The Ghost of Mitch McConnell
Mitch McConnell smiled at himself with the pride of blocking democracy. He felt the satin walls next to his arms, a soft pillow behind his head, and darkness. He started to shift and rise, confused by the loss of his corporal existence. He passed through the silky satin, then the plywood. What’s that? Oak?
McConnell floated above the lectern at the front of the Baptist church. The white pine wainscoting stained mahogany brown. He levitated in front of a wooden cross lit from behind. His white shirt and red tie loosely hung off his phantasmal form. He marveled at the lack of gravity. He was flummoxed by his anti-matter shirt and tie’s loose hang.
“Hmmm. Maybe gravity works different for a soul,” He said aloud in his hybrid Alabamian-Kentuckian accent.
Jackson traced a finger along the pew, he wore a Verizon Wireless polo and looked at the ceiling. He was young, average, and despondent. Mitch waved at the young man and crashed to the ground when he realized he was invisible.
“Hmph, that was unexpected,” McConnell drawled.
Jackson prayed aloud with palms pressed tight, “Will I ever be salesman of the month?”
Hearing the boy’s question McConnell wished he wasn’t dead, so he could break the kid’s heart with the pain of reality.
“Yes,” an ethereal voice boomed from the four corners of the church.
McConnell’s eyes shifted around anxiously to find the voice. Jackson looked as confused as Mitch as he sat in the pew with a flaccid sense of confidence and a body that melted in on itself.
Jesus manifested wearing a well-tailored suit and man bun. He stood next to Jackson and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
McConnell floated above the men unnoticed. He’s a hipster, can’t be!?!
Jackson smiled at the warmth. I feel god, or maybe it’s the holy spirit? He took a deep breath. Definitely god, most certainly.
“Wow! I always thought that was just something people say.” Jackson stated in a squeaky, effeminate, and then deep voice. His inner monologue startled him. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But I feel him, for real.
Jesus removed his hand. With newfound freedom and confidence, Jackson stood up and walked out of the church with a swagger.
“Oh, my god, oh my god. He is risen.” McConnell said and waited for his escort to the staircase in the sky. “Glad you got your priorities straight. I’m ready to follow a leader that can lead.”
Jesus looked over at Mitch and smiled, “Sorry, not here for you.”
“Then you’re not him.” McConnell stuttered.
“Okay,” he said amused. “I’m not here to convince you otherwise.”
Mitch fell to the floor and dematerialized.
Jesus shrugged and laughed, “Oh, the unequally yoked.”