Theirs was the kind of love even I do not understand completely. The kind that could almost produce chain lightning across that people-stifled, hazy room and leave the occupants wondering how it could be so strong, but perceiving exactly what had happened. The kind of love where they could butcher each others own families and explain their reasoning later. Their souls were connected before they were created. I love it when I see it. I am envious of it in a fashion I cannot even explain. It is more beautiful than anything I have been able to accomplish. Unfortunately, it is so attractive to me I have to test it. I have to see what I can do with it. I may not be able to break it. I may not even want to break it, but I feel so compelled to play with it. The two it envelops may be pained by my methods and trials, but they have already achieved a passion and fire most never attain. They can take the suffering because, in the end, they always win. Death cannot defeat that kind of love. Even I cannot defeat that kind of love. They were in Matilda’s, a little coffee shop on the east side of The City, when they met. Contrary to popular belief, I did not build Matilda’s. It was built by Sam Keen’s construction and operated by Gene Hall and Sammy Grange. I had nothing to do with it. It always had a warm feeling, made its customers feel so welcome they may as well have been home in their own beds, reading a book and sipping tea. It consisted of five rooms. Two restrooms, a bar where you could purchase alcoholic coffee drinks, the kitchen and the main dining area. Actually, calling it a dining area was a bit of a misnomer. You couldn’t really “dine” there. The room was about three quarters of Matilda’s total space. High ceilings were barred away from the purposefully warped plank floor by thick beams of old barnwood. Small round tables dotted the room like an archipelago of wood grained oaisises. At the back of the room, near the saloon style kitchen doors, was a fireplace built from large gray stones. Sammy would usually start a fire just a bit after dark. The burning wood gave the place an atmosphere of a country cottage where a storyteller could come in at any moment and amuse the patrons with tales of legend and adventure. The kitchen was an exercise in the rustic as well. All the coffee makers and cappucino machines were copper. Never used copper pots and pans hung from a square rack in the center and large utensils of the same material lined the walls in certain places. The particular evening when Jonas met Beth, he had come in with his best friend, Prince. Prince was trying to cheer Jonas up. He had just been nailed by another girl. Why they picked him, niether Jonas nor Prince knew. Jonas was not at all model caliber attractive. Brown hair, blue eyes, face in normal proportions. He was average in height and with a weight to match it. While Jonas had no physical deficiencies, he also had no eye catching features for anyone to latch onto. He was wearing a blue t-shirt under a corduroy jacket that did not hug his waist but rather just hung straight toward the floor. He always wore faded blue denims and tennis shoes. Prince on the other hand should have been the target for all the women Jonas seemed to draw. He was not from The City and was, in fact, a foreigner. He had lived in his native country until he turned thirteen and then moved with his mother to The City. He had that accent that girls liked to hear and dark eyes that made them feel he was measuring them with a look. Better than that, they simply made him look cool. With an athletic body and dimples in just the right places, Prince was practically the guy women struggled over in cheap romance novels. The only real difference was that Prince was capable of three dimensional thought. They walked in out of the rain that had taken The City that night and shook themselves off. Jonas hung his coat on a peg by the door and walked over to where Prince had found them a table. Too many smokers had come in that night and it hung thick in the air, refusing to go out into the damp evening. “Dude, forget her. She is obviously not worth your trouble if she is going to pull shit like that so soon. Better to let it go now than to let her get her claws in deeper later. They’re harder to remove then.” Prince pitched the last part with a grin, dimples depressing into his cheeks. “I know. I always know. But it’s never that easy,” Jonas paused for a second before continuing, “why does this always happen to me? Why not you for a change?” Prince opened his mouth to answer when Sammy Grange walked up to take thier order. Sammy had dry red hair that grew in large tufts. His head was too big for his body which could have used about twenty more pounds. He was an odd looking guy but friendly with everyone so he rarely drew the cruel remarks most people looking like him would get. “Whatcha drinking guys?” asked Sammy as he pulled a pad and pen from the brown spotted apron tied at his waist. Prince ordered them both a coffee with chocolate added to it. Cafe Mocha. That was Jonas’ favorite. With Prince paying for both, Sammy knew what was up. “Not again, boy,” he started. “Yes again. Let it lie. I’m gonna forget about this one quick, okay.” Jonas brought his hand down on the table making a sharp slap. He hadn’t meant to sound that angry or hit the table but he was not in an apologetic mood. Sammy looked abashed, as if he wished he had thought before speaking and walked away. “You know, you don’t have to piss off everyone else while you’re waiting to forget about her.” Prince grinned again. He looked like a cat. Jonas tried not to but smiled anyway. “I wish I could be like them, sometimes. They play a guy just to tell their friends they can. It’s some kind of strange system of honor with them. I want to be like that. I don’t want to fall in love all the time and step blindly. I want to be the predator for a change.” “Are you sure,” asked Prince, “Predators get hurt, too.” “But not as bad. They go into it thinking they are going to get out of it and maintain control the whole way through. You can’t get take a lot of damage when you expect to be the one dealing it out. You are ready for it and don’t feel it as much.” They we both silent for a moment. Jonas stared down at the table, sure he was starting to sound whiny. Prince ran his fingers through his dark hair and pulled it off of his forehead. He did it like the guys in blue jean commercials did when they had just finished washing the car. Jonas picked up his eyes and looked at Prince. “I wonder if I would have these problems if I looked like you. I wonder if...” Prince cut him off. “You might as well quit right there. You are never going to look like me. It is too hard for someone like you to look as good as me.” Prince grinned widely. “It would be like trying to make a silk suit out of felt.” He laughed out loud at the last part. Jonas laughed, too. “You can never let me wallow in self pity, can you.” “Hey, I’m hat kind of friend. What can I say?” Jonas looked around to see if anyone else he knew was there. He glanced at the other tables and when his eyes fell on one near the kitchen he actually stopped breathing. He stared with wide eyes like a little boy seeing his first naked woman. All the sound in the room drained out and his heart was the only thing making noise in his ears. His peripheral vision narrowed to a tunnel and he could barely feel the chair he was sitting in. He might as well have been floating on a cloud. He felt as if all the thought he had in his head had been drawn into a funnel and aimed straight at her. He had locked gazes with Beth. She had looked around the room at the same time and spotted Jonas just an instant before. It was like they had known each other before or had to know each other now. They weren’t sure, but both were thinking the same thing. She had the look of someone freshly slapped. Beth didn’t have the graceful beauty of a model either. She had obviously dyed red hair, almost a purple tint, that went to her shoulders but had been pulled back in a pony tail. Jacob couldn’t tell from his distance but she had brown eyes. They were large eyes, giving her an innocent face. She realized her mouth was open and snapped it shut with a click of her teeth. Realizing what they were doing, Beth smiled. On her left cheek a small depression sank into a dimple. Jonas still stared. Prince was saying something and Jonas felt flashes of heat. He thought it was odd, the heat. He was embarassed, too. It seemed to be coming from his lap instead of his heart. Sammy was standing there, too. He was saying something loudly to Jonas who realized that Prince and Sammy both were growing irate. Jonas looked down at the spilled coffee on his crotch. That was the heat he felt. “Where’s your head, boy?” Sammy sounded like a grandfather when he said that. “You saw the way they were looking at each other,” Prince managed to get out between coughing laughs, “You know exactly where his head was.” Sammy chuckled and handed Jonas some paper towels. “Go to the restroom and wipe it off,” said Sammy. The restroom, thought Jonas. The restroom is right behind her table. He looked back, she was talking to another woman at her table but eyed him sideways. He realized a few other people were looking at him and then back at her. They had seen it, too. Jonas had never felt it like that. The pain he had found gripping his heart earlier that night had been blasted into non-existence by her single gaze. He found himself walking toward her table. She stood up, looking like a spooked deer. The woman at her table shook her hand, gave her a card and departed, smiling at Jonas as she passed him. Jonas was not forward with women. In fact, he had only one relationship where he had made the first move and he had felt incredibly awkward the entire time. After that relationship had ended badly and his head had cleared, he realized she had talked him into making the first moves. But this time he did not feel awkward. He walked up to Beth and put his hand out. She took it as naturally as birds and bees. Instead of shaking it, or telling her his name, Jonas lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed gently on her knuckles. He could have sworn thunder crashed somewhere in the night. “My name is Jonas,” he said. “I’m Beth,” she stopped abruptly and then continued, “has that ever happened to you before? What just happened? It hasn’t happened like that to me before...” Beth trailed off and wanted to feel embarassed but couldn’t. He felt too right for her. How silly, though. She just now learned his name. “No. And I know exactly what you mean. This is strange... but... I need to know you.” Jonas blushed. He did not intend to sound romantic but he had. He hoped she didn’t think he was trying to play her. Somehow, he knew she didn’t. “Same here.” She forgot to close her mouth completely when she finished talking. They both sat down. Not once since Jonas kissed her hand did they break eye contact. They were locked, contained helplessly, by the strength of what had just happened. Even if they could have been drawn out of it somehow, neither of them would have wished it. Somewhere outside, my challenge had arrived. A heavy, steady thrumming of bass vibrated soothingly throughout The City. Everyone in The City heard it and felt it. Everyone was drawn by it. They had to know where this party was. They had to go there and be seen at it. There are some particularly strong willed people in The City. Prince was one of them. Even he, though, got to his feet and walked over to Jonas and Beth. “I’m going. You seem to have found something to do. I’m going to that party.” Jonas briefly wondered what party Prince was talking about but dismissed it as Prince’s excuse to let Jonas go for the night. “Right. See ya,” said Jonas, still transfixed on Beth, his voice low and breathless. Prince nodded to Beth. She didn’t even look up. He walked away, forgetting to pay. “Let’s go for a walk. Does that sound good to you?” Beth raised her black eyebrows in anticipation. She needed to stay with this guy. “Sounds very good to me,” answered Jonas. He blinked and started to breathe regularly again.

When they got up, Jonas and Beth reached for each others hands like thay had been doing it for years. It felt so right. They walked to the door. Though only seven in the evening, Sammy Grange was hanging a CLOSED sign in the window talking to a short, plump blond man who was his partner and friend, Gene Hall. They were trying to hurry each other up to go to the party. Jonas and Beth barely noticed the two men. They forgot to pay as well. Gene opened the door for them and Sammy saw them go, apparently unaware that they need to pay, too. The cafe tables were littered with half finished cups and no money had been left by anyone. Half filled, the place had cleared out in under two minutes and the owners had closed it down. I had sent one of my favorite tests for these two. I called it the Jatterbox. It sent out music that you were helplessly drawn to. You weren’t too sure why but you had to go when you heard it. You found out why when you got there. The music makes you think you are exactly like you wanted to be. When Jonas had said earlier that he wanted to be the predator for the change, he would be the predator when the music took effect. He would use all the women just as they had used him. He would love it and others would love him for it. Anyway, that’s how the box worked. The problem, though, was that when the music ended, when the box was taken away, you remembered who you were. You had all the memories of being the person you wanted to be and were no more. It is too hard for most people to go through the work of changing who they are. That’s why they loved the box. Instant results. Instant weight loss, instand twelve step program, instant education. And when it was all over, it all went away. Paradise and hell all wrapped up in a thumping, booming tune. What a great toy. You probably think I am a horrible beast for ever conceiving of something like that. I can’t help it when my mind wanders but some of the things that come of it are really wondrous. As if the bow wasn’t enough, I had given the thing to a guy who could not be affected by it. He knew what it did, though. It pissed him off to no end that if he wanted to change, he had to work for it. No simple solution of miraculous boxes for him. That’s why I gave it to him, in fact. I knew it pissed him off anf that he would want to take a measure of vengeance off the people who could enjoy it. He had a mean streak a mile wide and an imagination about the same. After a few years with the box, he had learned to work with it. He could fine tune the fantasy it created and target it if he wanted to. The box and him together... sometimes I despise myself for my cruel genius.   (This is actually going to be the end. I typed it first.) What if God was one of us Just a slob like one of us Just a stranger on the bus trying to make his way home -Joan Osborne   That was the story of Jonas and Beth. One of my favorites. It illustrates perfectly how you people value yourselves. Whether that is good or bad is for you to decide. What about me, though? I admit that I hoped you may be wondering about me. Wondering who I am. Vanity is one of my faults I am afraid. Well, just in case you are wondering, or if you think you have figured it out but are not perfectly sure, I will give you one of my favorite speeches. It is the one I give to people who meet me for the first time and I want to impress badly. Anyway, here it goes. I have been known by many names. My most favoured warriors once called me Odhin, the All-Father. My most noble people named me Zues. My greatest empire, Jupiter. My most fanatical followers, Allah. I am the destroyer of all, the creator of all. The protector of humanity and the tempter of souls. Most all of my many creations prefer to think me separate entities at times. Satan, Christ, Apollo, Thor, Mohammed, Bhudda. They are all me. They make up my complete being. I am legion and I am one. Life is my game and my greatest achievement. I dwell in a place that you can comprehend. I am not above understanding and my will is to be questioned. My motives to be scrutinized. I did not mean to be worshipped or followed, but my children are too intuitive for their own good. They sensed me, revealing that I am not omnipotent. I am the Alpha. I am the Omega. I am the entity and the entities all living things come to call under some name meaning “the god.” My name, however, is Frank.   Other notes: If your tastes have to be refined, aren’t they acquired? And isn’t an acquired taste something you have to teach yourself to like because you do not instinctually enjoy it?