A couple of weeks ago, while Jordan was in Art School, I went to a branch of the public library in Guelph and studied for a bit. The place was PACKED. In the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. Weird. There were construction guys at the computers and reading magaizines. A tonne of people reading newspapers. Several people, who appeared not to be together, were looking at historical maps of the region. A few moms and their kids. There was nowhere to sit so I headed for the basement. There were dozens of people there too – and this is a little library. I found a seat at a long row of desks set up like one long table.

Behind me, beyond some book stacks, were the washrooms. The toilet paper dispenser in the men’s washroom squeaked. And honestly, one man after another went in there and was yanking on the paper roll. squeeeeaaaAAAAAkkkkkk! SqueeeEEEEEEEEAAAAAKkkkkkkkkk! There was so much traffic in and out of there and so much squeaking, I was beginning to wonder if the men’s washroom at the Guelph Public library was a rendezvous point for gay men.

A ways down the row of desks, to my right, and across the table from me, sat Jesus. And here, by “Jesus”, I mean, “a tall bearded white man with blue eyes and long wavy sandy-brown hair wearing a long trenchcoat”. Jesus, it seems, has ADD. He was quite a ways from me, and I am a pretty quiet person, but I was no match for the super-senses of the Messiah. Every time I turned a page or picked up a pen or put down my eraser, His head would bob up from the magazine He was reading and swing around to see what I was doing. I tried to be even quieter, but it was no good. Jesus has piercing blue eyes, so I could tell, even out of the corner of my eye, that He was looking at me and for how long. Each time He looked, it seemed, He did a thorough check of my books and me and what I was doing. He wasn’t scowling or anything; He seemed pleasant. But still, I felt bad for disturbing Him.

Here is something I didn’t know about ADD: it is contagious. You see, I’d be lost in my work, and Jesus would be reading his magazine, and I’d turn a page. Jesus’ super-senses instantly pick up the page-turning and His head bobs up and He’s looking at me with that piercing stare… and I’m aware of His umm.. awareness and I feel self-concious for disturbing Him and out of the corner of my eye I watch Him watching me until He turns his attention back to His magazine. With all this covert looking back and forth, I began to feel like I was flirting with the Son of God.

Eventually, I was aware that Jesus was getting ready to leave. I kept my eyes on my books but after a moment I realized that Jesus was coming toward me. “Oh god, I hope He doesn’t want me to wash His feet!” I thought to myself. You see, I hate feet. And then, when I realized I had not a single drop of wine with me, I was really concerned. Sure enough Jesus stopped in front of me and waited. Looking up, I was careful to mask my surprise at the fact that Jesus smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. I smiled. “Hi!” I said, because I really have a way with words. “Hi!” Jesus said, “I was wondering where you found that reference book. It interests Me and I’d like to look at it next time I’m here.” He was pointing to my hokey anatomy book.

“Oh, that isn’t a library book it’s mine. I got it last week at Chapters in the bargain books section. It was only twelve dollars or something.” Jesus looked sad. “Umm.. it is only a basic book, not a lot of the really fine detail.” I added. “Yes,” He said, “that’s what I have been looking for. I’ll go to Chapters this weekend.” I told him that I wasn’t using the book at that moment and He was free to look at it for a while if He liked. And He did like. He sat down, right across from me and read my hokey anatomy book for about 10 minutes. I was sad to see that Jesus has tremors. Finally, He got up to leave. He thanked me kindly for the use of my book, smiled, and strode away. I watched the back of His trenchcoat as His long legs carried him across the floor until He disappeared behind a book stack. As I heard His steps on the stairs back up to the first floor, I imagined him rummaging through his coat pockets for a cigarette and lighter, because Jesus smokes, you know.