I found him at the laundrette, fixing a broken machine.
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“You’re back,” I said flatly.
He pulled his head out of the drum and turned around, his long hair stuck to the sheen of perspiration on his face from working in the humid room.
“Oh, hello,” he said sheepishly, extracting himself fully from the machine and standing.
“Why didn’t you call to say that you were back?” I shot at him, more aggressively than intended. Softening after a pause, I added, “We needed you.”
He spread his hands sheepishly and looked around the room of machines. “I have been helping people here…” he trailed off, “A lot of people need my help,” he finished forlornly, the weight of their expectations clear.
“I was going to,” he added slightly pathetically after seeing I didn’t think that was an acceptable response. “You stopped calling anyway. I thought you didn’t need me anymore,” confused concern played across his features.
“You never responded!” I shouted in exasperation.
“But I always listened to the messages! I wanted to respond, but I get a lot of people reaching out. I’m sorry.” He was downcast now, clearly troubled he had hurt me.
“Jesus, you need to accept you just can’t help everyone.”
The son of God sighed.