How I Became Acquainted With A God
It all really started with me deciding to practice that extra hour of violin.
(It was the finicky intonation of sixteenth notes. It’s always that.)
I climbed the stairs to my practice room, opening the curtains and windows to get some ventilation into the stuffy room.
That’s when a crack opened up in the sky and a pink blur crashed into the window.
Through the window, actually.
Into the stuffy practice room.
In my face.
“Gah!” I yelled, spitting tufts of neon pink fur out of my mouth. I then saw what exactly the pink blur was. It was a caterpillar. A hideous, flying, fuzzy, glowing-pink, cat-sized caterpillar.
“Gah!” I said once more, backing away.
The pink caterpillar hovered there, with its magenta hummingbird wings. Its pale pink eyes stared at me.
“Gah!” I said again, for what reason I can’t fathom.
“Is that the limit of your vocabulary?” asked the pink flying caterpillar quite rudely.
“Gah!” I exclaimed in surprise. Apparently it could speak.
“I suppose so,” muttered the pink caterpillar to itself.
“No,” I argued. “I don’t know why you would think that.”
“So therefore you have very limited intelligence.”
“No,” I sighed, exasperated with the pink flying caterpillar.
“I am pouting,” the caterpillar said calmly. “I am very, very angry.”
“Because I am a god and you dare argue with me.”
“Because if you did not witness my stunning spectacle, I could have mended the window and went on my way without any annoying humans realizing my existence.”
“But I suppose now you will go yelling it out to everyone and find the closest news station and blurt out your story and they will think you were hallucinating.”
“Actually, now that you said that, I won’t.”
The pink caterpillar shrugged, then alighted onto my music stand and primly folded its dark magenta wings. The sturdy Manhasset stand creaked and groaned from the caterpillar’s weight. I stared in awe.
“What?” the caterpillar asked aggressively. “What’re you staring at?”
As if reading my mind, the caterpillar said, “It’s harmful to my emotional security if you think about my weight. I’ve been trying to slim down for centuries.”
“Has it worked?” I asked politely.
The caterpillar sighed. “Well, I’ve gone from being panther-sized to housecat-sized.”
“That’s impressive,” I said.
The caterpillar looked very pleased. “Thank you. But I still haven’t reached caterpillar-size, which is my goal. Currently, I’m sixty-five pounds.”
Can a cat weigh seventy-five pounds? I asked myself.
“No,” the caterpillar said. “I have a much greater density, me being a god and all that.”
Can you read my mind? I asked the caterpillar mentally.
“Yes, of course,” the caterpillar said, looking rather bored. “I’m a god.”
“You’re a god?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I remained silent.
“Well,” the caterpillar said, “I had better be on my way. I must stop by the Snack Shack of the Gods. Pink cheetos are everything.”
Then the caterpillar unfolded its dark magenta wings and flew out the hole in the window it had created.
And that’s how I became acquainted with a god.