With and Without Class by David Fleming

a divorce in Heaven. And that’s what they were, right? soulmates. Their case would be tried by one of the primary emanations of God and that in itself seemed risky. When he had his first brush with God (the Nineteenth Emanation) during Extra Terrestrial and Pre-Hominid Orientation, he thought for an instant he had been dissolved—dissolved down to what seemed his atoms, into a sea of peace.
    The idea of divorce didn’t make complete sense to him. And she could afford a much better lawyer. She was a surgeon in her past life and she had taken most of it with her. He had a lot of his money tied-up in his internet business and it wasn’t panning out yet. You see, a lot of old people choose to stay old after they die because they grow to hate the young so much and he was going to teach those old people to make Webpages and file their taxes online. So now he could only afford a decently good lawyer. Someone like Sammy. Sammy the ATM Machine, oh, it was going to be embarrassing.
    Sammy was peripherally linked into their circle of friends. It was rumored he liked going by the name Sammy so much that he became Sammy the ATM Machine simply because everything else he could think of was taken. But Harold didn’t believe it. Harold made an appointment and tried not to get annoyed by the fact that his secretary made him wait fifteen minutes in the receiving alcove, just for show. His office was dark brown, somewhat Victorian with leather bound book collections and Sammy sitting attentively in a high-back leather chair between an open-curtained bay window and a handsome wood desk.
    Harold smelled cigar smoke. “You look good, Sammy. Life-like.”
    â€œThanks,” the words issued from his black money slot and green text on his screen flashed with his syllables, “It took me a while to get the arms and legs to look natural and not too robotic. I’m very sorry to hear of this divorce, Harold. Are you sure about this?”
    â€œWe’re sure. We’ve talked it over and we think it’s for the best. She cheated on me, Sammy.”
    Sammy tapped pale-blue plastic fingers pensively over the lacquered desktop.
    â€œWalk me through the basics of this Sam—”
    He raised a hand, “Sammy.”
    â€œSorry. Sammy. Walk me through the basics. If we both know and agree we want this divorce, why can’t we just conjure it and be done with it?”
    â€œHarold, take a seat. Please.”
    Harold pulled a crimson leather chair closer to the desk and sat.
    Sammy’s screen seemed to lock with his gaze, “The essence of the truth of these matters is equal parts intention and manifestation.”
    â€œWhat?” Harold asked.
    â€œWe gotta do this thing to prove our case.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œNow, you’ll be going up against the DEMM; it’s important you know that.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe DEMM. The Deus ex Machina Machine.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œThe Eighth Emanation of God. The Deus ex Machina Machine. That’s what the Emanation calls Himself. He creates impossible resolutions. A handy trick in divorce court.”
    â€œOh.” Harold cringed, “Wait… what do you mean, I’ll be up against?”
    â€œHarold, I’m just your counsel. You and Patty are going to have to settle things yourselves with the DEMM.” Sammy leaned back into his high-back leather chair and spun a little. “You might have the mistaken idea that a Heavenly divorce is like a material one. It’s not. In material divorce we split up property and assets. In Heavenly divorce we divvy up ideas. She wouldn’t just get the house, for example, she’d get the idea of it, all the memories, textures, nuances and pleasures derived from its contemplation, images and emotions. That’s serious business, Harold. You’ve been together so long, we’re not talking about a legal matter, we’re talking about