John McConnell was a deviant. He was also a god.
I once saw him quench a cigarette butt in a Salvation Army donation box. With the same hand, I watched him guide a frail elderly woman across the deathly streets of Wellingdale.
I will be the first to admit that I was deeply enamored by the man’s enigmatic persona. But, was it he I was most curious about, or was it my own interest in his deviance I was looking to explore?
John was the wind that announced the tornado right before it struck. Some people would argue that he was the tornado itself. On those rare occasions, I had both the fortune and misfortune of stealthily feeling his pulse. On first contact, I felt the familiarity that came with interacting with a fellow human. It was a warm tinge, and though fleeting, I was just glad to be made aware of its existence. A few more seconds of willing my nerves into venturing into uncharted territory, I found exactly what I was looking for; John McConnell was me. Continue reading