"An Encounter with Gahd" by Pete Prokesch
An Encounter with Gahd
In History 428X Religion in Antiquity, I read that strict monks carried two baskets in the field while they worked. For every good thought, they dropped a stone in the right-hand basket. For every bad thought, they dropped a stone in the basket on the left. When the sun set over the field the monks would count the rocks in each basket to see whether or not they would eat dinner.
I failed the class before I dropped out of UMass Boston and took a job bussing tables in Cape Cod. But at least I had a system while I sat on the sand dune on the empty beach at Duck Harbor and decided whether or not to dump Eric. I lay back as the sun slid below the wet horizon and the clouds passed over like steam.
I awoke suddenly on top of the dune to the shriek of cicadas as the wind whipped through the dark. Grains of sand stung my face like flies. A coyote laughed from the woods. The night sky was a black blanket, and the stars looked like pinholes of light.
There was a deer trail behind me that ran along the ridge of the dune, and a flashlight beamed from the distance. A night hiker, I thought. Fucking blow hard. Then again, who was passed out on a dune counting rocks to gain the nerve to dump their closeted boyfriend?
Anyway, the score was settled. Twenty-six stones to twenty-five. More bad thoughts than good. I’d bike home and pack my duffel bag with confidence. I’d enroll in classes and call Mom and ask her if I could move home like a man. I gulped and peered back down the trail.
The hiker drew close, but the light didn’t bounce or vibrate with the rhythm of steps. It was perfect in its approach — as if tied to a track. I stood and squinted, but in the dark I couldn’t find a human form holding the light — just the isolated orb. Smooth in its movements. Then the orb darted into the sky, vanished amidst the stars, and reappeared in the tall grass behind a rock. The white light shone around the stone.
Sheer panic coursed through my veins, and I dropped flat on the ground and tried to make myself invisible in the sand. But the orb had emerged from behind the rock and flashed a light like a camera and emitted a rainbow-colored tunnel towards me. I glanced inside and saw a kaleidoscope of diamonds and light.
Beautiful, I thought.
Thanks, a voice gargled back. The rainbow tunnel glowed with the rhythm of the words but made no noise. The voice was in my mind.
You can hear me? I thought.
Why couldn’t I? It’s a telepathic thought tunnel. I’m Gahd, by the way.
Who did this wise-ass orb think he was making me self-conscious about the science of thought tunnels? And was I really talking to God?
That’s Gahd with an “a-h,” he thought. And what’s a wise ass? And what’s with all the stones? Suddenly the two piles ascended in front of the dune and assembled themselves into two spirals like hypnotic eyes. Then the winning pile glowed in a bright blue light, and the losing pile burst into flames and fell smoking in the sand.
I’m trying to figure out whether or not to leave my boyfriend, I thought.
Well, what’s stopping you?
I paused and observed the smoke from the sand.
He fucks pretty good.
What is fuck?
The nerve on this orb.
Nerve?
I took a deep breath. Don’t robots fuck?
I don’t know, Gahd thought. I’m not a robot.
Well, what are you?
Gahd’s orb grew bigger — maybe the size of my head.
I’m a star-seed light-being from Arcturus.
Well, don’t star-seed light-beings from Arcturus fuck?
I was starting to like this thought tunnel. Maybe if humans connected this easily I wouldn’t be on a dune counting rocks like a medieval monk. Maybe Eric and I could reach an understanding if I could protrude a rainbow-colored ESP device from my forehead.
I can teach you if you want.
Can I have a little thought-privacy please?
Sorry.
Anyway, don’t star-seed light-beings fuck?
He paused again and made the computing sound.
We mingle our auric essences when we engender a new light-being into existence, if that’s what you mean. But never for pleasure.
I lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the rainbow thought tunnel and sighed. Gahd turned from white to yellow to red. He coughed and flickered, then glowed brighter than before.
Hey, that’s kind of good. What is that?
Tobacco, I thought. It’s nice after you fuck.
Can we try this? This fucking?
I could do this. I was a real man about to bike home and leave Eric. He had no power over me.
Power is an illusion anyway. And why do humans settle for one partner?
I sighed and tossed the stone down the dune. Thought-privacy was out of the question. I’m not polyamorous, I thought.
Poly-what?
Never mind.
I heard more computing sounds through the thought tunnel.
Look, I thought. If you want to fuck, we have to see if we’re compatible. .
Okay.
Are you gay?
Gender doesn’t exist in the fifth dimension. Male and female essences don’t split into duality beyond the fourth. I am drawn to a being’s core light.
I rolled my eyes. You’re non-binary pan-sexual, then.
Is that good?
I unbuckled my shorts and took off my shirt. If I fucked someone else, maybe I’d break the spell Eric cast over me.
Good enough.
The ocean breeze was cold, and I hugged my naked body for warmth. Gahd lowered the thought tunnel to the ground. The tunnel opened and expanded into a beautiful prism of blue and yellow light, and I added a tally to my list of partners in my head and crawled inside.
Pete Prokesch
Pete Prokesch is a writer from the Boston area. His fiction has appeared in Denver Quarterly, Four Way Review, and Evergreen Review, among others, and he has received support from Mass Cultural Council. A carpenter by trade, he has also worked as a shellfish farmer and on a trail crew in the National Forest. You can read his writing at peteprokesch.com.
Headshot: Elena Britos
Photo Credit: Staff