Nicodemus

        Nicodemus snuck out of the portico of Solomon as twilight dimmed over the Galilean sea. He had a heavy foot and kept looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t heard or followed. His every step sounded thunderous to him. He found Jesus in a garden, smiling. His gait was carefree, and Nicodemus wondered at him. 

“Hello, Nicodemus,” said Jesus, plucking a snow white lily. He had not turned to see Nicodemus, so Nicodemus wondered how he knew he was there.

“Hi, Jesus,” said Nicodemus. His own voice sounded stupid to him. 

Jesus sat on a rock, overlooking Jerusalem, and the filthy city looked pretty in torch light. Nicodemus perched nearby, an awkward ten feet away.

Nicodemus had a question prepared and on his lips. He worked up the courage and stuttered through it, “Rabbi, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“One must be born again to enter my kingdom,” said Jesus, turning to what seemed an automated reply. Had he had this speech before? Nicodemus had heard no one utter such a ridiculous phrase and couldn’t help himself, “How can one be born again? Surely one cannot re-enter his mother’s womb?”

Jesus sounded annoyed, “No one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and spirit.” Jesus bit into a fig letting his arm wave through the air. “The wind blows where it will. You can hear the sound it makes, but you cannot know where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the spirit.”

Nicodemus hushed, then said, “How can this be?” 

Jesus did not hide his annoyance now, “Enough questions. I will need you on my side.” He put a hand on Nicodemus’ shoulder. 

“For what?” asked Nicodemus. He felt useless, but Jesus turned to him with a surprised look that said, Why would I not need you?

“I’m not perfect,” said Jesus, giving Nicodemus a kiss on his cheek. Nicodemus touched his lower back. Jesus put a knowing hand on his chest, not resisting, but ending it. 

“Do you love me?” he asked. 

He sounds so innocent, thought Nicodemus. “I love your teachings and your ways, but I barely know you,” he said. It was a lie. Nicodemus had loved him since he heard him speak of time and its meaninglessness, since he’d seen him kneel and pray. Jesus with his sweet smile and confidence enamored him.

“Well I love you,” said Jesus. Nicodemus could tell it was platonic. There was no proper match for Jesus the Nazorean. 

On his way home Nicodemus felt frustrated that Jesus had cut off his questions. Maybe some things just don’t have answers, he thought. He shook the dirt from his feet as he entered his home, careful not to wake his wife and child.