My Friend Arthur

“I saw Arthur,” Melissa said matter-of-factly.

I think my mouth dropped low enough to drive a truck into it.  “When?  How?”

“In a dream, just a little bit ago, napping as I tried to watch television.  He wore a white gown and had a long flowing white beard.  She stared at me.  “Skip do you think Arthur is really God?”

I thought about it.  God?  If there was a remote chance of the existence of a god, Arthur would have gotten my vote.  I said, “Maybe, but I don’t think he was the result of some kind of virgin birth.”

“Do you know that for a fact?”

“His parents were abusive.  Do you think God had abusive parents?”

“Never talked to him much.”

“You never talk to him at all.”

“I did when I was a kid.  My mother made me say prayers.”

“Did you pray to Arthur?”

“I don’t know.  I prayed to God. Maybe God is in fact Arthur.”

I smiled and shook my head.  “I love you.”

“I love you too.”