Bub and Me

Resist the Devil and he will flee from you, but if you ignore him, he’ll just sit on your couch, in the middle of the night, watching you make frequent trips to the bathroom. It was after that fourth trip and the faint, incessant snickering in the dark, along with the pretend sounds of running water that really got on my last nerve (Yes, the Devil is very petty). Driven now more by pure irritability than courage, I angrily flipped the light switch on, hoping that 60 watts would be enough to melt him like a witch in Oz.

“That’s it, Bub (He hated nicknames)! You ain’t got to go home, but you got to get the hell outta here!”

Beelzebub turned, unamused, and gave a derisive snort as he looked out at the starry view from my balcony. He didn’t know it, but it was absolutely the highest insult he could’ve given, akin to the man throwing the shoe at George Bush. This flippant attitude ushered in a montage of memorable snorts and scoffs from other unwanted guests (in-laws) who had never respected the rules of my home-SHOES OFF, TOILET SEAT DOWN-and who believed that my feelings were just as insignificant as the rules I decreed.

Unapologetically, I marched to a nearby corner where I usually held my morning devotions and snatched up my Bible from its resting place. Instinctively, Bub reacted and turned his attention back to me. His bloodshot eyes widened and then he gasped like he’d been shocked by the first rush of cold water from a shower.

“You are so dramatic!” Bub hissed, “I didn’t say a word to you or about your increasingly weak and collapsed bladder! If you’d taken me up on my deal, you’d be resting now”.

I paid no attention to his insults or offers, but turned the pages of the book with the deft and agility of a speed reader. When the pages rested on Revelations 20, I held my Bible up as Moses had done the Ten Commandments and began to recite each verse verbatim, with all the fervor of a fake Baptist preacher. Bub tried to pretend that he wasn’t bothered, but the tossing to and fro betrayed him, and yet, he still didn’t leave. Everyone knows the Devil can’t endure the reading of his final demise; I remembered.

I grew beyond impatient now. Between his unwillingness to retreat and a fifth urge to urinate descending, I was about to explode, but curiosity gripped me and I slowly lowered my Bible and stopped in mid-sentence during verse nine. Refusing to give him another opening to hurl insults regarding my Urinary System’s failures, I tucked the Bible under my arm and crossed my legs into full leak- proof mode.

“How?” I asked in mounting frustration, “How are you able to show up here night after night? Clearly, this is not a place where you are welcomed.” With this declaration, I pointed around my living room, inundated with religious decor.

“Explain, to me, why you would do your haunting here,” I demanded. Bub seemed unamused by the decor and donned a familiar sardonic smirk. Looking me straight in the eyes, he pointed a gaunt and poorly manicured finger my way.

“First of all, Babe,” he began, “I’m not a ghost...so I don’t “haunt”. And as to why I am allowed to enter this tacky, Temple of Doom, I suggest you take that up with the Man upstairs.” He pointed a gaunt finger upward and rested his case. I wanted to punch him, but he would’ve enjoyed it too much.

“How dare you!” I yelled, “I am really offended by your reference to God in my home; Please refrain from doing so again.”

“First of all--,” Bub began again still pointing the crooked finger.

“First of all” I mimicked, “Is that the only introductory phrase you know?” The veins in his neck bulged like a cobra ready to strike. I could tell he didn't appreciate this last dig. He began to delicately smooth the feathers I had ruffled. It took everything in me to refrain from laughing.

“F-First of...For your information,” he stammered, “ I have known God way longer--emphasis on way--way longer than your mortal synapses can synaps.”

With a snap of his gaunt finger, a severely worn scroll appeared in his hand, and with a quick flick of his wrist, the ancient scroll unfurled to reveal the drawing of what I deciphered as two young figures playing with marbles which resembled planets of the Solar System. Underneath the drawing, were words possibly written in Aramaic. Despite my fascination, I kept my poker face and pretended to be unimpressed and, instead, repeated the question more firmly this time.

“WHY-THIS-HOUSE?”

Bub gazed at the scroll for what seemed to be an infinitesimal second of nostalgia before sending it back to wherever he had conjured it up from. And in the blink of an eye, the demeanor of the classic Beelzebub returned.

“You wanna know why I’m allowed to be here? Ask your man, Tom, sleeping...upstairs! Geesh, you are so dumb,” he added for effect, “No wonder he wants to leave you.”

Bub’s revelation shattered the poker face I had so successfully maintained and sent my thoughts into a tailspin.

“What? Leave? What does Thomas have to do with you being here?” I asked.

Bub’s laughter was unsuppressed as he settled back onto the couch more comfortably than I was comfortable with. I held up my Bible again, brandishing it like a sword this time and commanded he tell me what he meant, but Bub, unwavering, continued to jeer and mock me. Feeling deflated, I tucked the book under my arm again and ran upstairs to escape the deafening sounds of his maniacal laughter.

Before I even reached our bedroom door, I could hear Thomas’s usual cacophony of snores ringing throughout the room and resonating out into the hallway. One of the many causes of my insomnia, I thought to myself. I opened the door to find my husband sprawled out upon the bed as if he were its only occupant. The thought of him resting in such a peaceful slumber, with everything going on downstairs, stirred my anger more than Bub’s insults had. I snatched my pillow from underneath him. The snores became quieter but remained unrelenting.

“Tom-Tom wake up please,” I asked with a strained politeness,“Honey, are you awake? We need to talk.“

With this last plea, Tom moved to his side of the bed in slight agitation, but after only a few seconds, the symphony of snores resumed. In disbelief, I slammed the pillow on his head and shouted, “Thomas Junior Walker, the Devil is downstairs!” Thomas jumped up quickly, yet still dazed and confused.

“What-what’s my boss doing downstairs?” he asked. Still drugged with sleep, he lunged forward to retrieve his housecoat hanging from the door. Watching him lose his balance, I gasped as he hit the cold, hardwood floor he had often begged me to replace with carpet.

“Tom-honey are you alright?” I asked, trying not to sound too gleeful that he was now fully awake.

He rose up from the floor and and positioned himself on the side of the bed.

“Babe, what is wrong with you? I have to be up in three hours...I really can’t do this now.”

“Tom, Beelzebub is downstairs...he says you know all about it.”

Thomas, still trying to make sense of it all, rubbed the spot where he’d hit his head from the fall.

“Who?” He asked in bewilderment.

“ Beelzebub? Satan?, the Prince of Darkness? Father of Lies!” I screamed, still trying to wake him.

“Isn’t the Prince of Darkness, Dracula?” He yawned.

“Thomas, this is no time to joke. The Devil is downstairs again and...he says you’re going to leave me.”

Thomas let out an exasperated sigh and reluctantly turned on the lamp beside the bed. Even in this disheveled state, he was still so adorable to me. “Babe...” He pat the area on the bed beside him, requesting I sit. “I would never leave," he continued, "unless you really needed me to. Now, I did see the Devil downstairs a few days ago, I told him he didn’t have to go home, but he had to get the hell outta here.”

“So why is he back? I asked.

“I-I asked him that too.” Thomas hesitated and let out a painful sigh.

“He-he said, he’s allowed to be here because you haven’t truly forgiven me. I didn’t believe him, but here he is again and here we are again, in the middle of the night, in turmoil.”

I hung my head in shame. I had given tons of bible study lessons on forgiveness where I’d served dessert labeled as “humble pie” to add to the lesson, had sat in on a thousand sermons on the subject and had voiced a hearty,”Amen” to each one of them. All of that, and like Job, Bub had been allowed to infiltrate chaos. Thomas reached up to catch a tear cascading down my cheek.

“Thomas Junior Walker, I do forgive you, and from this day forward, Bub will never have ammunition to enter this house again.”

No sooner had I spoken the words, a clap of thunder boomed, but no rain came. The sky remained as clear and as full of stars as it had ever been. Thomas kissed me gently and suggested that, together, we tell Bub to leave.

We strolled down the stairway hand in hand, something we hadn’t done since our wedding. Our hearts felt light and I felt as though I might float away if Thomas were not there to anchor me. Of course, as we expected, Bub was gone, except for the smell of sulfur, not a trace of him remained. Thomas ushered me back upstairs, but the urge to relieve myself had returned. He waited for me as I rushed to the bathroom. Even before I turned on the light, I could see the toilet paper dangling from the toilet seat which Bub had purposely left in the up position. I laughed at how childish he was. Yes, the Devil is so petty.