The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy by Duncan Whitehead Page B
Authors: Duncan Whitehead
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being Bob Nancy.
I had known Bob Nancy for five years, and I considered him to be my best friend. While, on the surface, it seemed we didn’t have a lot in common, but if one scratched away a little, you would find we shared a lot of common interests and had similar thought processes. Our main common interest was baseball and the Yankees. We were both season ticket holders and avid fans. Like me, Bob had been a fan since childhood, and as we were the same age and both originally from Brooklyn, I guessed our paths probably crossed on many occasions as children without either of us ever realizing.
We attended games together during the season, and when the Yankees were on the road, we would sit in bars together watching our team and partaking of our second common interest: drinking copious amounts of beer. In the history of my life, I have not had many friends, wholly due to my mother’s interference during my college and high school years. However, I made up for my lack of fun growing up by drinking more beer than any college kid ever has with my good friend Bob Nancy. Our drunken nights were the highlight of his life and one of the highlights of mine. We would talk baseball, eat chicken wings, watch girls, and talk crap. Bob and I were soul mates when it came to sport, drinking beer and talking shit.
Bob was a teacher of elementary kids at a school in Harlem, the name of which eludes me. Harlem was also where he lived with his wife, Nancy. Yes, you read that correctly, his wife Nancy—Nancy Nancy. Bob and I first met at a party hosted by a friend of Nancy’s whom I was dating casually; we were both wearing Yankee pins, both against the wishes of our respective partners, and were both completely and utterly bored with the party. While my relationship with Nancy’s friend eventually fizzled out, Bob’s and my relationship blossomed, much to the annoyance of his wife.
Nancy didn’t care for me much, and I guessed there were numerous reasons why she didn’t. No doubt her friend whom I had dated and then dumped had blackened my name. I am sure tales were told of the way I had callously ended the relationship. Though Nancy had never confronted me, I got the feeling from her stares and the hostility I sensed from her that she thought I was “flaky.” Maybe the hostility was also due to the fact that I was single, and I spent a lot of time with her husband. It was always my fault when Bob returned drunk or late from a game or bar. I was her nemesis, and Bob assured me that in any argument between the two of them, they would mention my name at least five times. I therefore only called Bob when I knew Nancy wouldn’t be around. I had only visited Bob’s home once, and my apartment had become a haven for him whenever he needed time away from Nancy.
Bob was, by all accounts, a good teacher, and if I had had kids, I would have been happy for a guy like Bob Nancy to be teaching them. I liked Bob because he listened, and he was objective. I liked Bob because he liked me and because Bob was the least judgmental person I had ever met.
Bob and Nancy had no children. Nancy was a cop, one of New York’s finest. Being a cop meant that Nancy spent most of her time either sleeping or out of the house, which was good for Bob’s and my relationship, as she hardly ever veered from her monthly scheduled roster, of which I had a copy, provided by Bob, so I knew when the coast was clear to call.
The Nancys were not a religious couple. I wasn’t even sure what religion they were. Bob and I had never discussed religion, as it was something neither of us considered important in our lives. I knew they were married in a church, though; I had seen the photographs. Bob had shown them to me once when Nancy was working her shift. I think he was trying to show me that Nancy had once been an attractive woman, which I was sure she had been, maybe one hundred pounds ago.
The Nancy’s were an odd-looking couple. Though she had a pleasant face,
I had known Bob Nancy for five years, and I considered him to be my best friend. While, on the surface, it seemed we didn’t have a lot in common, but if one scratched away a little, you would find we shared a lot of common interests and had similar thought processes. Our main common interest was baseball and the Yankees. We were both season ticket holders and avid fans. Like me, Bob had been a fan since childhood, and as we were the same age and both originally from Brooklyn, I guessed our paths probably crossed on many occasions as children without either of us ever realizing.
We attended games together during the season, and when the Yankees were on the road, we would sit in bars together watching our team and partaking of our second common interest: drinking copious amounts of beer. In the history of my life, I have not had many friends, wholly due to my mother’s interference during my college and high school years. However, I made up for my lack of fun growing up by drinking more beer than any college kid ever has with my good friend Bob Nancy. Our drunken nights were the highlight of his life and one of the highlights of mine. We would talk baseball, eat chicken wings, watch girls, and talk crap. Bob and I were soul mates when it came to sport, drinking beer and talking shit.
Bob was a teacher of elementary kids at a school in Harlem, the name of which eludes me. Harlem was also where he lived with his wife, Nancy. Yes, you read that correctly, his wife Nancy—Nancy Nancy. Bob and I first met at a party hosted by a friend of Nancy’s whom I was dating casually; we were both wearing Yankee pins, both against the wishes of our respective partners, and were both completely and utterly bored with the party. While my relationship with Nancy’s friend eventually fizzled out, Bob’s and my relationship blossomed, much to the annoyance of his wife.
Nancy didn’t care for me much, and I guessed there were numerous reasons why she didn’t. No doubt her friend whom I had dated and then dumped had blackened my name. I am sure tales were told of the way I had callously ended the relationship. Though Nancy had never confronted me, I got the feeling from her stares and the hostility I sensed from her that she thought I was “flaky.” Maybe the hostility was also due to the fact that I was single, and I spent a lot of time with her husband. It was always my fault when Bob returned drunk or late from a game or bar. I was her nemesis, and Bob assured me that in any argument between the two of them, they would mention my name at least five times. I therefore only called Bob when I knew Nancy wouldn’t be around. I had only visited Bob’s home once, and my apartment had become a haven for him whenever he needed time away from Nancy.
Bob was, by all accounts, a good teacher, and if I had had kids, I would have been happy for a guy like Bob Nancy to be teaching them. I liked Bob because he listened, and he was objective. I liked Bob because he liked me and because Bob was the least judgmental person I had ever met.
Bob and Nancy had no children. Nancy was a cop, one of New York’s finest. Being a cop meant that Nancy spent most of her time either sleeping or out of the house, which was good for Bob’s and my relationship, as she hardly ever veered from her monthly scheduled roster, of which I had a copy, provided by Bob, so I knew when the coast was clear to call.
The Nancys were not a religious couple. I wasn’t even sure what religion they were. Bob and I had never discussed religion, as it was something neither of us considered important in our lives. I knew they were married in a church, though; I had seen the photographs. Bob had shown them to me once when Nancy was working her shift. I think he was trying to show me that Nancy had once been an attractive woman, which I was sure she had been, maybe one hundred pounds ago.
The Nancy’s were an odd-looking couple. Though she had a pleasant face,
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