Death of a Dream (or "Trouble in Tucson")

Trouble in Tucson by Sue Baughman 6-19-25 (1100 words)

(Prompt: Dark underside of a School System)

(Trigger Warning: Contains humor, Cults, Christianity, mild profanity, nudity, prayer, faith, loss of faith, death of a dream, all that...)

Pastor Bob was running out of time. He’d promised his flock a place to stay, food and a guaranteed pass through the pearly gates, but so far, all he’d managed to secure for them was a few snacks and a couple of sleeping bags he’d found at the Oracle Road Salvation Army Store.

Pastor Bob had led his group across the country because he had a dream. A dream of starting a New Garden of Eden out in Malibu, “At the End of the Ten”

It was to be a School, a learning institute, showing the world how to live a Divine Life, grow their own vegetables, live on fruits, grains and nuts, and never grow old until they passed easily through the heavenly portals.

But now, his followers were getting restless. He recognized the symptoms. They had dutifully caravanned with him on the Ten freeway all the way from Jacksonville, stopping every hundred miles or so to beg for money, then get food, water and find a place to camp.

Pastor Bob had promised them that the end of the road, Malibu, was the promised land. That there were Organic Ranches and Yoga Ranches and Nudist Ranches all along the coastline. Their dream of the New Eden would be welcomed with open arms.

But by Tucson, they’d run out of Faith. Not to mention gas and food and water.

Sitting around a fire in the campground, Pastor Bob held a meeting of the group. He had begun calling them the “Eden Saints” and it had stuck.

Now, he implored the Saints to pray with him. Nearly everyone bowed their heads, silent with skepticism and worry.

“My dear Saints, let us pray for a Miracle.”

As if the Lord Almighty himself had heard them, an RV pulled up alongside their campsite.

“Ya’all need some help?” a woman chirped down at them from her lofty seat at the driver’s wheel of the enormous rig.

“Why yes, Sister,” Pastor Bob replied.

“Well, come on down tu d’office across d’street,” she said, pulling away and driving into the driveway of an RV Park they hadn’t noticed before. It was screened by trees and bushes and a brick wall. A tiny sign announced “All Saints RV Park.”

Pastor Bob took it as a Sign.

“See, Brethren,” Pastor Bob said. “God does answer prayers.”

It took the group of 30 followers less than fifteen minutes to pack their things. They caravanned their delapidated vans and volkswagons and whatnot across the freeway and careened into the park.

Pastor Bob grinned with delight. This was heaven on earth. He saw that about fifty RV’s were arranged at specially marked spaces, grouped around an Olympic sized pool that also offered picnic tables and chairs and all sorts of kitchen equipment.

Tall cottonwoods shaded the entire area. He spotted walking trails, benches, water fountains, drinking fountains dotting the surrounding acreage.

“Hi, Y'all, I’m Opal,” the tiny woman who had invited them in had skillfully parked her RV and had hooked it up to the electric, sewer, water and wi fi within minutes.

“Opal, I’m Pastor Bob Finster, and we’re looking for a place to stay for a few nights.”

“Aww, just a few nights? You’suns can stay as long as you want as long as you play by the rules.”

“Rules?”

Pastor Bob suddenly realized that Opal wasn’t wearing much.

“Well, this is a clothing optional camp, and we do have some empty RV’s you could stay in.”

Clothing optional?Was this God’s way of punishing Pastor Bob for his misdeeds?

“Yes, we had to boot a bunch of regulars out when they wanted to wear clothes this past winter.”

“Ummm, we’re a religious group. We wear the white robes that you saw us wearing in the campground…”

“White robes? In the desert?” Opal laughed. “That’s nuts.”

“Well, what are the fees?”

“You can work off the fees, handsome.” She giggled.

“What will I tell my flock?”

“Whatever you want to tell them. Just remember, I’m the answer to your prayers.”

Later, around the roaring campfire, Pastor Bob explained to his faithful that God had given him a sign that they should stay in Tucson for a little while.

“Maybe Forty Days and Forty Nights, like the prophets of old.”

Harry Tullis, a long time Bob follower was the first to whip off his white robe and dive into the pool.Opal followed soon after.

Some of the women weren’t so sure. They had grown accustomed to the robes, to hiding their bodies, to the protection the garments provided.

“Oh, what the hell,” Helen the retired Librarian said as she pulled off the shroud she’d been wearing for years. She dove in as well.

Others took a while longer to settle. They dipped a toe in, then a bit more, then a bit more. Mary, one of the retired school teachers claimed she’d use this experience to write a book or two, so why not.

Yippee, her girlfriend Ann agreed. “We can get a series out of this.”

“Girls, girls, calm down.” Pastor Bob was having second thoughts.He’d never seen his acolytes reacting this way. Frisky, playful. Some were even dancing and singing.

All because he’d run out of money and gas and food at the wrong place at the wrong time. His dream of Paradise, of a New Eden Institute and School in Malibu Canyon was dying. He felt it in his gut.

Finally, he came to a decision.

“We’ll vote on it, and decide whether to stay here, or go on. We’re only 500 miles from our destination…”

“Hell, I’m not going back out there and begging,” Sally Kinslow yelled from the diving board.

People were coming out of their RV’s to see what the commotion was.

“Wow, new people?” an elderly man stood in his alltogethers by the bar-b-que. “This is great.”

Another woman wearing nothing but a smile emerged carrying two pitchers of Margaritas. “Welcome to Tucson” she said.

A man wearing a Phoenix Suns cap followed her with a tray of freshly baked brownies. “Thes’ns ‘ll tek ya’all straight to heaven, guaranteed,” he chortled.

“Holy Shimole, Pastor Bob.”It was Lee, his most devoted Bible Student. “When God answers your prayers, he really answers them.”

“Well, Sister, what do you think?” Pastor Bob asked Eleanor, the retired Judge. She had been standing there in shock.

“I’m speechless, Pastor Bob,” she said. “Hold my robe.”