my buddy and me

My possessor is named “Silly-Puddy-I’m-not-your-Buddy.” At least, that’s what I tell people. When he’s around, I hunch over, cross my eyes, and lurk down the halls of the church limping around like a drunken Frankenstein. Sometimes I drag my butt across the hall like a dog with tape worms. One time I stood up in the middle of sacrament meeting and started singing a Spice Girls song while rubbing my butt into the face of the Sister Ferguson.

Silly-Puddy-I’m-not-your-Buddy has been with me for quite awhile. The first time I remember meeting him was when I was a six year old in Sunday school. We were all crammed into a small, cold, brick room with no chairs. Our old cranky teacher would make us stand on one foot with our arms extended until we could answer her questions correctly. She would pace while we stood, waiting and praying for our lesson to be over. She stopped and put her wrinkly nose against mine. moth balls and perfume mixed with the grits on her breathe to created an irreverent toxin that nearly knocked me down.

“Marvin!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell me, Marvin Jenkins, how much money did Judas get for betraying Jesus?” she queried, stoking the hair on her chin.

I knew this one. She made me write it on the board fifty times last week.

“Thirty talents of silver!” I shouted.

"And what could be bought for thirty pieces of silver?"

"A slave!" I had anticipated that one.

“Well, class, it seems Marvin has finally learned something. Let’s try another question.”

I was wobbling back and forth when she shot out her next round of questions.

“Why did Judas betray Jesus?”

“Uh…because he wanted money?”

The class giggled. She just stood there and shook her head.

My arms were burning and my leg was getting wobbly.

“NO! John 13:27! John 13:27!” she ranted. “He betrayed Jesus because the devil entered him!” she ranted.

I knew the punishment for a wrong answer—two additional minutes in that horrible position. I think that’s when it all happened.

“Maybe he just needed some money…maybe he needed some food.”

The all the giggles stopped and the room went silent.

“Wha…what did you say, young man?”

I finally fell to the floor, and just stared up at her, waiting for her to react.

“Young man! Are you daring to say that St. John was wrong? Do you dare say that the Bible is lying?” her voice was escalating with every syllable and she was trembling. “That murderous, hell-bound, traitor was filled with the devil that bloody day, God’s own word tells us so!”

I was the only calm thing in the room. Even the walls seemed to be shaking with fury. I had never felt more absolute power and control in all my life.

It was then i felt discernibly different. I was somehow watching me from across the room.

“If Judas was possessed by the devil when he betrayed Jesus, then how can Judas go to Hell? He didn’t do it—the devil did. How can he go to hell for something he didn’t do?”

She yanked me by the arm and dragged me to the pastor. I told him the devil made me do it. That’s how it started, and it’s been the same ever since. My Buddy and me.