Dude, wake up.
This is how the story starts: with me, Thomas Hargrove, being wrested from my peaceful sleeping state. I still remember his voice, echoing through darkness as I fought to stay asleep. Sometimes I do wish that I had stayed asleep that morning, never hearing what he had to--
Thom, come on.
--what he had to tell me, but more often I realize that fate would have thrown me in with him anyway, regardless of anything that I would do to try and stop it. So what happened to free will? Whatever. But since so many people now want to know the story, this is how it started:
“Dude, seriously, stop being so dramatic, get up.”
I was awake, “What do you want? Wait, the door's locked, how’d you get in here?”
“I had a key made, but that’s not important now.”
The room was still dark, except for a sliver of light from the open doorway. I didn't care who was trying to wake me, I just wanted them to stop it, but, whoever it was, he obscured the light for a moment as his silhouette moved toward the light switch.
“Wait. Hold on now, don’t do that,” but my words came too late. The blinding light enveloped me, causing a very painful headache and the blurring of my already unfocused vision. When I felt that I could safely reopen my eyes, I found that my roommate’s face was now positioned just inches above my own, and although it was impossible to make out any of his features due to the brilliant halo of light surrounding Frank’s face, the shoulder-length blonde hair was a clear indication of his identity.
The face confronting me moved away, flashed a smile, and said, “Thom, come on, no fooling around, grab your glasses and meet me in the kitch, I’ve got something really cool to tell you.”
It would be unfair to call the room a kitchen. More accurately it would be called a glorified hallway, which happened to contain an oven. It served to connect the living “area”, which was not even large enough to be called a room, and the two bedrooms, scarcely more than two closets. But any apartment was better than nothing.
Several minutes after my awakening, I shuffled into the kitchen to find Frank, staring intently at the Mr. Coffee as it worked its magic. Wondering how a man could be so intrigued by something so simple, I deposited myself in a chair.
“So what’s this thing you’ve got to tell me?”
Without taking an eye away from the coffee pot, he replied with the utmost sincerity, “I spoke with an angel last night.”
My eyes rolled as I let out a sigh. I was not in the mood to hear another one of Frank’s drunken bar fondling stories, but, being the good roommate that I am, I played along, “Did you at least get her number this time?”
Frank spun around, apparently shocked at my misunderstanding, “No dude, an angel visited me last night. While I was asleep,” he corrected as he turned to watch the brewing process once more, “Wings and a halo, whole bit.”
I closed my eyes, fondly thinking of sleep. The sound and smell of black coffee filled my senses and I realized that suddenly there was a steaming mug in front of me. I must have nodded off.
“But the craziest thing,” Frank continued, “is what he told me,” he leaned forward then, as if he were about to tell me the vault combination at Fort Knox, emphasizing every single word to make sure that I was grasping the gravity of his situation, “he told me…are you listening?...that I’m the new Jesus.”
I stood, leaving my mug of coffee untouched, walked to my room, and slept.