I Thought He Was Either A Devil Or A Saint from North Carolina

I met him on the night shift at the University of Iowa Hospitals.
We were housekeepers. I was a member of the reputed God Squad.
That's what the housekeepers called us, our little group of born-
agains, praying in the cafeteria, witnessing in the halls. I could never

witness to David. He was always smiling as if he knew something
I didn't. It was a mystery as to his sexual preference. The women
housekeepers were infatuated by his Southern charm. Thanksgiving
he asked co-workers to close their eyes, then put a cold, jumbo

turkey dog in their hands, greeting them with, "Happy Franksgiving."
He was able to pull off that kind of thing. The women giggled,
looked away embarrassed, but always searched his blue eyes again.
I found out he was a writer, came to Iowa to go to the Writer's

Workshop. He decided it wasn't for him and continued to party
and write his novel. I was regularly passing by his cleaning area
on the 2nd floor, not to witness, but to find myself, though I
didn't know it then. He told me his novel was about particle

physics, God, sex, and drugs. It wasn't long before he converted
me. He moved in when my quiet roommate couldn't deal with my
new persona any longer. David would drink a couple of six packs,
smoke a joint, while stroking the Selectra keys. I became an artist,

painted murals on the walls, pissed on the front porch in an old toilet
turned flower pot, stuck butcher knives in mirrors. In one year of living
together, we dropped sixty hits of blotter, ran naked from the cops,
burned our clothes to make torches wading the Iowa River at midnight,

slept with several women, together and separate, drove to Arizona
and back on a whim, went on a safari in our apartment hunting roaches
with Bic lighters, shit in the middle of our living room floor, walked
across the frozen Iowa River, drank more alcohol than six good

writers combined. We wrote spontaneous poetry together, me a line,
then him a line. The last time I saw David he pissed on my feet
smiling that inimitable smile. I didn't piss back. He was no longer devil
or saint; he was just David, a friend along the way to enlightenment.