No U Turn. Michael Taylor

You have figured it out. So now, let us move on! First let Me answer you—a very good question, by the way—The Name doesn’t matter! It is the belief and the reverence with which it is used. The older angels sometimes call me ‘Max the Mensch.’ ”

      “What’s a Mensch?”

      “Why don’t you know what a Mensch is? I thought you were Jewish?”

      “I am, but I wasn’t Bar Mitzvah’d.”

      “Not Bar Mitzvah’d! What’s that got to do with paying attention to life or listening to your family? I know you had a Bubbie [Jewish grandmother] who spoke Yiddish. Are you trying to change the subject? No, don’t bother to answer! Besides, whose fault was it that you weren’t Bar Mitzvah’d?”

      “My parents,” answered Ben.

      ≈ Always, ‘The Parents!’ thought GOD loudly ≈

      “Now, how many times have we heard that before?” GOD asked Peter rhetorically.

      

      Peter suddenly got that ‘Oh, Shit! Here-we-go- again’ look on his face; but from long practice he controlled himself, considering where they were and in Whose presence he was. So instead, Peter quickly put on an ‘Oh, Merde!* Here-we-go-again’ look on his face.

      ~~~~~~~~~~

       *Author’s NOTE: Even in heaven, French makes everything better. Inappropriate thoughts sound elegant. Speaking in French also improves looks, digestion and skin tone. And generally makes everything rude appear more acceptable. For example, the distasteful Washington, DC water, with all of its ailments, odors and bad publicity, becomes palpable in the Dupont (French again) Circle area, when served in a bottle that once held a fine Pinot Noir; especially if the water was left to age sufficiently on an appropriately colored—red and white—cloth, covering a small table for two that has been set for a party of four, in the very authentic atmosphere of the very French ‘Bistro Du` Coin.’

      

      ~~~~~~~~~~

      “Mr. Geller, are you trying to change the subject?” asked GOD.

      

      ≈ Again? thought Peter loudly ≈

      

      “No. Sorry. Force of habit. I’m a salesman.”

      “Let’s get back to Mensch. It means ‘a human being, a good person, or a person of integrity and honor’ in the sense of how I built you and what I hoped you would become: The nice-, kind-, happy-, good to your neighbor-, love your family-, be charitable-type of human being.”

      “But Max, if you are a Mensch, how can a human also be a Mensch?”

      “That’s easy. I made you in my image—in my likeness. Remember? You have heard of that concept before, haven’t you?”

      Without waiting for a response, GOD said, “So, be a Mensch and tell me all about yourself.”

      “What is this, a date?”

      Understanding the source of his fear and reluctance to divulge personal things, GOD ignored Boogie’s sarcasm and controlled the urge to just smite him. Instead, GOD said soothingly, “No this is not a date. It is a Determination.”

      “What is that supposed to mean? I don’t understand.”

      “You always want to know what something means, but won’t make the effort to thoroughly investigate the concepts. But to get you started—to motivate you—a Determination is your opportunity to tell me all about yourself. It will determine your fate. So please begin.”

      “What happens if I don’t want to tell you?”

      “The same thing if you do tell me and don’t reveal yourself honestly.”

      “How much time do I have?”

      “That is what is going to be Determined.”

      “Do I have a choice?”

      “You have always had choices and this is no exception.”

      “How did I do?”

      “How did you ‘do’ with what?”

      “With my choices.”

      “You did!”

      “I did what?”

      “Everything. You did everything you wanted to do.”

      “No, I didn’t!”

      “What didn’t you do?”

      “A lot of things. I could give you a list, but it would take forever.”

      “I have forever. It will be entertaining. It’s my job.”

      “You have a job?” Ben asked incredulously.

      “Of course.”

      “Tell me about it.”

      “No, that would take forever,” said GOD sardonically.

      “I have time,” said Boogie, admiring the return cut. Then, trying to be funny and still believing his bantering with GOD could delay the inevitable, he added coyly, “I have lots of time.”

      “Do you?”

      Silence.

      Then, after a long delay to consider the possible consequences of his next question, Ben asked thoughtfully, “What does that mean?”

      “It means: Go slow. Take it easy. Settle down. Take a deep breath … Relax. Tell me who you are, what you think you did, and what you fear. What you believe and what you think you didn’t do. Your accomplishments, your regrets. Unload. Get it off your chest. Give it your very best shot.”

      “Sometimes you talk funny, I mean unusual,” Ben said, quickly correcting himself.

      “I speak so you can understand me. So that there is no ambiguity.”

      “But there has been. Your answers sometimes confuse me.”

      “And your questions are not always clear, or appropriate. You forget yourself. You forget to Whom you are speaking … So let’s get started. Tell me all about yourself. Tell me everything important about your life, but please spare me the details!”

      

      ≈ Besides, I already know them ≈

      “Just sit down on that sofa over there. Make yourself comfortable.”

      “Okay.”

      “If you get stuck, or lose your concentration, or get bored, I may ask you some questions to coax you along, encourage you, help you to remember, jog your memory, inject a few points, or just call attention to some contradictions.”

      “No problem.”

      “Remember, I just want a summary—your impressions about the things that had meaning for you.”

      ~~~~~~~~~~

      From Philadelphia to Woodstock

      “Well … the first thing that comes into my mind is Harriet Weitzman and the summer of ‘69 in Woodstock.

      “Even though I don’t have a lot of specific recollections about Philadelphia, for some reason, when someone says its name, that’s my association with it. As you remember, we were up at Woodstock and then I … we left. Uh, I left after like the third day, and came down to Philadelphia. Broke! Panhandled enough money