All Wet

This is for Pick three prompt:

At the Folkie Palace, the religious arguments between the Monk and Pete could ruin a holiday. Monk had left his monastic order, but considered his calling intact, if somewhat frayed by living with a bunch of reprobates like us. Pete, our former Jesuit, considered himself to have turned his “collar” and abandoned his faith, now offering prayers to many sources. Since they both knew the Church Calendar better than the rest of us, it wasn’t just the biggies like Easter and Christmas that they argued over. A stirring argument could awkwardly erupt over the meaning of geese in portrayals of Saint Cebronius.

When present, though, they were considered good luck charms at the Palace. Evie, our elderly waitress at the Harvard Gardens, always asked them for a blessing, and nights when one of them was with us, it always seemed that we drank more and paid less. And it was the drank more part of the equation that got us into trouble.

Time to Transubstantiate

One night, way too much had been consumed, and we found ourselves booted out at closing time. Standing under the streetlamp, we cogitated on where we could go. No one was interested in going home, so we wandered down through the Boston Common, the Public Gardens, and into the Back Bay before crossing over to walk along the Charles River. The Teahead of the August Moon (our leader, and the leaseholder on the apartment we all lived in) took off his boots and dabbled his toes in the water. Deciding that he wanted to ignite the enmity between Pete, and the Monk, he started taunting them. “you’re both nothing but a bunch of hoodoo fakes. Make your WooWoo gestures with your hands. Bullshit I say! When was the last time you made any wine for us? Not even plain ordinary table wine. But you drink ours right down!“

Both Pete and the Monk rushed to explain that this was not what transubstantiation was all about. But the Teahead was on a roll, and downplayed their callings.

Walking on Water

Now, everyone was thoroughly toasted, roaring drunk, or what happened next would have been laughed off. After several minutes of loud shouting back and forth, the Teahead pointed to his bare feet dipped in the water and proclaimed that he could perform a miracle, and they couldn’t. “I’m gonna walk on water, you assholes.” He then proceeded to do exactly that for about four feet. Then he turned around with his arms held high and proclaimed, ” Bless you, my Children! Try to top that, you fakes!”

With screams of rage, the Monk and Pete tore off their shoes and stumbled into the Charles. Up to their waists they went, more than a bit damp to say the least! Suddenly, we heard a siren and saw the fuzz running towards us. Someone in the nearby apartment houses had called in a noise complaint. It was after one a.m. The Teahead promptly stepped off the submerged plank he’d been standing on, and with a few shivers, picked up his shoes and started running as fast as he could.

We ran as only drunks can when pursued by overweight officers of the law. Somewhere near the Hatch Shell, where concerts are held, we left them winded, staggering behind us. We leisurely walked back to Beacon Hill and our apartment.

Once there, we drew on emergency supplies of beer and toasted our athletic superiority. We were all curious about how the Teahead had managed to walk on water. Rather than being a miracle, it was just an abandoned waterlogged plank. Walking by the Charles that afternoon, he had noticed it. When we stopped at that location, he decided to indulge in a bit of theatre at Pete and Monk’s expense.

A New Saint!

My friends and I all proclaimed it a true miracle an dubbed him Saint. We thoroughly baptized him with the dregs in our bottles. The Monk, feeling generous, forgave all, and announced that in all representations of Saint Teahouse, he should be seen standing on a plank. Pete being a contrarian insisted that symbolism was already taken bs Saint….. and they were off on another theological tangent.