Looking out my Backdoor: An imaginary story, none of which, or all of which, is true!

One day in the far distant future, back when I was God, time is relative, one of my very intelligent earth persons proved that, but more will be revealed, anyway, one day one of my other earth persons requested a visit.

Which I granted. I set up times for personal visitation, one hour in the early morning and one hour late at night, since most hours in between, I seem to be out of sight, out of mind.

I quite like visitation. No matter whom I am scheduled to see, visitation is always, well, let me give an example.

“God, we need help down here.”

“What is the problem, my child?”

“You gotta help. We’re desperate. Now that each State is a separate Nation, it’s a mess. The vote is coming up. You gotta make it come out right. I swear to God we cannot keep going on like this. Woops, slip of my tongue there, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take any acknowledgement I can get these days. However, you know I don’t interfere in politics. You all chose this path, so make it work, eh?”

“But people can’t get food, or medicine, or meet basic needs. We are scared. We are dying. The roads are crumbling. Not that we have cars that still run, most of us. Getting drinkable water is a nightmare.

“And you know how we divided up the land in our Nation so that every citizen had an equal parcel. Well, some acreage isn’t inhabitable. And some people are going feral and shooting their neighbors, rioting in the streets, and —”

“Let me interrupt you here. Hmmm. I believe there is precedent for giving people uninhabitable land. Ah, here it is in the records, yes, such parcels were designated ‘Reservations.’ The People made it work for them, not easy, no. If they can do it, you can do it.

“The record also shows that you voted to have no taxes, taxes being deemed oppressive, and no social services, such services being deemed unconstitutional in your State, I mean Nation, so it looks to me like the way you have it set up, if you want roads, all you have to do is get a group of people together, find picks and shovels, and build the roads. Right? Is that how you all envisioned this working?”

“Have pity on us. Please help.”

“I told you, I don’t interfere in those things. Now anything else you want, you know, the usual requests, sunshine, rain, your team to win the football game, blessings or curses?”

“Please don’t make bad jokes. We need help. Everybody is scared. Everyone is fighting.”

“I see you glanced at your Rolex. Before you leave, let me show you something to think about. Come up here next to me. Look around you. What do you see?”

“I see a bunch of trees.”

“What kind of trees do you see?”

“That is a cottonwood. There is a box elder tree. Willow. Pine. Fir. I don’t recognize most of the others — trees I don’t know. Just trees. All kinds of trees.”

“Uh, huh. Every kind of tree is here for you to see. Each one different. Each unique. Something for you to think about, maybe.

“Special Effects, could we have some wind, level one, please, through the tree tops.

“Now what do you see?”

“Is there a test?” Gulp. “The branches move differently. Some leaves are frothy and some look thick, heavy, plastic-like. They all move differently in the wind.”

“Very good. Every tree moves differently but however they sway in the dance with the wind, they all connect, like holding hands, at the roots. That is my gift for you for today. Think about it.

“You look disappointed. I can’t give you what you wanted. It’s not in my nature. What I just gave you could be a tool for you to use for building better.

“Careful on the top step as you exit my presence. Adios, sayonara, ciao, cheers. And good luck with your mess down there. I’ll be watching.”

See what I mean? Those earthlings provide riveting entertainment.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].