I Am Legion

"Is this a statement of some kind?" The unpleasant man had approached me as I was leaving my department building after a long day of classes. He stopped me and asked his question while gesturing in an awkward circular pattern toward my body.

"What?" I asked, feigning ignorance. While I usually wouldn't be in the mood to play such games with a rude and intrusive person like this, I felt lighthearted this particular evening. I conspicuously checked my watch, needing to know how much time I had to indulge this curious and perhaps even conniving part of my baser self. I wanted to know what this obvious religious zealot wanted with me, but I had an important date at six.

"Your clothes. Why are you dressed like a man?" He clarified.

"Ah, yes. Of course, it's a statement of my preference to be comfortable." My fun continued.

"You know God made man and woman. Adam and Eve. You were made in the divine image of the Lord as He intended. Why would you want to pervert that?" He began to pull some folded pamphlets from his cargo pants as he continued talking.

"I'm sure God intended me to have shallow pockets," I muttered. He barreled over me.

"Are you gay?"

"Sure, yeah. Although I prefer the term 'queer.'" Something about saying the word 'queer' to a bible-thumping, sign-toting, pearl-clutching street preacher made me smile as I said it.

He flinched.

I asked if that bothered him.

He said, "It's a dirty word."

"Nasty," I echoed.

He shifted his stance uncomfortably and changed the subject.

"Are you a student?"

"Yes."

"What is your major?"

"Philosophy."

He whispered something to himself, and I stepped closer to hear. He noticed my movement and spoke again, louder.

"The antichrist. I said you're part of the antichrist."

I mused on that thought for a moment. What could he mean by 'part,' I wondered. While I was raised in the church, I must admit my knowledge of John's revelations and the book of Revelation itself is weak, at best. I had always had the understanding that the antichrist was a singular figure, but perhaps that was simply the media's portrayal of it. Maybe I watched "The Omen" too much growing up.

After some silence, I breathed life into my questions, allowing him the space to speak his mind.

"Oh, no." He assured me, "The antichrist is an ideology. A way of thinking that poisons the mind into a set of beliefs that will ultimately lead to actions that bring about the end of mankind. Everything you represent..." He eyed my pleated slacks held up by suspenders loosely fitted over my tucked-in pinstripe Oxford. "... And everything you study," he pointed at the ivy-covered walls of the less-than-ivy league building behind me, "Is the antichrist. You are a false prophet, a liar, and an enemy of God."

"What do you say to the devil?" I asked him as seriously as I could, keeping my eyes steadily fixed on his. He did not blink when he spoke.

"Get thee behind me."

I stood, then eventually sat with this man for another hour, talking mostly about the difference between "chemical reactions in the brain" and "drugs" before excusing myself to carry on with my evening.

I had to meet up with my buddy in the parking lot behind my apartment to give him the cans I'd been saving up throughout the week. We had a standing date, Monday nights at six o'clock on the dot. We would meet by the back fence, smoke a joint, and chat before going our separate ways. Rick lived under the bridge down the road from my place. He liked to get out and about when the train would pass to give his ears a break, so he had his rounds he would make throughout the days and weeks. He brought the joint, I brought the cans. We carried on with this exchange for several months before he stopped showing up.

I waited for a few Mondays after, but I never saw or heard from Rick again. That street preacher showed up at least two more times, though, and I made every effort to avoid him.