According to Marissa
Chapter Two: Part Four

Marissa May lived in a small little town not unlike your own. Marissa May's town was so small that everything important fit together on three main streets and half a dozen side streets huddled collectively in a small little circle. In comparison to other villages in her state, her town was rather unremarkable except for one thing, its library. The Greensburg library was the biggest library in the tristate region with uncountable stories (15) and an uncountable number of books (a lot) covering all topics ranging from zanders to aardvarks. David's settled despair completely dissipated at the sight of the grand palace. He was immensely glad that his mother, for all tense and purposes, knew exactly where she was going, because he certainly did not. The children's section was three stories tall and half a mile wide with many little rooms that merged and emerged from each other. Marissa's mom ushered him through nine of them before she found what she needed, her office.

"I was re-reading this the other day," she said softly before grabbing the book from her desk. Effortlessly, she tossed it into his hands. "It might highlight some thoughts on fame and it's dangers for you. Does King David like to read stories? You never said which David you are. How old are you?"

"Ten," David mumbled absently. "I write songs and poems. I don't mind reading the stories of the great heroes, like Joshua and Samson. Is—" He looked down at the small bound parchment's cover. Later, he would learn that it was called a book. He scrunched his nose. "Is this Gatsby a great warrior?" He looked up as Marissa's Mom shook her head.

"No. He's a kind of merchant. He struggles, like you are right now, in defining what makes him great in the eyes of others, more importantly in the eyes of the girl he likes. Maybe you can learn something from his story."

David played with the book. It didn't seem too long. Marissa's mom watched him lovingly for a moment Then she started remembering the time, remembering their game. "Now," she insisted ushering him from the room to the check out desk, to the car and then to her babysitter's front door. She frowned, Guinevere. She pushed him out of the car five minutes later than was deemed safe. She would be late for her job at the hardware store. "Now, that book wasn't written in your time. There are many things in there that you may not recognize so if you have any questions just ask. We'll talk at bedtime, alright?"

David nodded and stepped back. He watched her wave goodbye and drive away. She had just turned the corner when he felt a presence appear behind him. David scrunched his nose smelling something fowl infiltrate the flare of his nostrils before suddenly the book was snatched from his fingers.

"What rubbish did she give you this time, little turd?"

The man behind him looked dirty. He wore the kind of suit his teachers had worn during the day, except his was crumpled where theirs was straight and flat. And, he was wearing a funny hat where their heads weren't covered at all. He smelt something awful where they didn't. David turned around instantly seeing the little white roll of paper dangle between the man's plump lips. The smell was coming from that. That and the little line of smoke drifting up from its ever-burning end.

David held his breath and shoved his answer through clenched teeth. "The Great Gatsby."

"The Great who?" The man scrunched his nose and tossed the tiny book into the trash can on the other side of the lawn. He missed it causing the novel to fall into the partially dried mud bordering its bottom edge. David winced seeing it. He remembered that he was supposed to return that eventually. He was about to say so when he found himself plucked off his feet.

The man looked at him with wary confusion. "You're a funny kind of kid ain't ya? What does your mum give you them books for?"

David, wanting to get away as soon as possible, answered without thinking. "I'm just trying to find out what makes someone great and a good leader. She said that the book would help me. Who are you?"

The man rolled his eyes and blew smoke in his face. "Your babysitter. My wife is out today so you're stuck with your laid off uncle-in-law. Man, you get dumber every day."

"My uncle?" David swallowed kicking his feet midair. The guy was gigantic.

The man snorted. "Yep, just as I always say, dumber every day. I'm stuck with you and junior until 8 o'clock when your mom comes back."

"Oh," David sighed. His feet stopped kicking. "Please put me down?" he asked. He glared. He pleaded. "I need to get my book."

"Oh no, you don't." Marissa's uncle chortled. "You ain't need it. Let me tell you what you need to be a great person. In fact, let me show you."

In exactly two minutes and eight seconds, David found himself sitting on the floor of the man's living room in front of a large metal panel. It looked like a black frozen pond, a mirror that reflected him in weird and unsettling ways.

"TV," his uncle explained. "TV is what makes a man great." He turned it on and a picture of two men yelling at each other appeared. Two seconds later, his uncle changed it showing ten men running around a large room with a brightly painted wooden floor. They were bouncing a small orange ball and throwing it into a couple of high placed hoops found at each end of the narrow hall. David squinted remembering the game. He played it earlier that day in gym class. "Basketball," he remembered. "Playing basketball makes you great?"

"Yes-no," his uncle answered. "The big TV makes me great. Look at that, you can see their pores through their sweat—ha! But no, basketball players are super rich and super famous. Tall and lean, they can do things no one else can. That's why they are paid so well." He blew out smoke and grounded the but into the ashtray on the coffee table. The tray took a moment for him to find, since it was hidden under numerous beer cans and two old pizza boxes. "The greatest of men get paid millions upon millions of dollars just to put a ball through a hoop. Imagine that." His uncle slouched back in his chair, tucked his hat over his eyes and began to doze. But David's comment stopped him.

"Does the God of Israel make them so fast? Is that why they can do those things?

Marissa's uncle snarled. "Please, God didn't do nuthin'. Them just good at what they do."

David cringed. "But… But how does putting a ball in a hoop make someone…" David trailed off watching his uncle's hat dip with his eyes. The man was snoring before David finished his sentence. Frustrated, David moved to turn off the TV when a soft whisper halted his movements.

"Don't!" It hissed from the stairs above his head. "It'll wake him up. Don't worry. I got your book."

David looked up and saw two brown eyes peaking out at him from behind a row of purple painted wooden bars. "You're name isn't Esther by any chance?"

Curious, David shook his head. Slowly, he walked around his sleeping uncle and climbed the stairs. At the top, the second floor consisted of two little bedrooms. One with a big bed that was unkempt and another with a small brown bed that was neat and clean. There were all kinds of toys on the floor and nestled amongst them was a tiny little girl no more than seven at the most. She had Marissa's hair and Marissa's nose, but not her eyes.

"My name is Christine," she said. "Who are you?"

"David," the boy answered.

"I'm your cousin. Your mom drops you off here after school because she has another job at a store that sells building materials. We spend a lot of time together."

David furrowed his eyebrows. "You know who I am?" He paused and corrected himself. "I mean. You know who I am not."

Christine smiled smugly. She nodded. "Yes and no. Marissa switches places often. She told me her secret long ago. She said, it started about three years ago. We don't know why, but its cool. She switches places with people of the Bible. You come here and she goes there."

David puzzled. "What is the Bible?"

He sat before her, which made the little girl squirm. Quickly, much quicker than he initially accredited her, she got up, closed the bedroom door and retrieved a book from her own impressive library lining an entire wall of her room. The book was small and black. She looked at him a moment, before she opened it to a particular page. She started reading it to him out loud. It was the story of Abraham. After a paragraph or two, she turned the pages again and it didn't take long for him to recognize that she was reading this time about the judge, Deborah.

Once more she smiled, "All of God's greatest achievements were written down and put into a book for everyone to read. Even you are mentioned in here."

"Am I?" David asked. "So, what my mom said is true. I am famous!"

Christine nodded. "Oh yes, one of many. I've met a whole bunch of people: Elijah, Joshua, Moses… Why are you reading the Great Gatsby?" she asked sitting up.

David shrugged. "I want to know how to be a good king. Samuel, a prophet where I am from, anointed me to be the next king yesterday and… I'm scared. Since I have been here, I have been told I need to be popular, that I need to have a big TV and put a ball in a very high hoop to be a great man. Is this how I become a good king?"

Christine looked at him. There was a question in her eyes. He could see it. "Have you prayed about it?

When David lowered his head, she nodded. "Well, my aunt is right. This book would help you define somethings. Still, "The Great Gatsby" isn't my favorite." She made a face. She pulled it out from underneath her stuffed rabbit named Hazel. "But it does bring up some questions that you need to ask for yourself."

"And what is that?" David asked.

"Do you want to be good or do you want to be great? Those two words, they are not the same. And who exactly do you want to be favored by? Whose opinion of you is the most important, your opinion of yourself, others' opinion of you or God's opinion of you? Once you can answer that, you will find exactly what you need to become a good king."

With that, she placed both books in his hands and left him to read.

David was tempted to flitter through the Bible in his hands, to find the ending of the story for himself, but something told him that he would regret it. Cautiously, he placed it back on Christine's shelf and then settled to read the novel in his hand. He was a third of the way through when Marissa's mother came to pick him up. Between pitiful goodbyes, dinner and one long and very intricate bedtime story, David's mind wandered and pondered over Christine's' words. By the time sleep rose up to claim him, David regretted not looking in that book of books. Maybe the adult version of himself would have known what to do. That evening, he sang. That evening, he prayed.

Zander: noun, a pike perch (Stizostedion lucioperca) of central Europe related to the walleye. A type of fish.

- Calla