The Son

Second Coming: Chapter 5

The aftermath of the strange, yet familiar individual’s arrival could only be described as divinely chaotic. The crowd, shoved back among themselves, had fallen to their knees. Some appeared frozen in fear or disbelief, others held their hands in prayer, children weeping, and others holding their hearts and crossing their chests.

The figure found his footing upon the ground and began up the steps in a hallowed swaying motion. None of the volunteers nor the staff attempted to do a thing as he approached. His tender gaze wandered over the lot of us before he came before Joseph himself. The Pastor fell to his knees and took the man’s hands, kissing them.

The wail of a lone siren in the distance pulled me out of my stupor. “Joseph-” I jumped toward him, the camera gear still resting heavily on my shoulder. “It would be the best if we get out of here. Now.”

The Pastor looked up to me, first his eyes wide, then judging, then properly cognizant. “Right, let us go.” He muttered, standing. “Yes, look at the people, his holiness is… too much for their unprepared souls.”

Sharon and Hank and Jess, as well as some of the volunteers, and finally the Mayor suddenly realized their roll. Steven ran up the stairs behind me, breathing hard with the heavy tripod bouncing up the steps. The main group managed to shuffle their way out the rear of the plaza with the strange figure in tow while Steven and I haphazardly packed away the camera gear. With our arms full, we managed to return to my car as the mob of attendees began to realize what had and was happening. More sirens began to close in on us as we finally pulled away.

“What the hell was that?” Steven said, shaking in the passenger’s seat.

“I’m not sure the word ‘hell’ fits for this situation…” I said, clinging to the steering wheel as I rounded out of the parking spot.

“I mean, you saw what I saw, right? And you were still recording, I hope?”

“Don’t put that kind of pressure on me,” I shrugged, focusing more on my side mirrors. “You’ll have to check the camera yourself.”

Steven strained against his seatbelt. “If the feds or whatever don’t take it first. You know they’re gonna be here for… whatever that thing… that man was.”

“We both saw the same thing.” I huffed. “You know what I believe in, and I know you believe even less than that, so…”

“So…?” He sat back up, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

“Well, first thing is to head to the office and make sure those guys aren’t losing their minds.”

Steven grunted. “Not anymore than usual.”

“Stop.”

Continue reading “The Son”

Seeing The Light

Second Coming: Chapter 4

The morning of the Rally, I expectedly served as Steven’s alarm clock, despite the one on his phone already loudly attempting the feat to wake him. With his camera gear in my car and our not-so-official printer paper badges around our necks, we began the drive down to the plaza.

“Don’t go dozing off when he inevitably goes off into one of his long bible-passage type talks.” I warned him from the driver’s seat.

Steven tugged on the ends of his shirt collar. “Come on, I’m a professional.”

“Could have fooled me.”

The parking around the plaza was expectedly full for a weekend morning, but to the best of my knowledge, not any busier than any other day. I began to scout for the location of the speech while Steven started to unload the hard cases from the back seat. There were already some flimsy blockades with arrows printed on copy paper, pointing to what was hopefully the event. As expected, the party had taken up at the top platform of the brick plaza at the center of the park across from the City Hall.

With a flash of the badge around my neck, I was able to get through the local volunteers apathetically blocking the way up the stairs to the platform. Hank was the first to notice me arriving.

“Howdy, Terrence boy.” He clapped his hands, drawing the other’s attention my way.

I scanned the staging area. Several loudspeakers were set up facing the lower stage where the crowd was hopefully going to congregate, connected with the podium and microphones with a spiderweb of thick cables. Joseph took up my hand suddenly, shaking it with his firm-yet-whimsical ‘best pals’ handshake. “The mayor did us good.”

“I see that.”

Joseph peered out behind me. “And your friend? He was able to make it this morning?”

“Oh-” I nodded, pulling out my phone to check the time. “Yes. I should head back and make sure he’s getting everything.”

Sharon had turned Joseph back around, pulling him down to her level to examine his coif. With a shrill spritz of hair spray, she tamed another one of the unruly strands at his hairline. In the Pastor’s grasp was a stack of note cards, carefully held between his fingers.

“Thank you, dear.” He mumbled out, double-checking that none of the sticky solution had ended up on the words. “Keep it up, Terrence. We’re forty-five minutes out, aren’t we, from opening up the gates, letting folks in?”

“Just about.” A volunteer spoke up.

Twenty minutes before the speech- ten before allowing people into the plaza- the soundcheck had been completed, and the addition of a lapel mic and sound pack to Joseph had allowed the roommate to finally meet with the Pastor. Just after, Steven had set up one of his cameras on a tripod just below the platform, and had used me to line up the shot from below. “All good, Ter!” He shouted up, concurring with a thumb to the air. I nodded back. From my point of view, I could see the road down below, and upon it, a medium-sized white bus pulling up. I read off the name on it.

“Mr. Cummings, Gulfview Baptist Church… was the name of your congregation, wasn’t it?” I said, looking back for the man, still rehearsing his words just under his breath.

“Huh?” He perked up. “Oh, well, darn me to heck if it isn’t them. Hank! Hank, did you get some of them to come out all this way?”

Sharon spoke up. “It was both of us, dear.”

“How wonderful.” The pastor hummed, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Well, it’ll be like preaching to the same old folk, won’t it?”

Despite my worries, Joseph’s own parishioners were far from the only folk to be at the ready to show up for the rally. As the city hall volunteers began to allow them inside the plaza, Steven was running a roll of yellow tape around his position to guard the equipment. He ran up after me on one last pit stop to his gear.

“Okay Terrence.” He called me to attention. “I’m going to hand you off the second camera gimbal so you can catch some B-Roll.”

“Huh?” I managed to react before the heavy contraption handed my way.

Steven began with swift strikes of his fingers to list out the buttons. “Power-record-focus- doesn’t have to be perfect, just for something extra.” He hammered out without taking a breath. “The gimbal’ll keep it nice and stable for you anyways. Oh, since it’s pretty bright, make sure you’re not over-exposing it. You can change the Aperture on the lens up front. As long as it looks good on the viewfinder, you won’t have to do anything else.”

While I attempted to remember everything he had said, Steven was already on his way back down to guard the primary camera gear from a pair of nosy kids. I was just able to balance the expensive, overly-complex camera gear on my shoulder when I heard Joseph speak up.

“Mayor Malcolm, good to see you.” The pastor greeted the man and his small entourage. “Thank you for setting all of this up for us today.”

Continue reading “Seeing The Light”

Delegation

Second Coming: Chapter 3

Following Mayor Malcolm’s endorsement of Joseph, and the delivery of a list of local numbers to call, it seemed as if his following was finally beginning to grow out of the confines of his church group. Driving around town revealed signs of support sprouting up on lawns on every block, especially near churches. Under suggestion by yours truly, Joseph’s wife began answering any incoming phone calls from the news and the paper that they had reached ‘The office of Joseph Cummings, Pastor, and presidential candidate.’

A reporter from the biggest station in town arranged an interview with him in our office one day, to appear later on the evening news. “Joseph Cummings, known better by his title- The Pastor- is the rising star of the Panhandle this election season, looking to go all the way to Washington,” the voice narrated over some footage they had recorded earlier in the day. The transition brought Joseph and the pencil-skirted woman to the familiar interior of the office.

“Do you think certain voters will be turned away by your strong connection to your faith?” Was one of the questions asked.

“Well,” Joseph began in his usual contemplative tone, “We all know that this country was built on Christian values…” He said confidently, before the recording revealed his eyes turning to where I had been during the rolling of the cameras, “but… it was also a place where anyone could be free to believe in what they wish. Faith… is described as believing in a higher power. Not just God, or Jesus, heck, someone could believe in aliens as their higher power. Hah. Well, some people need something concrete to believe in… if that’s where your faith comes from, then know that if your vote ends up on my behalf, I will be that person in the oval office you can believe and trust in.”

Even hearing it a second time, I couldn’t help but hide my face in shame. Even Steven, listening to the TV from the other room, spoke up. “He’s… well spoken, at least.”

“We’re workshopping things.” I blurted out, half ironically. “Worst thing people can say is… he says what he means.”

Steven huffed loudly from out of sight. “You gonna’ ask him if he wants someone like me around? Those TV studio clowns sound like they’re painting him like a tool.”
“I’ll try and remember to bring it up…”

Continue reading “Delegation”

Process

Second Coming: Chapter 2

That day I managed a few more words with the others, as well as Joseph himself. As the office was still a mess- his words, not mine- he offered to let me work the rest of the week at home, leaving me with his personal phone number and a promise that I would have even my own desk space come the following Monday. I left with a nod and only a slightly more refined set of ideas for the direction in which The Pastor’s campaign would go.

I arrived back to the apartment late afternoon. I was greeted, or rather, acknowledged, by my roommate, in his room staring expectedly at the dead center of his two computer screens, playing some sort of game. It was about dinner time, likely stirred in hunger by the smell of my food cooking, that he came out of his room to finally exchange words with me. “That new job, is it good, you think?”

I looked up from my pan of chicken thighs braising to respond. “It’s not bad.”
Steven was nodding, leaned halfway into the open fridge, scanning the vague contents. A previous partner of mine had once said that the man was one energy drink crash away from sleeping like Rip Van Winkle for a decade or more. He wasn’t a bad guy, but always seemed to find himself getting dismissed from jobs for missing call times- sleeping in, of course. A video production agent he called himself. He did have the expensive camera gear and editing rig to show for such a title, but I think in the end, both the gear, as well as his rent, were being payed for by his parents. Whatever the case was, he wasn’t messy, excessively noisy, or into any sort of drugs, so I really had no complaints.

Steven paced and stared at his partial reflection in the window. He looked to me in a way that seemed to suggest his desire for my cooking, but something else came out instead. “Well, do you think he has a chance, to get elected?”

I hummed. “To be honest, I don’t know.” I replied, tasting the sauce off the wooden spoon. “He’s not a bad guy, but he’s lacking in the political field. I mean, that’s what I’m there for, obviously. I could see us attracting the view of some of our delegates if we’re able to get enough publicity. Well, if we don’t make it in the primary, at least I’ll have a bit more on my resume. There will be other opportunities to catch, especially during a year like this.”

Steven slapped the back of his hand. “Publicity, huh? Well, since you mentioned a resume…”

I see. I turned down the heat on the burner and gave the meat one last push with the spatula. “You’re wondering if he would hire someone like you?” I scanned his hopeful-yet-slightly-dejected visage. “Sorry, I mean, you’d be interested in a job there?”

Steven turned on his heel and wandered out to the living room, his voice echoing about the meager space. “Well, not if he’s going to drop out in a couple months. How many of those delegate folks does he have to get?”

“Well, depends on how much the RNC allocates here in Florida. That’s the first big hurdle. After that, he has to worry about how many he earns elsewhere.”

Steven crossed his arms in his normal tuned-out look. “Hmm. Well, he does have you, like you said. But I bet he could use someone like me, too.”

I laughed. “Hah, well, he’s also got his wife and daughter helping out with the campaign trail too. Not to mention a whole parish of people supporting him.”

“Ugh.” Steven huffed at the mention of anything theistic. “And how many of those people can put together a crushing compilation taking apart the flaws of their competitors?”

I shook my head and took down a plate for my chicken. “I’ve told you, I hate that ad-hominem bullshit.”

Continue reading “Process”

The Pastor

Second Coming:

Joseph Cummings, better known to his followers as Pastor, decided one day to run for president. It was when I became his campaign manager that I realized the man, in fact, had very little political experience indeed. It would have been nothing short of a miracle that we even maintain the campaign all the way until that coming November. In those following months, I learned a lot about faith, and perhaps the fact that miracles can happen.

Chapter 1

Joseph Cummings was his name, but the title he came to be known by- The Pastor– was the one repeated over and over until he became a vaguely known household name. I’d like to say it was my idea to have him run under such a moniker, but alas, he was addressed as pastor for long before he ever began his campaign for president. Before he came my way, he was your average Baptist preacher from the panhandle, and seemed to be loved and supported by his parish- not a stretch for anyone in such a region or position. Current events turned his voice from the biblical to the political- topics not too distant in his case- and the call for him to run for office grew. Of course, like any proud man with unwavering support on his side, he announced his bid for president.

For myself, and likely any other Floridian outside of Cummings’ little pocket of support, there was nothing to know of the man. Fortunately for me, his newly purchased RV-turned-Tour bus and entourage came that summer day to Tallahassee. As much as the Bible Belt is known for its upward momentum, I suppose The Pastor realized that his little town was not a place to seek out people to aid in his hefty ambitions. That’s where I came in.

I’m not one to brag, but I was the class president of my high school for three years straight, starting as a sophomore. PJ, or President Jackson, I came to be known as to every face in the yearbook. In University, I took a more of a relaxed position as the secretary of the student government, allowing me enough time to work a part-time job between bouts of consuming the requisites of poli-sci degree. For my masters, I went on to research and write a dissertation on theoretical minimum campaign funds one could manage to get elected on for various levels of government. After all that, I was lucky enough to graduate in between election cycles, allowing me to discover the wonderful world of minimally-paid internships exchanging meaningless emails with other interns at vaguely similar NGOs.

The job posting for Pastor Joseph Cummings’ election staffers told me everything I needed to know; the man didn’t know what he stood for outside of a few canned bible passages, and that he had at least enough money to keep someone like me around until something came of his campaign. Don’t get me wrong, I know the Bible just as well as any other god-fearing individual, but it’s neither hellfire nor grace of God that will grow a campaign; the thing that does so is a clear-cut platform. I think I said something like that during the interview.

Yes, the interview, where I met the man himself, opposite me at the fold-out table of the RV. He was your ordinary white southern gentlemen, with a firm handshake, big smile, and even bigger personality. A clean-cut man with hints of gray around the edges to offer up a sense of authenticity. He looked into my eyes with said handshake and smile, and offered up a not-too-surprising take; “Ah, a fine young black man. We’ll need support of fellows like you to help us along.”

Continue reading “The Pastor”