Last Supper

By Richie S.

It was odd what a person remembered. Mickey found that in the haze of cigarette-smoke filled cafeteria where pilots lingered over mystery meat straight out of the high school cafeteria from hell that he found himself remembering the sight, smell and taste of one of Central Park's finest hot dogs bought right from the stand. It was probably a New York thing. Granted many people thought of it as a city but as far as Mickey was concerned it was a reality all its own. And it was this reality of New York City that frequently broke into his consciousness from the jungles of Vietnam to now the deserts of Aslan.

The present moment was no exception, Mickey had remembered the flush of adrenaline and letting forth a profanity laced tirade as he strafed the target. His curses must have been some kind of omen because the anti-aircraft gun had found its mark in his abdomen. He was lung shot, a mortal wound from small arms fire, much less an anti-aircraft unit. Mickey knew he was going to die, and it was going to happen within the next 60 seconds. So of all that he knew and remembered what invaded his thoughts? Certainly it was New York and it was something that had always tickled Mickey's imagination.

It was Mickey's first communion at St. John's Catholic Church; he remembered how his grandmother was ecstatic. Even more so then when he began serving as an altar boy. She constantly reminded him that at the Mass, in the sacrament that God was personally coming to him to forgive him and make everything right. In the moment Mickey believed her. Later on in high school he became a lapsed Catholic as seemingly everyone he knew around him cared little for religion of any kind. But shortly before he left for basic training he made sure to go to Mass and take the sacrament. He had doubted it for years but suddenly facing the gravity of the situation he desperately wanted it to be real and consumed it convinced that it was. He knew because a year earlier his grandmother had died. The last few years were rough but the last time Mickey saw her she was happy, she had just taken the sacrament for a final time and told Mickey now she knew she was going to heaven because God had just came to her and guaranteed it by the host she had just consumed.

Since then Mickey's thoughts on the faith had wavered back and forth. There were moments when the world seemed to scream at him that there was no God. Still there were other times when he was left wondering what if it was real? There was still companionship and hope that wistfully appeared on the battlefield teasing to larger reality. And in this moment Mickey once again found himself a believer in what he had consumed, desperate for it to be true. And in the next moment Mickey expired, about to find out.