"Whenelse, other than between now and the time you die..."

Dear God,

Last time we had spoken, I was 13 and had just become a woman. I went to my suburban bay window, the one loaded with pillows, and prayed that you take me away. I've grown a lot since then.
I now write on behalf of my friends. I think they belong in Heaven. I'll start with the boys first, because I know you are a man.
You need Vegan in Heaven. He is a man cut from the know, although some doubt his masculinity because (cover your ears, God) his mom is gay and uses whips.
Life is bleak without Ian. God, can you really do without a boy who makes you surprise cheese fries in bed?
Kody Starr is a daring superstarr. He crashes cars and tips vans for kicks. When he comes, he'll try and pack his camo hunting outfit and try to hide from you. Just inform him that Heaven is blue and white.
Ben is our bartender. He wants to go to Heaven most. He has a lot of questions for you.
Luke Stiles is my neighbor. He knows how to get things...Actually, he'll get into Heaven regardless.
Jakie...You can't have him. Not ever...Give me a pony and maybe we'll talk.
Now for the women:
Shannon is sexy and courageous. She started this blog. At your parties, she'll show you what she can do to a Boyz 2 Men song.
Maggie Ray, one look into her soul, and you'll erect a palace of sugar between your thighs.
Jessica Willis melts hearts and candy bars in deep fat fryers.
Katie Ray will be the first one to yell at you.

I know you were watching this weekend. So let's just get the details straight:
On Friday night most of my friends payed vigil to the Da Vinci Code. (You're in that movie, somewhere.) They sat in the dark with heavy eyes deep in a religious trance muddling over your enigma.
Saturday we celebrated your sunshine on bikes in Prospect Park. When you almost took that Mexican's life, we knew it wasn't for real. The ambulance came anyway. By the way, did he get the green card?
By night our group had broken into different sects. One sect decided to get an early start on your holy Sunday. They stayed up all night in another kind of religious trance. Another sect offered up a sacrificial chicken in a cage in a nearby loft, also managing to get an early start on your early church day. Meanwhile Tom, your half-breed, was his own sect; he was dancing to religious trance elsewhere. I'll bet he danced into the morning as well. Come to think of it, sect one discovered an unidentifiable man on that early morn, paying homage to them outside their window.
Later on we relocated to the pourhouse. We listened as Ben talked of God (that's you) and God's women. We drank of the blood of Christ and of the Blood of Mary and of the Holy Water.
But it wasn't until Monday that you showed yourself to us. We walked past a church on our way to a birthday party. We partook of your offerings in that cardboard box out front: a book about abortion, two cans of soup, and an opened 12 count package of maxi pads (counting in at eight). It was a Puerto Rican church. We know you were there with us, on that roof across from the Food Bazaar. Sitting around basking in our friendship, we busted apart birthday crabs with dirty hands. The world swelled with our laughter. Then we broke out the chalice of Mary Magdalen's womb, the maxi pads. Alan, the birthday boy, stuffed one into his mouth twice. That did it. You knew he was ingesting the holy grail. You were moved by this act of glory. We felt your teardrops gently at first. Then you let go. You couldn't help it. Your shoulders shook with each sob. The sky rumbled. You sneezed and we saw lightning. The rain came down. Sir, you cried like a man should.
We sat around soaked with your tears. A friend at the party said it best. Staring off into the starlight, he proclaimed, "Whenelse, other than between now and the time you die will you ever feel like this." I got to thinking. I still don't want you to take me away yet. But when you do, can my friends come, too?