Real American Prophets 

Back when they built that new hotel out by the interstate, I’d drive up there a couple, three times a month and get a fresh room and then put the Book of Mormon in the dresser drawer, put it right there next to the Bible.  I’d put my phone number in there too.  Along with a Buddy Holly postcard.  I’d write, “Surf Ballroom Bliss” or “Nine Digits From Heaven,” and I didn’t know what any of that meant, but I liked how it sounded.  I liked how it felt.  And then I’d go down to the lobby and try to cancel the room, and maybe they’d do it, or maybe they wouldn’t, and maybe I’d have to run up some credit, to stay and surf channels and listen to footsteps and vacuums and air conditioners, and either way I’d eventually head on back home and wait for the phone to ring.  I’d wait for the static.  For bad reception.  For sandbaked voices telling me about Joseph Smith and the prophet Nephi and what to do to get ready for End Times, but the point is no one ever did.  Is no one ever called.  And then I went and I got this fancy new phone, and I had to change my number, and now all I can think is somebody out there’s trying right this instant, and all he’s getting are them three broken beeps and that mechanical woman, and I’m thinking I missed my chance.  Missed my calling.  And I oughta just go back there with a stack of new postcards and nine fresh digits, but then I bet those books ain’t even there.  And nothing stays the same.  And they clear out your shit faster than you can smile, and it’s like how some people worry about children is you’ll open the drawers, and they’ll be empty and white, and the paint’s so goddamn bright you can’t even bear to look.

Brett Biebel teaches writing and literature at Augustana College in Rock Island, IL. His (mostly very) short fiction has appeared in SmokeLong Quarterly, the minnesota review, The Masters Review, Emrys Journal, and elsewhere. 48 Blitz, his debut story collection, is available from Split/Lip Press. You can follow him on Twitter @bbl_brett.