Shhh, Marley, please don’t move.  God is likely looking for me again, and I want to rest for a bit afore he finds me.  Now, shush your crying, be still with me.  This box is a good bit below ground. No one can see us.

I kind of like it here in the dark with you.

My life should have ended half a dozen times or more.  Change one tiny thing, and I would be dead, and not lying here with you.

You like lying with me, don’t you?
There, there, I know.

So, the question, is God really that bad of a shot, or is he treating me like a razor?

You know, raking that leather strop over me, trying for something better, something sharper?

I just can’t tell.  It is not that I am coming back better or stronger each time.  I am still the same worthless and hopeless thing I was many years ago.

First time, I was four.  That was a real close one.  Locked in a safe with darkness, heat, and another little fellow.  I kicked, he cried, we both passed out lack of oxygen. Turns out, kicking got us out.

Kicking became my life song.

Next, I was five.  Drowned I did, lucky I was that someone saw me go down and not come up.  No doubt, he got to me in the very last seconds of the life I had coming to me.

A couple of times in my teen years on the road, high speed.  Should have died, did not, but came damned close.  No cars traveling sixty to pile over my lifeless and helpless body lying helpless there.  Had plenty of time to wake up, gather my body parts and move off the road, just before a large truck on one, and a speeding Cadillac on the other.  Either would have killed me.

Once, I was 15, double pneumonia, 105 temps.

Dr. misdiagnosed that as food poisoning.  Came real close on that one too.  Hospital, 5 days, blood in and out, lots of drugs, nurses doing things to my young body.  Strength came back pretty fast on that one.  Even had a love that summer.  A flute player she was, kind of cute, and a lot more mature than I.  She never even criticized how skinny I was.

Later, as a young man, traveling the back roads, when suddenly I decided to pull off the blacktop.  No reason, just felt it.  Truck came barrelling over the hill in front of me, all wheels off the ground, middle of the road.  Certainly, should have died on that one.

An older man I was, heart stopped, should have passed over yonder.  Did not.  Mere minutes between the dark pale and laughter.  Turns out, four young men took turns with CPR till the Emergency people go there.

So, why?  Why do I come so close to the cloak?  Why do I come back when countless billions have not in history?

Now, now Marley, please quit your crying.  God is not through with me yet, and I have you.

Can’t be all bad, can it lovey?

Shhh, let’s not give God a clue where I am.    This box is snug and out of site of everyone.

But, bet your bippie, if I get a chance, I am going to ask, “Why couldn’t I come back different, better, maybe stronger, luckier, prettier, you know?”

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