the evening, the headache itself had started to subside, but I had the Benadryl munchies. French fries sounded good to me, so I pulled into the Wendy's drive-through near my house.
The pick-up window was manned by a guy in his mid-20s who I hadn't seen for awhile. I mostly knew him from the library, but would run into him around town once in awhile. The last time I saw him, he was trying to get his drag act jump-started, and would give me all sorts of details about his shows. He was even trying to branch out into bachelorette parties and said he'd love to do a show for me and my girlfriends.
He'd bring bags of clothes and fabric into the library and would ask for my opinion about how to alter a dress, or if he should bead the hem of something. I also helped him find a lot of music for his show in our CD collection. He also showed me a lot off his photos, and really, for a 300+ lb guy, he made a fairly attractive woman in an Aunt Bee sort of way. I have other friends who actually saw his shows and said he was really awful, but I always enjoyed talking to him on nights when I had plenty of time to talk because he's a talker, one of those people who shares way too much information with anyone who will listen.
So, he recognized me and greeted me with "Hi, hon, what you been up to?" After my brief answer, he told me all about the broken milkshake machine and the lazy girl who screwed it up earlier, before jumping in with his personal saga. "I don't do drag any more," he offered. With him, polite listening noises are enough to keep him going. He talked about friends who had taken him to church and were helping him turn his life around and keep him out of trouble. He kept using the word "prophesied" (with a long "i"), but I think he meant proselytized. I'm pretty sure he was talking about being saved or filled with the spirit. I listened politely, and because I know he's had some legal and other problems, I responded with a supportive, "That's great!" and said it was good to make a change once in awhile. Then I asked, "Are you happy?" thinking that this was all a pretty good thing for him. He shook his head and said, "No, not really," in a way that absolutely broke my heart. It's like he knew that who he was couldn't be changed by well-intentioned friends, or a congregation or Jesus himself, but he seemed determined to keep at it and hope that it took hold.
Then he told me about how he had been visited by the spirit last week during a church service. He was so filled with the spirit, that he flailed wildly, having lost control of his actions, and fell over backward, breaking several bones of the church lady sitting behind him. "What?!" I exclaimed, thinking that I'd misunderstood. But, no, he was so filled with the spirit that he caused bodily damage to another parishoner. I commented that she must have been a smaller, older woman with brittle bones, but he said, "Oh, honey, I weigh over 300 lbs. She didn't need brittle bones." He assured me that she wasn't mad at all, and prayed with him while she was in her hospital bed because she didn't want him to get down and let the devil get back in him. All the while I'm thinking, "how is he going to pay for her medical bills," but he volunteered that the church was taking care of it because "they have insurance for that sort of thing." I don't think he meant regular liability insurance, but special Act of God coverage or something. The fryer started beeping, and he said, "I gotta run, hon. You know where I am now, so come visit more often."
