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The World

Shaun Corley

    “Slow down Mike,” his mother said. “You’ve got plenty to time before your Pappy arrives.” She turned back to the small, white television on the kitchen counter. Mike Schrader shoveled another spoonful of Cookie Crisp into his mouth, while she wasn’t looking. If he wanted to play with his He-man toys before Pappy arrived, he had to hurry.
    His parents were watching God’s Hour, a religious program. The program broke for commercial, and Mike’s mother turned back to him. Fortunately, he had just finished eating a spoonful of cereal, so she had nothing to say to him. His dad was taking a sip of his coffee. Mike put another spoonful in his mouth, and tried chewing on it and started to cough, spitting up the brown and black chunks on the yellow tablecloth.
    “Jesus! What have your mother and I told you about eating fast,” his father asked, tearing a paper towel off the rack and wiping up the chunks off the table. He smacked Mike in the back of the head.
    “Hey baby, are you going to take Mike to 7-11 after Sunday school and buy him a comic book?” She took a drag off the Pall Malls and blew the smoke out. Some of it got into Mike’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Mike remembered one time his father blew smoke into his eyes, and when Mike got up to leave, his father grabbed him by the arm and spanked him hard, yelling something about “respecting your elders.”
    “I do every Sunday, don’t I?”
    “Yes.”
    “OK, then I’ll do it today.” He took a sip of his coffee.
    She glanced back at the television to see if God’s Hour had come back on. It hadn’t, so she turned back to her husband. “I don’t think you should. His Pappy showed me this flier that was in the church bulletin, the one from James Dobson. It said something about a character in Marvel Comics who was the devil. These things are evil.”
    “What’s the name of the character?”
    “I don’t know.” She turned to Mike. “Do you know who it is Mike.”
    Still taking care to eat the cereal slowly, Mike said: “Mephisto. He was in the latest issue of Silver Surfer.”
    His mom’s eyes widened. “You actually have one of them?”
    He did, but he could tell from her reaction that it would probably be a good idea to lie. “No, a friend at school did though.”
    “That’s good,” she said, breathing a small sigh of relief. “What would your Pappy think if he saw that.” She turned back to her husband. “Why don’t you get Mike a pack of baseball cards instead?”
    “That’s a good idea. Mike, would you like a pack of baseball cards instead of a comic today?”
    Mike looked up from the now empty cereal bowl. “I want a comic book.”
    “Well you’re not getting one,” his Mom said, raising her voice. “What do you think your Pappy would say if he saw that Satan character? Don’t you care about what your Pappy thinks?”
    God’s Hour came back on, and his parents turned back to it. Mike watched it with them. Two older men, one wearing thick-rimmed glasses, were sitting by a fireplace. The man to the left of the fireplace held up a small, blue paperback book. “Reverend McFarland,” he began, turning to the other man with the thick glasses, “in your new book Rapture Watch, you lay out in what I consider a very logical fashion, how the signs of the impending Rapture are all around us. What other signs have occurred since the book’s publication? What events have given you alarm?”
    Taking advantage of the fact that his parents were distracted, Mike began eating the cereal faster, but as quietly as he could, as not to attract his parent’s attention. On the TV, Reverend McFarland adjusted his glasses. “Well, Reverend Smith, there have been so many events happening around the globe that have given me pause. There is a definite storm on the horizon. We have the situation in the Middle East, the push for a United Europe and the continued persecution of Christians the world over—-all of which point to the End Times. And here in America, we have a decision to make in November: elect this Michael Dukakis, and slide down the slope to Hell even further, or elect George Bush and continue the godly leadership policies of Ronald Reagan.”
    “Well spoken, Reverend,” said Smith.” They cut to commercial, which was advertising Reverend McFarland’s book.
    “Amen,” Mike’s mother said, stubbing her cigarette out in the orange ashtray. She reached for her Pall Mall package, took out another cigarette, and lit it. Taking a long drag, she turned to Mike and said: “if you get a comic book today, you’re not going to meet Jesus in the Rapture.”
    Mike looked at his mom, puzzled. “What’s the Rapture?” He heard this time used everywhere—at his house, at his grandparent’s house, at church and now on TV.
    “It’s when Jesus takes to Heaven all the good people, and leaves all the bad people behind. Your Dad, your Pappy, Granny and I are going to be raptured, and go to meet Jesus. But if you get a comic book, you’re not going to be raptured. You want to meet Jesus don’t you?”
    Mike nodded. From what he heard in Sunday school, Mike thought Jesus sounded like a pretty good guy—feeding the hungry, healing the sick, and so on. He thought back to the picture of Jesus that hung in the Sunday school classroom: a tall man with long black hair and a beard, standing amidst a flock of sheep, radiating goodness. Yes, he wanted to meet Jesus. “Yes, I do,” he said.
    “Good. Go to your room and play with your toys until its time to get ready.” Mike eagerly dashed to his room at the far end of the trailer, ignoring his dad’s admonishment to slow down. Opening the door to his closet, he pulled out the red duffel bag that held his Masters of the Universe toys, and began scattering them on the floor. Prior to this scattering, the room had been pristine clean—his mother made him clean it the night before. He arranged the figures in a wide circle.
    Then he reached into the closet and pulled out Snake Mountain and Castle Grayskull. Sitting down in a circle of toys, he wondered what kinds of scenarios he should put them in today. His scenarios were always more elaborate than the other boys in the trailer park, who were merely content to bang the toys together until they broke. Mike used dialogue and actually had plots to put his characters through. “Worlds,” he called them. Today he was going to create the best world yet, and then he would even show it to his parents.
    He began. First was Orko, the good court magician from another dimension, who he set up casting a spell on Webstor, the evil demon who crawled walls. As he set the two of them up, he remembered that magic, which Orko used, was a tool of Satan, which he learned in church; and Webstor was a demon, and they too were tools of Satan. He wondered if his parents would take them away too. He put the thought out of his mind, and continued posing the figures. He positioned Teela on the table next to his record player, and directly across from her, he set up her evil counterpart, Evil Lynn. Fisto was fighting Two-Bad, and Sy-Klone was getting ready to fight Stinkor. Mike set Clawful, the lobster man, against Man-At-Arms, one of the very few people who knew that Prince Adam was actually He-man. Then came He-man and Skeletor themselves, and he took great care with positioning them.
    “I’ve got you now Skeletor,” Mike said, doing his best impersonation of He-man.
    “That’s what you think He-man,” he said, distorting his voice. “I have formed an alliance with Hordak. You are no match for me!” Then he grabbed his Hordak figure and set it next to Skeletor. Mike then stood back and surveyed the whole sight. He was so proud of what he had created, and couldn’t wait to show his mom and dad.
    “Hey mom. Hey dad,” he yelled.
    “What?” His mom replied from down the hall.
    “Come here. I want to show you something.” He heard the two of them walk down the hall. They stuck their heads in the room. “Look, what I created!” He gestured towards the figures he had posed, and smiled.
    His mother looked indifferent, and took a drag off her Pall Mall. “That’s nice. Now get them picked up.” His dad said nothing, and followed Mike’s mother back to the kitchen. Frowning, Mike packed the figures back up in the bag, and put the bag in the closet. Walking to his bedroom at the trailer’s other side, he wondered what his Mom was going to make him wear. He hoped it wasn’t a shirt and tie, which when he rounded the corner to the bedroom, he saw that was what she had laid out.
    He groaned. “Mom, do I have to wear a tie?”
    She came out of the other bedroom, wearing a disbelieving look on her face. “What the hell has gotten into you today? Yes, you have to wear a tie. Don’t you want to look nice for Jesus?”
    Turning to face her, he said: “but whenever I see a picture of Jesus at Sunday school, the people around him are always wearing robes and rags, and he seems OK with it.”
    His dad walked over and backhanded Mike across the mouth. “You don’t talk to your mother like that, do you hear me?” His mother watched, and Mike put his hand over his mouth, hoping it hadn’t left a bruise. “Now get in there and get dressed.” Mike sobbed as he walked into his bedroom. His dad followed him to the door of the room. “And you quit that crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about.”
    Still sobbing, this time silently so his Dad wouldn’t hear him, Mike took off his Superman pajamas, and put on a t-shirt, and then the dress shirt, his dress pants, and finally his clip-on tie. He walked out into the living room. His mom was sitting on the couch, and his dad on the edge of the recliner.
    “Mike, straighten up,” his Mom barked. “We’ve raised you better than this.”
    Staring at him intently, his dad said: “you’d better not have any smart talk for your Pappy. Or he’ll get the belt.” The belt. Mike heard plenty about it, mostly from his Pappy. Mike actually saw Pappy beat his cousin Brandy with it. Mike himself had never experienced it, but Pappy and a few other family members had threatened him with it, mostly when he was really bad. The threat of “the belt” was enough to bring him back into line.
    Now his Mom and Dad were watching another religious program, It Is Writen, this time on the television in the living room. Instead of two old men, there was only one. Mike was still hurting too much to pay close attention, but he caught something about “abortion” and “unborn babies” and “agents of Satan.” Then an image of a baby flashed on the screen, wide eyed and laughing. Underneath the baby was an 800 number, toll-free. On school mornings, Mike’s parents let him watch Cartoon Express on USA, and there were numbers to call there, but they were 900 numbers and cost money. He had begged his parents to let him call the Bionic Six hotline, just once, but they wouldn’t let him, and finally he got backhanded for his troubles.
    When the pain finally abided, he wondered why he had to go to Sunday school, but his parents didn’t go to church. They both talked about Jesus all the time. But he didn’t say anything; he didn’t want another backhanding. From outside, he could hear a car pulling onto the gravel driveway outside the trailer. It was his Pappy.
    “Your Pappy is here,” his mom said, getting up to go to the door. Opening it, she smiled, and hugged his grandfather, who then entered the trailer. His grandfather was a tall man, with thinning gray hair. He wore a blue suit with a red tie, and cowboy boots. “He’s been a little wise ass today,” she said, looking at Mike.
    He turned to Mike. Sternly, he said: “a wise ass?” He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a pack of Winston’s, and lit one.
    “Everything we’ve said or done today, he’s had some smart ass comment. His dad had to smack him. If he gets cute with you, pop him a good one.” Although he had never been beat with the belt, his Pappy had spanked him several times. One time, he scooped Mike up to spank him, and accidentally scrunched up the rare Punisher comic Mike had gotten off a classmate that day. When Mike cried in protest, he got spanked again, even harder.
    Pappy took a drag off the Winston. Mike wondered if he was going to blow the smoke into his eye. “Will do. You ready Mike?”
    Demurely: “yes sir.”
    “Bye Daddy.” She hugged and kissed Pappy again. “You be good Mike. I don’t want to hear about you getting smart with your teachers. Or we’ll bust your ass for sure.” Mike got into Pappy’s red pick up truck, and the two set off.
    The normal routine was to go straight to Sunday school from the trailer, but when they got halfway down Route 11, Pappy said: “shit. I forgot my Bible concordance. We’re going to have to go back to the house for a minute. Give you a chance to see your grandmother. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
    “Yes sir.” He really didn’t want to. Every Saturday night, Mike’s family went to his grandparent’s house for dinner. He hated Granny’s cooking, and last night he had turnip soup forced on him. He ate about four bites before asking to be excused from the table. Afterwards, he went into his grandparent’s den and watched Star Trek: The Next Generation. When she walked in and saw what he was watching, she yelled at him, saying that the guy who created the show didn’t believe in God, and she heard that on the PTL, and that he needed to watch something else.
    By the time they arrived at his grandparent’s house, Mike had to go to the bathroom. “Come on in Mike, your Granny would probably like to see you.” They entered through the back door, which led into the kitchen. There was no one there. Mike could hear a piano playing “Amazing Grace” in the living room. “Go say ‘hi’ to your granny.”
    “Can I use the bathroom first?”
    “Yeah, go ahead. But then go say hello.” Mike did as he was told, and after he was done in the bathroom, he walked into the living room.
    “Hi Granny.”
    She stopped playing, and looked at him. “Hey there,” she said, and he stood in silence, not sure what to say. He started at the piano, a baby grand, and remembered hitting the keys when he was younger, and getting spanked for it.
    “Will you show me how to play?”
    “Mike, we’ve been over this. Only sissy men play the piano. Jesus doesn’t like sissy men.” She never bothered to define what a “sissy man” was. “How are you doing in school?”
    “Good. We’re going on a field trip to the Science Museum in Roanoke on Tuesday. I can’t wait to see the dinosaur skeletons, and get some astronaut ice cream.”
    “That sounds fun, but don’t let them make you believe evolution is the truth. The only truth is the Bible.” He had heard about evolution from a variety of places: the religious programs his parents watched, the lessons in Sunday school, and from his teachers at school. At first, Mike thought the idea that humans evolved from monkeys was weird, but they way it was presented by his teacher, Mr. Reynolds, it made sense.
    Pappy came into the room, his concordance clutched in one hand. “Mike, are you ready?”
    “Yeah.”
    “It’s ‘yes sir,’” his grandmother said, stressing the “sir.”
    “Yes sir,” Mike replied.
    “Let’s go. We’re already running late.” Pappy walked over and kissed Granny. It was a short drive to the church, but it felt like it took forever. It was in a residential area, and Mike watched the houses roll by as the red pickup made its way down the road. He looked at the old CB radio Pappy kept in the truck, but hadn’t been used in years. Mike wanted to get on it, but he knew Pappy wouldn’t let him, and begging would only bring the belt. He wanted to get on the CB radio and ask someone, anyone, to take him away from here.

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