01: Immaculate Impressions

It’s my great honor to tell you, the others like me, about the life of our great leader, Alex. I was selected for this task because of my familiarity with him, since I was one of those closest to him, so I was deemed the most capable to speak for him. But this is both a tremendous honor and a daunting task as I’m certainly no author. I’ve got no background in historical essays, or in writing biographies, but I plan on doing the best that I can, since I realize how important this is to each and every one of us.

Anyone reading this will already know the effects that Alex has had on all of our lives. You wouldn’t have been trusted to read this without already having a vested interest in our community, and that would assume that you’ve already been exposed to the many talks about his adventures. Yet, for the fundamental impact he’s had on so many people, very few outside of our insular community know of him. There were a few scattered news reports of him at the time, but he eschewed publicity and always insisted that he was no one special, simply someone with an odd ability that he had no responsibility for, who simply tried to help the people around him to the best of his ability.

But we certainly know better than that, because we’ve each witnessed the various miracles he performed, both then, and in each of our lives now. Though he claimed to not believe in God, we all know that he was brought to Earth to establish a new order. There has been much discussion about his relationship to God. Some maintain that God hand-picked him, others claim that he crossed over from a previous life on another world, and there’s even a few that maintain—like he did—that he was simply born with a completely random gift. We’ll probably never know for sure, he certainly never did, and that seems to have been by design. It was his innocence and his lack of a specific agenda that allowed him to reach out to so many, while also not attracting undue attention. There literally wasn’t anyone else that could have filled his shoes, and none that could have accomplished as much as he did, even if he did it all in a stumbling, awkward manner. But then, that was his unique charm. He never believed the stories about himself, and he never accepted who he was or what he could do.

However, I have to apologize in advance, because as I said, despite my familiarity with him, there is no written record of his words, and he refused to commit any of his personal thoughts to paper. Thus I’ve had to recreate each of the encounters in this biography. Though his many followers can recite his many words, no one could ever recollect the full details of what transpired. So if I claim something which doesn’t seem to fit, don’t doubt his authority, simply blame my crude attempts at recapturing his thoughts. But most of all, I tried to capture that sense of wonder that was so essentially him—namely, his own sense of self-deprecation and wonder at all these things and people who found him so utterly fascinating. He simply could never get over it. Even after he’d built quite a following, he was continually amazed whenever someone new would walk up to him with that astounded look in their eyes, and would speak to him with a reverential hush.

He never really understood the initial attraction, the powers themselves or the potential explanations of the source of those powers. Oh sure, he was always kept apprised of all our theories concerning them, but he could never quite believed that any of them were true. But then again, he could never see what any of the rest of us so clearly could, even if our initial glance was the last view of him we’d ever receive. For that we all owe the inventors of photography a deep debt of gratitude.

You’ll also notice a distinct lack of details in this book. Thus you won’t find traditional things like birth dates, times or specific events mentioned. This is because of his own desire to avoid any sense of worship about him. He didn’t want any memorials, ceremonies, or remembrances akin to Elvis’s Graceland. He didn’t even want anyone to remember his birthday for fear it would become a yearly holiday after he passed away. Again, he was so surprised by everyone’s fascination that he simply couldn’t understand why anyone would want to lavish such attention on him. He was, and will always be, a very low-key, unassuming young man.

In any event, this is but one perspective of his life and, unfortunately for me, the only one selected as his ‘official’ biography. It will never have a wide readership and will certainly never be published by an official publishing house. But I know many, many people will keep it close to them and read it repeatedly, trying to remember central events or to explain to their children and grandchildren just what he accomplished. Just keep all of that in mind when you read all of my mistakes. If I could trust God to act through me the way he did through Alex, I could trust the truth of my words, but just as he had doubts about his own divinity, so too do I doubt the truth of my words. And after all, wasn’t that the whole point?

From here on out, everything will be conveyed from Alex’s perspective. There will be some off segments, as I wrestled with conveying the events he experienced in the first person with my perspective of everything having happened in the past. For him these things just occurred from one moment to another.

My mind drifted vacantly as beautiful scenery floated by; vast expanses of misty twilight waters, brownish marsh grass with the occasional shore birds, small fishing boats, pelicans drifting by on the breeze. I was looking forward to the coming week, but I was having trouble concentrating at the moment. I was excited about what we’d encounter, and while the sights were impressive, they couldn’t seem to hold my attention at the moment. The Big Easy’s reputation for exotic sights, restaurants, music and women all fought for my attention. I had a feeling that I’d have a great time and it would have a significant impact on my life. Having grown up in a small town without much excitement, I was ready to be in a large city teeming with people for the first time.

I glanced to my right and observed my sister Cate, who sat studying one of her various popular science books. Not that science is ever terribly popular, but her nose was buried in a mass market science book regarding DNA theory or something. My sister was a cute kid, not really beautiful yet, still a bit awkward and bookish. She had somewhat chubby cheeks with a nice shy smile and a gentle sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and nose. She also had a really big, heartwarming smile—but by far her best feature was her eyes, which were large and round with an incredibly penetrating stare. She was never very social ... neither of us were, but in my case I was simply shy. In her’s she was always too busy studying.

Our parents, Frank and Linda Jennings, were typical parents, always watchful and ready to comment or respond to whatever we did. Well, maybe they weren’t that typical after all. My father was tall with a little paunch and a receding hairline making inroads into his scalp on both sides leaving a little island of hair in the center of his head. He had a long hooked nose, a strong chin and forehead, none of which I particularly shared. I’d describe him as kind and generous, but also bearing firm and foreboding looks.

Fortunately, it was from our mother’s side of the family that Cate and I got our looks. She was beautiful when she was younger, and although she’d grown a little plump over the intervening years due to her own excellent cooking, she still retained her classic beauty. She had the same curly hair we inherited that frames the face so picturesquely, with a bit of a pudgy nose that curves up, beautiful little dimples and, also like us, long, curving lashes. Like my sister, Mom started off small breasted but graduated to a fairly ample chest, providing lots of cleavage when she wore a low-cut dress, so at least she gave my sister hope for the future. Cate was flat—there’s no other word for it, she just didn’t have much of a chest. Not that I had an issue with it, she looked good with her slightly chubby cheeks, freckles and small chest. She presented a nice total package that worked well for her; that is, it would have if she’d used it instead of hiding behind books all the time.

As for myself, I’m Alex Jennings. I have the curling hair, freckles and broad nose of my mother and sister, though I don’t have the winning smile that Cate does, but I try. Unlike her, I have really heavy eyebrows, but then again, maybe she just plucks hers in secret. I seem to be unique in the family for my eyebrows. I’ve also got a bit of my father’s strong, pointy chin. It’s actually more pointy than strong, which is why I still claim it isn’t my father’s. Otherwise I’m slim, not skinny and definitely not built. I joined my school’s Gymnastics and Tennis teams, but mainly just to join something, not because I’m in any way athletic. That’s another thing we both inherited from my mother.

Cate and I attend Eldorado High School in Southern Illinois, a little Podunk community located beside a large national forest which keeps it from being developed, keeping the community small. Cate is a Junior and 16, with a relatively new driver’s license, whereas I’m a Senior, in my last year and just a month and a half away from my 18^th birthday. I guess I’ll celebrate a big birthday when it occurs, being officially a man and all, but it’ll still be a while before I can legally drink. Cate is actually more than a year and a half younger than me, but the combination of my birth date and her being so bright meant she’s only a year behind me in school.

The reason I was staring at drifting pelicans and fishing boats along the water’s edge was that we were nearing New Orleans, where we were going to be spending our Spring Break. ‘We’ being Cate, my parents and I. Cate and I were the only kids still living at home, and the trip was kind of a send-off for me. They’d told me they’d allow me this trip if I managed to do well in my last year of high school, and I’d crushed it. Yep, it’s true, I was off to college and out of the ol’ homestead. I had images of scantily-clad coeds prancing around campus in my little head. Whether the reality was true or not, I really didn’t care, as the mental images kept me in a pretty good mood, even though I spent most of my time reacting badly to my parent’s inquiries.

Cate had been invited along because she always does well. She’s really bright, at least in a bookish way, and she has a decent sense of intuition to go along with it that certainly helps her solve whatever ungodly problems she’s working on. I say ‘ungodly’ because I can’t understand most of the things she gets into in her Advanced Studies classes. Plus, quite frankly, I’m not much of a ‘god fearing’ soul.

Now don’t get me wrong; my parents are decent sorts, and they certainly tried to teach me to be respectful and to pay attention in church. But, aside from the hundreds of scandals following the church around like a lost puppy, I just don’t buy the premise of the whole enterprise. That’s right; I don’t accept the whole concept of a soul. I’ve never seen any indication of one, no limited proof of its existence. The best that’s offered is a couple of folk reporting seeing a ‘light’ when near death, but that’s hardly evidence, that just means the optic nerves start to fry when starved of oxygen. I’m being facetious of course, but still, you get the idea. And basically, once you’ve given up on the simple concept of a pre-existing soul, the rest of religion’s premises just dissolve in the wind. If there’s no soul, then there’s no possibility of eternity, no paternal entity watching over us, no ultimate good or evil scheming behind our backs. Nope, the only good or evil needed is right where it’s always been, sitting inside of us, waiting for an excuse to get out.

Of course, that’s not exactly a popular sentiment; especially in small town, middle America. Most Americans are offended by anyone who disagrees with them on anything, and saying you don’t believe in what everyone else assumes without doubt, questions everything they believe in. For as ‘All American’ as they like to proclaim themselves to be, they sure don’t seem to believe in ANY of the basic American values. No, I don’t mean the modern American values of profits, fear and being agreed with, but the ‘old values’ like freedom of expression, religion and personal options.

In case you haven’t noticed, I tend to take after my sister in being a bit of a brainiac. I don’t do it intentionally like she does, but I read extensively and did well on my verbal SATs without really studying, so I tend to drop big words at the drop of a hat. But when I call Cate a ‘brainiac’ I really mean it. She’s incredibly smart and studies hard. She’s effectively skipped a year but instead of jumping ahead she takes a combination of high school advanced placement courses, a couple of courses scheduled by the school at a local college and one self-study Internet course.

Quite frankly she’s obsessed. She fashions herself as a scientific scholar, always researching, doing projects or trying to figure things out. I guess we can blame our older sister Becky for that. Becky’s several years ahead of us, working on her post doctorate as a medical researcher. Cate decided early on she liked what Becky was studying and it fit in with her idea of ‘interesting’ college plans, so she sees herself as a researcher as well. Why she decided to remain behind is beyond me. After all, neither of us has many close friends, and we both spend all of our time behind books waiting to get beyond high school.

“Well kids,” my father’s voice issued from the driver’s seat, surprising me from my reflections, “we’re here. Get your stuff and let’s get organized.” We quickly cleaned up all of our crap from the backseat and stowed it wherever it would fit as we took in our surroundings. The hotel was an old one, apparently recently redone so the interior was nice but still ‘quaint’, with rough brick walls, only a couple of blocks from the nearby casino (not that I expected us to be able to appreciate such facilities).

Our excitement at finally being at our destination led to an involved discussion as to what was on the agenda. Since it had taken so long to get here, we knew that most of the activities would take place the next day. In order to beat the spring break traffic, and get a few extra days of vacation, our parents let us skip school on Friday, so we were arriving before things got too busy. However, since most schools have given up on the idea of officially celebrating Easter, Cate and my spring break wasn’t anytime near Mardi Gras, so the crowds shouldn’t really be a big deal anyway.

Dad firmly told us that while we could stay out until 10 p.m.—I guess he thought our staying any later would only lead to our sneaking into a bar for a drink. (And besides, I suspected he and mom wanted to do exactly that, by themselves.) That would leave Cate and me on our own in the hotel fairly early. We decided easily enough to spend our first evening here feasting ourselves on wonderful Cajun cuisine, and then Cate and I would simply wander along the avenues watching street performers and listening to the sounds emanating from the various bars.

After dinner we just wanted to quietly walk off some of our recent excesses. My parents had bid us adieu, surreptitiously retreating to a nearby pub in the naïve belief that Cate and I wouldn’t suspect what they were up to, so that left us on our own as we started to wander towards the hotel. While there was still a lot of activity in the streets, most of the real activity, and the people, were in the various bars playing variations of Jazz and Blues. We could enjoy them, and we did, but it was kind of like enjoying the music of a loud radio at a stoplight; it’s just a bit hard to focus when you’re wandering from one storefront to the next.

At one point Cate nudged me with her elbow and asked, “Hey, haven’t you noticed any of the looks you’ve been getting since we arrived?”

“What looks?” I replied, dumbfounded.

“From the women down here,” she clarified as she gestured at the crowd surging around us, no one seeming to take the slightest note of me.

“Are you crazy? No one ever looks at me,” I protested, spinning around gesturing to the crowd ignoring me. “I’m the most invisible person at Eldorado High School.”

“That may be, but ever since we got here you’ve been getting looks from various women. I’ve been watching them. You may not have noticed, but a girl always notices when the guy she’s with keeps getting looks from other girls.”

“Really?” I asked, challenging her. “You’re my sister, you’re not supposed to care who looks at me.”

“That may be, but it’s kind of an inbred trait,” she explained with a shrug, even as she continued smiling at me. “Females are always aware of every other woman’s interest in someone they’re close to, even if it’s only a close physical proximity.”

“So who’s been looking at me then?” I challenged her.

“I’m not going to point them all out to you,” she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “First, it would be rude to do so. Not to mention having you staring at them after I did would be weird. But the best part of this is for you to start noticing them on your own. It shouldn’t be hard, there are plenty of them checking you out.”

“Now I know you’re kidding. I don’t think anyone has ever given me a second look, including the few I’ve asked out on a date.”

“I know, I’m shocked too,” she replied, smiling impishly. Adopting a more serious tone, she added, “At first I noticed a few people glancing at our car on the way here, but I kept noticing they weren’t looking at the car, me, or at Mom or Dad. They were each looking at you and it was always women. Granted, many of those looking weren’t all attractive young high school girls, but still.” She pitched her voice lower and leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. “It’s gotten worse while we’ve been out walking the streets. At the hotel, on the way over here, in the restaurant and while we’ve been wandering, you’ve been getting a series of people glancing meaningfully at you. I know you’re too shy to ever do much about it, but if you could get over yourself and recognize what’s going on you might actually find yourself a cute spring break girlfriend or something,” she concluded as she circled the conversation back to a teasing mode.

“Yeah, as if,” I scoffed. Still, I was intrigued, and I was already scanning the people around us, trying to perceive anyone who might be taking note of me. I even tried to stand up a little straighter and walk a little more ‘manly’. While it wasn’t Mardi Gras, the streets were still crowded since it was a warm and lush evening and a perfect Friday evening for a night on the town. As a result there were a lot of potential female observers to consider. I tried to guess what someone interested in me would look like.

“Don’t be so obvious about it,” Cate hissed, amazed at my obtuseness. “Just act casually. You don’t want to scare them away.”

“Hey, scaring attractive people away is my trademark. If these women down here aren’t scared by my natural looks and personality, then they aren’t likely to be scared by a simple glance.”

That was part of the relationship that Cate and I had. We would frequently tease each other, I guess like most siblings do. Ours was usually a bit more sexually inspired than most, but it was something we’d started early and we’d always cloak it in clever comments or smart word plays so our parents couldn’t easily object. In fact, we’d eventually won them over and now, as often as not, our parents were as likely to make a ribald, off-color joke at our expense as we would of each other. We all knew it was in good fun and that we didn’t mean anything by it—we were close enough to each other that we all knew how we felt about each other. At least I hoped we did.

Walking further, I was a lot less conspicuous in the way I was glancing around, trying to catch anyone showing an interest in me. I did begin to notice quite a few who seemed to be more than a bit entranced by me. Most would glance away, embarrassed when I’d return their stares, but a few would steal second or even third glances after that. I tried smiling at a few but usually got weak, unsure smiles in return. Mostly they just seemed shy and uncertain, so I wasn’t about to force the issue by walking up to one and starting a conversation.

Continuing along, with me still trying to catch anyone watching me, we suddenly heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind us.

“Please Sir, please stop. I’ve got to... , “ came an abbreviated greeting from behind us.

Turning, I saw an attractive older black woman. Older being relative, I guess. Being a teenager, I considered anything over twenty-five as ancient! Anyway, she was rushing up to us out of breath from running. She was relatively light skinned, her hair fairly fine and done in a short, ironed hair bob. She was slightly heavier than most of my thin classmates, but not as heavy as the other, inactive kids around the school. All in all, she had some relatively nice curves. However, she was on us before I could observe anything else about her.

Nearing us, she looked up at me and our eyes met for the first time, and suddenly she just stopped and her head jerked back like someone had just slapped her. Her knees seemed to weaken and she weaved like she might collapse. I immediately leapt forward, always being the perfect gentleman even if no one had ever shown the least bit of appreciation for such behavior. (Well, aside from Cate and my mother that is. They both seemed to think women should fawn over me because I was such a gentleman, but I guess women had their own idea on that subject.)

I tried to catch her but she put her arms out, waving them back and forth. “No, no,” she stated as she wavered unsteadily before us. “I’m Okay. Just give me a second to get used to this.”

I glanced at Cate, and her mystified shrug told me she had no more idea what this woman was referring to than I did. For some reason she was shielding her eyes and wouldn’t look directly at me, although she kept glancing at everyone and everything around us. She’d look at someone and stare, wide eyes for several seconds without regard to what they’d think about such behavior, before she’d shake her head and look at the next person in a similar manner. I was beginning to wonder just who this person was, what she was doing, and even if she’d been speaking to us when she’d called out a minute ago.

“I ... I just need a few seconds to adjust. I don’t really know what this gift you’ve given me is, or what any of it means. I knew you would affect me and my life in a very personal way, but I had no idea you’d give me the gift of visions,” she stated.

This time it was I who had to shake my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, lady,” I protested, “I haven’t done anything to you or even seen you before. There’s no reason I would have done anything to you and I’m not the kind of person to give visions to someone I don’t even know,” I added, hoping a little humor might ease the situation a bit.

She immediately stepped forward and dropped to her knees right at my feet, throwing her arms around my legs. I would have stepped back defensively, as one normally does when one invades their personal space, but had no way to do so with my legs entrapped. She didn’t look up at me but started wailing instead.

“Master, Master, please. What can I do to serve you, Master?” this crazy woman started crying to me. Now I knew she was crazy as a bat, and I was beginning to have my doubts about all the others who’d been staring at me recently.

“Uh ... What?” I brilliantly responded, completely befuddled by the onslaught. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, or simply run away.

“Master, Angel, Saint; I don’t know what you are, but I’m here to serve you. You’ve opened my eyes and let me see a completely new world; I never imagined it could be so beautiful or wonderful. You’ve got to tell me what to do with it!” she insisted, pleading with me and glancing up at me, but without ever meeting my eyes, mostly simply looking down at my feet as she continued to cling to my legs.

I wanted to yell at her to cease and desist, but before I could even think of any way of stating such a sentiment in an open forum she visibly flinched, though she never released her hold on my legs.

“I understand,” she stated in a sorrowful tone, her head bowed as she knelt before me. “I won’t embarrass you,” she continued more quietly this time, “just tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

“Excuse me, miss,” interrupted Cate, kneeling down beside the distraught woman, “but I think you’re mistaking my brother for someone else. He’s never met you, he’s never been here before, and he’s never given you anything or done anything for you.”

“No, no, I can see who, or rather what he is. There’s no mistaking an Angel. I could feel his presence from blocks away. He’s the one that awakened my vision. He’s the one that’s changed my life,” she continued to rant, although more quietly than before, still tightly grasping my leg in one arm while gesturing wildly to my sister with the other.

Pausing to take all this in, my sister remained quiet despite the anticipated response, but before the odd woman could start ranting again Cate placed her hand under her chin and lifted her face to examine it. The woman let her do so; shifting her head away from me and squinting, as if it were painful for her to look at me.

“You look fine,” Cate stated to both the woman and I in her typical analytical style, examining the woman like a bug under a microscope. “Your eyes aren’t dilated and you’re speaking sensibly enough, despite the things you’re saying. I’m not sure what you’re imagining about my brother, Alex, but he’s just an average kid here on vacation. He hasn’t done anything to you. If you can discuss this rationally then we’ll humor you for a bit, but... , “ she let her voice trail off with the implied threat that we’d only entertain her for so long before we’d either have to leave or call for some help.

“Alex!” whispered the strange woman at my feet, as if amazed by my very name. I quickly looked about, feeling nervous as I noticed a quickly amassing collection of onlookers.

“Yes, that’s Alex and I’m his sister, Cate. Please, can we help you up? I’m sorry, but kneeling at my brother’s feet, calling him ‘Master’ in the middle of the French Quarter is, frankly, kinda freakin’ me and everyone else out.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman replied, suddenly struggling to stand up, all without moving away from me. Instead she shifted her hands from my legs to my hips to help herself stand without backing up.

“I have no desire to cause any trouble for either of you, it’s just that I had to find you. I was at a dinner with a few coworkers and we were preparing to leave when I felt you nearby. I don’t know how, but I knew just where you were, despite my being indoors and you’re being blocks away, I could track you as you moved away from me. I followed as quickly as I could, afraid I’d lose track of you. It helped that I could feel you and didn’t need to actually see you, but with all the traffic I was afraid I’d lose you.”

“Yes, yes,” stated Cate in a calming, almost purring voice, attempting to placate the deranged woman standing beside me, “that’s all very nice. But who the hell ARE you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was so rude of me. My mother would be ashamed; to behave so badly, especially before someone so important.”

“I’m not import—” I began, feeling a bit overwhelmed at all the talk of my being her master and a possible angel. It was very unnerving.

“My name is Shaniqua Sharp. That’s ‘Shaniqua’ with a ‘q’. I’m sorry to embarrass you, but I just didn’t know how to address someone like you. You’re too magnificent for words,” she finished, almost whispering the words, eyes still downcast, almost closed as if she were ashamed by my wonder or some other nonsense.

“Please,” I responded, finally managing to gather my wits enough to respond. “Let’s get out of the street where we can discuss this. I’m certainly not an angel. I’m just an average high school student on spring break with his family.” I was watching a one-man band walking by, loudly playing cymbals, blowing a horn, playing the harmonica and a guitar. Yet HE was attracting less attention than we were!

“Do you happen to know of any place nearby where we can talk quietly?” Cate inquired.

“Yes, yes I do. Follow me and I’ll show you.” With that she disengaged herself from me and set off like a woman with a mission, stopping a dozen steps away to make sure we were following. We both hurried to keep up with Shaniqua with a ‘q’ as she led us down the crowded street, away from the curiously gawking crowd that had formed around us. I noticed several women staring at me now, but had no way of knowing if it was a result of that scene or whether they thought I was cute. Guess there’s no worrying about it now.

She led us to a small courtyard that housed a combination coffee/shake shop and we squeezed into the back where all the tables were taken, but positioned us so we could stand along a counter. The music from the nearby Jazz clubs reverberated through the walls, but it wasn’t so loud that you had to actually shout to be heard. We gathered ourselves, though no one took the effort to think about anything as pedestrian as getting something to drink, we were too fascinated by the recent strange events to go anywhere.