Page 18 of Bless This Hot Mess

“I know that. And you know that,” Rebekkah replied, her tone firm. “But what happens in my basement won’t win us a Gemini or a Juno if no one’s there to witness it but us. This just might be our big chance. And look at how it’s all come together–a weekly radio show on WWJD means people could hear our music, and we get to share our love for Jesus.”

Japheth smiled softly. “Amen. But what if…”

Rebekkah shook her head, cutting him off. “What if we don’t? We already know that sad story and it has me living with my mom and you covered in Ring of Fire wing sauce for the rest of our lives. This Ronald guy is supposed to be a great drooler.”

“Dribbler,” Japheth corrected, chuckling.

“Maybe he’s got other mad skills too,” Rebekkah continued, her tone hopeful. “We have to giddy-up and let God make the path where we can’t see it. If God wants us to be a throuple, then who are we to question it?”

Japheth turned to her, eyes wide. “You think God wants us to be a throuple?”

Rebekkah’s eyes sparkled as she grinned. “It’s gotta be God’s plan.”

Chapter 3

Jumpin’ Through Hoops for Jesus

Japheth’s bedroom was the kind of place that could only exist in the 1990s, a decade when pop culture crashed into spirituality, and no one thought to clean up the mess.

The walls were plastered with posters of Tom Cruise inTop Gun,CocktailandJerry Maguire, their glossy surfaces catching the dim light of a lava lamp that bubbled sluggishly in the corner. The lamp, neon green with blobs of purple, cast an eerie glow across the room, which was cluttered with half-read astrology books, stacks of DVDs, and a slew of dog-eared and bookmarkedExercise for Men Onlymagazines. Above his bed, a glow-in-the-dark crucifix hung crookedly, its arms splayed wide as if even Jesus himself was shrugging at the chaotic aesthetic.

Japheth, barefoot and shirtless, stood in front of his goldfish tank. The small light embedded in the tank flickered softly, illuminating the pirate ship sunken in the centre. Tiny bubbles gurgled from the aerator, creating a gentle hum thatfilled the quiet room. He popped open the top of the fish food and gave it a little shake.

“Are you guys hungry?” Japheth cooed, his voice soft. “Here you go, Peter. Paul! Come out from the pirate ship, it’s dinner time!”

He frowned as he spotted another fish, floating suspiciously at the top of the tank. “Simon the Zealot, are you floating like that for a reason? You haven’t thought this through. Playing dead could get you in the toilet, but have you considered what’s on the other side of that big black hole?”

Japheth leaned in, tapping the glass gently, “Sure, the water in the bowl is clean and clear, but once you’re in there, Simon, who knows what’s on the other side? Trust me, you have it good here.”

The fish gave up the ruse and flipped a fin to right himself and swam toward the flaky food with renewed interest in living another day.

Satisfied with his sermon, Japheth turned to a nearby wall calendar, his gaze lingering on January Jesus. The Son of God stared back at him, his furry pecs straining against his unbuttoned flannel shirt as he stood in a carpenter’s workshop. Wood chips surrounded his feet as he chiseled away at a tree stump, with biceps that looked like they could part the Red Sea all over again, if Moses wasn’t available.

“Maybe you were just floating on your back to get a better look at Him, huh, Simon? I don’t blame you. If January Jesus has you bewitched, bothered and bewildered, just wait for July. It’s a baptism scene in a river, and yes, He’s shirtless. Jacked as usual. Yes, yes, I know it’s summer now but if I kept the calendar flipped to July, I’d never get anything done. That’s why I have it pinned to January, to keep the jets cooled, knowwhat I mean?”

With a sigh, Japheth snapped the food container shut and wandered over to his closet. He opened the doors, revealing a chaotic mishmash of outfits ranging from the bizarre to the downright dapper and dashing. Pulling out a gaudy cowboy hat with silver fringe, he plopped it on his dark curls and then he reached for a jacket that shimmered with the sheen of black pleather. He held it up in the dim light of the lava lamp, nodding approvingly before slipping it on with some pants and boots.

Japheth turned to the full-length mirror propped against the wall. The reflection that stared back at him was pure Hollywood cowboy; tight pleather pants, the matching black pleather jacket hugging his toned biceps, and boots that clicked on the floor as he adjusted his stance. He flexed his pecs, a smirk curling his lips.

“Yee haw,” he rumbled, tipping the brim of the cowboy hat.

The cowboy look was a showstopper. But was it too much for Greater Napanee? Japheth frowned, tugging at the collar before deciding to switch gears. With a flourish, he pulled off the pleather and raked and rattled through wooden hangers until he found new nostalgic inspiration. Sliding into bright baby-blue spandex shorts and a matching headband, he then took a minute to decipher which of the many holes in the net shirt was intended for a body part and which were just holes and finally pulled up neon yellow neoprene leg warmers and/or scuba boots. He never did get a straight answer about their origin or intended use at the secondhand store. But they were $3.99 and he couldn’t pass them up.

The mirror revealed a man whose body could’ve been background eye candy in a Jane Fonda workout video. His chest glistened under the lava lamp light, his abs tight and defined from all those garage workouts he’d been working to perfect from his exercise magazines.He flexed, his muscles straining against the spandex, but it was hard to gauge his gains with so much neon and netting distraction. He shrugged and decided to try something simpler.

And then there he was, just Japheth. Stripped down to nothing but a pair of tighty-whiteys that hugged his hips and emphasized his thighs, thick from squats, and his narrow waist, defined from years of chasing the perfect form and religiously avoiding eating at Saddles ‘n’ Spurs like most of his colleagues.

“Could be in an underwear ad,” Japheth appraised, turning to inspect the side profile. He lifted his chin, imagining the black-and-white commercial that would showcase his hard work and if he were being honest and a little vain, all that was on display, “Definitely billboard material.”

His confidence peaked as he admired his form, his body, a winning combination of some good genes and a tenacity with his fitness regimen that bordered on healthy obsession. But it wasn’t just vanity; Japheth felt something deeper as he looked at his reflection. Maybe it was the way his toned muscles shimmered, or maybe it was the knowledge that under this soft, stretchy fabric was the confidence to become anyone he wanted. Someone who could entertain the world, or at least a small town on his own radio show.

The guys inExercise for Men Onlymagazine were forces of nature and nothing got him pumped to hit the weights like thumbing through the pages of their diet diaries, fashion tips, hairdos and hair-don’t-dos, and the requisite multi-page photo spread that generally started with a male model doing a weight or stretching routine in short-shorts, low-socks, and high-tops and ended in a bubble bath, or eating strawberries, cucumbers, or a carrot in their underwear. It wasn’tPlaygirl, but it was enough two-dimensional excitement to make Japheth’s stomach do little rollercoasterflips of excitement that he couldn’t quite define but always looked forward to.

Japheth turned from the mirror and wandered over to his true inspiration; the Sexy Jesus calendar that Rebekkah had gotten him for his birthday. They’d both had a good laugh at the long-haired, muscle-bound model depicting moments from a holy life in states of cheeky undress.

What Japheth hadn’t told Rebekkah was how flipping through the months of 1999 made him feel a lot like how he felt when he thumbed throughExercise for Men Only. Only to say that it perhaps added a few more fluttery loops to his stomach rollercoaster because he was looking at a man he loved.

He knew Jesus. Japheth talked with Him daily; they had a relationship. He didn’t look at the calendar because he wanted to emulate the Lord’s physique but there was certainly something there that kept him looking. He flipped through the pages, lingering on each month. February Jesus was comforting and contemplative, his hair falling in perfect waves as he stood in a rustic barn, cuddling a lamb. By March, Jesus was kneeling in prayer, his eyes lifted to heaven, his abs so defined they could only have been sculpted by divine hands.