“White Freckles”

She’d bought them at the tanning salon: the white freckles. The plastic stencil stuck to her face and the woman with bright pink hair on the half of her head that wasn’t shaved apologized. She told her she had done things in the wrong order. She told her if she tried to peel the plastic stencil off now, all of the skin on her face was going to peel with it. There was an unpredictable patter of rain on the exterior of the tent. She liked to call her tent the tanning salon. The plastic stencil was stuck to the girl’s face. The woman with bright pink hair on the half of her head that wasn’t shaved apologized. Her name was Beatrice. She was upset about her stencil. She’d planned to use it on more than one customer.

“It’s ok,” said the girl with the stencil stuck to her face. She was named Beatrice too.

“I’m not going to give you your money back,” said Beatrice, the woman with bright pink hair on the half of her head that wasn’t shaved. “You’ve already handed it to me and I’d like to keep it.”

The girl with the plastic stencil now stuck to her face felt upset. “But you did things in the wrong order. You told me if I try to peel the stencil off now, all of the skin on my face is going to peel with it.”

Beatrice, the woman with bright pink hair on the half of her head that wasn’t shaved, who had gotten the plastic stencil stuck to Beatrice’s face in the first place, apologized. Then she said, “I don’t have very much money and it makes me feel good when I get get more.”

There was a terrible crashing sound from the arterial overhead. It sounded like another conveyor collision. Neither Beatrice reacted. They were used to it. Accidents happen more often than people like to admit.

“I guess I don’t want to force you,” the girl named Beatrice said with hesitance. She absentmindedly rubbed the plastic stencil on her cheek.

“That’s true,” the other Beatrice echoed.

“I don’t have very much money either,” said the girl named Beatrice. She continued to rubbing the plastic stencil stuck to her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” said the other Beatrice, the one who was responsible: the bad Beatrice. “If I had some I’d share.”

“That’s true,” the girl named Beatrice said. “Times are tough for everyone I guess.” Then she got on her hands and knees and crawled towards the tent’s exit.

“Be sure to zip it up all the way,” the other Beatrice called after her. “I don’t want more water getting in.”

“That’s true,” the girl named Beatrice said. She wouldn’t want water getting into her tent either.

Outside, the city was vibrant, albeit a little damp. The rain hadn’t stopped for several weeks. Usually the arterial overhead offered great coverage, though recently the concrete was beginning to crack. It made it easier for rain to leak through. Beatrice assumed the increase in conveyor traffic to be the cause of the arterial’s recent wear. Conveyors now came eight times a day, where they had previously only come twice. The conveyors collided often. They were driven automatically. That’s how they knew God was behind it all. Accidents happen more often than people like to admit.

Beatrice’s friend Jesus approached. He was tall and had dark skin. They were roughly the same age. Jesus was unequivocally handsome. He was holding his little brother’s hand.

“What’s that on your face?” Jesus asked.

“I bought them at the tanning salon,” Beatrice nervously answered. She was nervous because she liked Jesus but was uncertain whether or not Jesus liked her. “The woman with bright pink hair on the half of her head that isn’t shaved did things in the wrong order. If I try and peel it off now, all of the skin on my face is going to peel with it.”

Rain was falling at an unpredictable rate from cracks in the arterial hundreds of feet overhead. All around them, families were stirring inside their tents. The water droplets weren’t visible until they were practically touching you. Jesus looked at her. She could feel his interest.

“Is the stencil made of plastic?” Beatrice nodded as she felt something inside of Jesus flutter. “And you said it’s never going to come off?” Beatrice nervously nodded again. All around them, families were unzipping their tents. Beatrice did not feel confident in her appearance.

“Are you upset?” asked Jesus’ brother, who was also named Jesus. Beatrice crossed her arms and stared at the ground. All around them, families were readying themselves to venture to the end of the arterial.

“Only if Jesus is,” she said under her breath. She wished she’d said it louder. Beatrice did not look up in anticipation of his reply.

“I’m not upset,” said the older of the two boys named Jesus. “In fact,” he continued with a coy grin on his face, “I think it’s kind of cute.”

Beatrice blushed, though the redness of her cheeks were concealed beneath the plastic stencil stuck to her face. All around them, families wafted with the flow of the arterial runoff. The water droplets weren’t visible until they were practically touching you. The bridge didn’t offer the same coverage it once had.

“I guess it’s growing on me too,” she said quickly, basking in the affirmation of the boy she may love.

There was a crashing sound overhead. It sounded like another collision. The trio didn’t react. The conveyors collided often. That’s how they knew God was behind it all. Rain began dripping at an even quicker rate than before. Conveyors now came eight times a day, where they had previously only come twice. Accidents happen more often than people like to admit. Jesus looked to the supposed crack in the arterial hundreds of feet overhead. The water droplets weren’t visible until they were practically touching you. All around them, families were moving in the direction of worship.

“You know,” he said, “I think it’s almost time for worship.”

Beatrice’s heart dropped. She knew what was coming next and had dreamed of it since she was a little girl.

“I suppose it is,” she replied cooly.

“Would you care to join me?” Jesus asked. She nodded. Even Jesus’ younger brother, who was also named Jesus, understood the implications of such an invitation. He told the couple goodbye, for he needed to go find his mother, who was also named Beatrice.

Jesus reached a reached out a tentative hand. He wanted Beatrice to hold it. She blushed, though the redness of her cheeks were concealed beneath the plastic stencil stuck to her face. Beatrice had always dreamed of being escorted to worship. The couple locked hands and began walking through the city of tents, which stretched beneath the arterial for several miles. Worship occurred where their community ended and the gifts began. The end of the arterial came to a point in the form of a circle, allowing the conveyors room to turn around. The area beneath it was reserved for the community’s most pious and affluent, for the location placed residents closest to the community’s well of resources. Many believed the gifts to be directly from God.

Beatrice and Jesus filed in with the families. They were holding hands. Jesus kept staring at Beatrice, though when she playfully met his eyes, she realized he was staring at the plastic stencil stuck to her face. She detected lust in his gaze. Beatrice felt affirmed.

Tents were propped as far as the eye could see, each uniquely decorated with greasy paper bags covered in colorful pictures. There were plastic cups of similar decoration. Beatrice and Jesus walked with the crowd. Everyone was headed to worship.

The conveyor could be heard overhead moving in the same direction as the people. It was good to worship at least once a day, though sometimes worship didn’t happen. Sometimes people did not worship at all. Sometimes people would root through the gifts after worship had already been conducted. Many believed the gifts to be directly from God, though some did not. Sometimes Beatrice was not so sure. She’d heard rumors.

“Do you believe the gifts to be directly from God,” she abruptly asked Jesus. He stopped dead in his tracks, the families stumbling to get around him.

“Absolutely,” he replied. “I don’t know why you would even ask me a question like that.” Beatrice felt worried she’d offended him.

“I think so too,” she blurted out, even though she didn’t. Beatrice was not sure.

“Good,” Jesus replied. “For a moment I was worried.”

He looked to the supposed crack in the arterial hundreds of feet overhead. The water droplets weren’t visible until they were practically touching you. All around them, families were moving in the direction of worship. This was going to be the sixth Worship of the day, though God had tested them with fourth and fifth. Sometimes worship didn’t happen. Sometimes the conveyors collided. They were driven automatically. That’s how they knew God was behind it all. Accidents happen more often than people like to admit.

Even those who did not believe the gifts to be directly from God were relieved to see an increase in the amount of daily worships. They said it meant more garbage for them. It stung Beatrice when people said garbage. The correct word was gift. Her mother, who was also named Beatrice, had taught her that garbage was a dirty word. Sometimes Beatrice whispered it under her breath.

Jesus was staring at the plastic stuck to Beatrice’s face. She felt happy he enjoyed looking at her.

All around them, families were slowing down. They’d reached the end of the arterial. All around them, families were forming a semi-circle around the end of the arterial hundreds of feet overhead. Everyone stood in the rain. There was a loud beeping, signaling the conveyor’s reverse towards the edge. It would drop the gifts and return to God for more. That’s how they knew God was behind it all. The rain hadn’t stopped for several weeks. This was going to be the sixth worship of the day. The water droplets weren’t visible until they were practically touching you. All around them, families spread their arms wide to receive God’s gifts. The plastic stencil was stuck to the girl’s face. If she tried to peel it off now, all of the skin on her face was going to peel with it. Accidents happen more often than people like to admit.

The families rose their hands in tandem with the bed of the conveyor hundreds of feet overhead. The bed of the conveyor hundreds of feet overhead rose until the Gifts toppled into the center of the semi-circle formed by the families all around them. Everyone stood in the rain.

Then people began making noises. It was like singing and it wasn’t like singing, like the sounds that parents make. The conveyor began to beep as its bed went down. The families dropped their hands in tandem with the bed of the conveyor hundreds of feet overhead. They dropped their hands until they were all on their knees, then they were all on their stomachs.

Beatrice and Jesus laid on their stomachs facing each other. Jesus was staring at the plastic stuck to Beatrice’s face. He reached his hand out and gently stroked the plastic. Beatrice giggled.

People were making noises. The end of the arterial came to a point in the form of a circle, allowing the conveyors room to turn around. God packed his conveyors full. At times they were so full that some gifts would fall off. Sometimes worship wouldn’t happen. Sometimes God packed his conveyors so full of gifts that some would fall off and block the path between the end of the arterial and God. Those who did not believe the gifts to be directly from God worried that overtime, so much excess garbage was going to pile up on the interstate that the semi-trucks wouldn’t even be able to get through. They worried they’d be left with even less than they had now, which was nothing. Little—less—nothing!

People began rising from their stomachs and moving inquisitively towards the fresh pile of gifts. It smelled like everything smelled. It looked like everything too. Everyone stood in the rain.

Jesus grabbed a white plastic bag from the side of a pile of much larger plastic bags. Whichever gift you grabbed was crafted specifically for you and your need. That’s how they knew God was behind it all. Beatrice followed Jesus as he walked away from the crowd. Everyone selected their gifts in the rain.

Jesus tore the bag open. There was food inside. Beatrice couldn’t tell what it was but that didn’t matter. Jesus grabbed a handful of the wet slop and offered it to Beatrice. She ate it out of his hand and made noises. It was like singing and it wasn’t like singing, like the sounds that parents make. After she had eaten everything out of Jesus’ hand, she clung to his arm as he grabbed a handful for himself. He made satisfied noises as he ate. Everyone ate in the rain. Some people were sitting down. Others were standing. It was very comfortable.

Once they’d eaten as much as they could, Jesus struggled to carry the bag; it had been torn open and its insides were trying to slip out. Beatrice followed him as he walked further from the end of the arterial and into the rolling hills of gifts. This was customary after one had taken as much as they could. It was customary to put the rest of your gift with the other gifts so that people could go back and take more as they needed.

Jesus walked to the edge of the rolling hills of gifts. He looked over his shoulder. He was staring at the plastic stuck to Beatrice’s face. She blushed, though the redness of her cheeks was concealed beneath the plastic stencil stuck to her face. Instead of stopping to put his bag down, he continued walking deeper into the piles of gift.

“What are you doing?” Beatrice giggled running to catch up with him. Jesus began moving faster.

“Hurry,” he playfully exclaimed. “Before someone sees us!”

Jesus threw his bag to the ground and grabbed Beatrice’s hand. Suddenly they were running. They were running through the rolling hills. It smelled like everything smelled. The water droplets weren’t visible until they were practically touching you. Beatrice felt so alive when she was with Jesus. Jesus felt alive when he was with her too.

The couple ran until they were panting. Their breath smelled like their dinner. Rolling hills of gifts surrounded them on all sides. Jesus grabbed Beatrice’s waist and took a step towards her. He began caressing the plastic stuck to her face, then he leaned in and started licking it. Beatrice thought her heart may explode.

The rain hadn’t stopped for several weeks. It had created several swimming pools in the heart of the rolling hills. The rolling hills were made of garbage.

Jesus began nibbling the plastic stencil stuck to Beatrice’s face. She began breathing heavily to convey her satisfaction. Jesus moved closer, losing his balance, pushing them both to the ground. Now Jesus was on top of Beatrice, licking the plastic stencil stuck to her face. They were in a pool of water. The water was black. The garbage was seeping into the puddles of rain water. The rain hadn’t stopped for several weeks. The rolling hills were made of garbage. They were making noises. It was like singing and it wasn’t like singing, like the sounds that parents make. Beatrice rolled on top of Jesus. Jesus rolled on top of Beatrice. Their bodies created ripples and waves in the black water. The water was black because of the garbage. The rain began falling at a quicker rate than before. The black water glided over whomever was on the bottom. It smelled like everything smelled. Jesus licked the plastic stencil stuck to Beatrice’s face. She could feel the black water between the stencil and her skin. She could feel the plastic stencil loosening on her face. The garage seeped into the rain water and now that water was between the stencil and her skin. There was a distant crashing sound. It sounded like another conveyor collision. Neither of them reacted. Suddenly Beatrice’s stencil fell off.

Jesus screamed. Beatrice thought they were playing and screamed back, but Jesus was really screaming. He leapt off of her body and began frantically running his hands through the water that outlined her figure. He pulled his hands out of the black water. He was holding the plastic stencil, the one that had been stuck to Beatrice’s face. Jesus hunched over; his back to Beatrice, and he continued licking the plastic stencil. Beatrice was lying in the black water, her body language open and inviting.

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