I turned and walked onto the footpath that runs alongside Elles Road. Traffic was scarce so I crossed over onto Ettrick. As I rounded the corner onto Ness Street I suddenly realised that I had been walking much faster than previously, so I slowed down to catch my breath. I passed mum’s car in the driveway, knocked once on the front door and walked in.
The hall is an uneven assortment of pictures: Jesus being crucified on the cross in all bloody detail on one side, on the other happy family photos. I don’t remember the happiness.
Mum was sitting at the kitchen table looking out at the garden behind the house, cigarette in one hand, smoke drifting into the stains on the ceiling; a tumbler of whiskey sat on a coaster in front of her.
“Mum?”
She turned around and smiled, but without much enthusiasm; almost like she was thinking ‘ahh, here is my prodigal son, the one I couldn’t control, come to grace me with his presence again. How nice of him!’ At least, that’s how I used to interpret it. Today there was a greater sense of resignation than ever before. I wondered if today was the day that she had decided to give up caring completely.
“How are ya?” I said taking a seat opposite her and resting my elbow on the windowsill. The ice in the whiskey glass tinkled as my knee knocked the leg of the table.
She went back to looking out the window. “Fuck knows.” She took a long drag on her cigarette and rested her arm back on the table but kept her eyes staring out at the garden. “So how are you?”
“Ok I guess.”
“Really?”
I tried to be confident: “Yeah.” I don’t think she believed it.
“Did ya’ catch up with Lisa?”
“Yeah. Went to the art exhibit Thursday night and saw her there.”
“For the record, I’d appreciate it if you let your friends know where you live and how to get a hold of you, so that they don’t come annoying me. As nice as Lisa is, and all, I’d just prefer it if I didn’t have to talk to her. She likes to talk, I don’t.”
“Fair enough.” I remembered the awkwardness at the gallery. “I sometimes feel that way myself.” I saw a smirk jig at the corner of her mouth. “Seems she has new friends anyway. Don’t really know why she’s bothered with me again.”
“Maybe she felt sorry for you.”
That actually hurt.
“Went to church this morning with her.”
“They let you back in?”
We laughed, though it was a little strained.
“Different church. The one off Nelson Street.”
“Oh. Well, they let anybody in.” Mum’s favourite joke.
I thought about how Lisa had been at the art gallery, and how we had hardly even talked at church, and how she had paid so much more attention to her friends who she had known for less than a year, and all I got was a wave and a ‘hello’.
“She’s not the same around me anymore.”
“She never will be son. You remind her of a past that she doesn’t want to be a part of anymore.”
I didn’t really know what to say to that. All I could think of was my own past that she was a part of and which I couldn’t separate myself from. At least not in the way that she had.
“The best thing that you ever did for that girl was to introduce her to Jesus. With Jesus she found something that she did not have at home, a family that she could have faith in and a presence that was greater than her and would guide her through the rest of her life.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
She took a long drag on the cigarette, eyeing me up as she did so and then blowing it all out the window. “Why did you go to church?”
“I don’t know.” That’s always my first reaction answer – “I don’t know”. “Maybe I thought it would do me some good. It’s been such a long time.”
“Church is for two types of people: those who already believe and constantly need to reaffirm their faith, and those who are looking for answers that aren’t to be found anywhere else. Are you either of those types?”
“No.”
“Then forget about church. A kid like you ain’t gonna find any answers there. Just go and do something, out in the world instead of behind closed doors.”
“But I don’t know what to do.” A whole year on the dole and sitting in my room in front of the computer had left me with little idea of what I wanted to do. All I knew was that I missed working with the youth group.
Mum tipped her cigarette-holding hand towards me. “Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold. He who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with his own hands, that he may have something to share with those in need.”
I looked at her blankly.
“Ephesians.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes. “And you called yourself a preacher.”
I had never called myself a ‘preacher’!
“It means don’t take God for granted. His will is yours to use so that others can benefit from your good deeds.”
I raised the other eyebrow.
“Do some volunteer work David! Find out what it means to do something for someone else, for once. It’ll take your mind off thinking about yourself and all your own problems. Trust me.”
I looked down at the glass of whiskey in front of her – she hadn’t touched it since I got there, just continued dragging more smoke into her lungs. Occasionally the cigarette hand would rest in front of the glass, the arm edging close to it, almost cradling the space between – protecting it – but never touching it. I wondered if she was testing herself. She could most certainly see it in her periphery vision but I hadn’t seen her eyes take a good look at the glass and acknowledge it, not even slightly.
Two types of people who go to church… “Which one are you?” I asked.
“Which one what?”
“Type of person who goes to church.”
“The first.”
She hadn’t even paused to think about it. It struck me hard. She knows exactly why she’s there. I felt so alone all of a sudden. Naked. Empty. Like God had looked at me and seen all my thoughts and uncovered all my frailties that I had tried so hard to hide from for the past year. My body began to rack as I laid my head in my hands, elbows on the table. Tears fell from my eyes as I started to moan that it was “all my fault” and that I was “so sorry”. The sense of uncontrolled emotion poured from me and overwhelmed everything that I had tried so hard to bury deep inside. “I’m so sorry mum”.
She got up and hugged me. “There, there boy. You’ll be alright.”
“I’m so sorry that I hurt you.” I was crying furiously and sobbing like a little kid, my tears soaking into her shirt. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault.”
“There, there,” she said patting my back. “Don’t you worry about me. You just worry about yourself, okay?”
“Okay,” I said through a sob. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“But dad left because of me.”
“No, no, son. He would have left anyway. His girlfriend was far more important to him than his family.”
Mum had never mentioned dad’s ‘girlfriend’ before. Everyone knew that he had had one, but no one was really sure if Mum knew that he had one. Either way, he left the same week that the church had told me to repent for what I did or never step inside those doors again. I had felt so ashamed for feeling like I was the reason Mum had started drinking again, and so angry at Dad for leaving me to deal with it on my own. Blame and guilt had caused me to hang my head in shame for so long and to hide in my bedroom like a coward.
I rubbed my eyes as she finished rubbing my back and then went into the lounge and turned the TV on. “Come and watch the lame Sunday programming with me.”
I stayed for an hour or so, while the whiskey glass sat on the kitchen table without making a sound, the ice slowly melting into water.
Chapter 3:
Part-time Angel
Eyes glance towards me, and then quickly look away – they never linger. I have heard scowls from behind, imagined heads shaking from side to side with disgust, perhaps even pity. I have thought about the hell on earth they have created here for me, as if the one God was going to send me to upon my death wasn’t enough – perhaps I’ll fit in there. Maybe Satan will take me on as his apprentice.
Part I
– Sallying –
I got into the habit of wearing my cap almost everywhere I went. It was easier to pretend that no one could see me as I walked around with my head hung low staring at people’s legs and torsos from under the rim.
If I had made any real effort, the cap would have been low enough to avoid working completely. As it was, I managed to spot The Salvation Army ‘volunteer service’ notice from under my cap as I walked out of the Supermarket on Tay Street. I tried to walk on past it, but Mum’s words rang in my head: ‘Do some volunteer work… It’ll take your mind off thinking about yourself. Trust me’.
I walked over to the building that stood like a standard one-story office building on the corner, nothing more. It was strange to see a so-called ‘house-of-God’ completely void of a cross hanging somewhere on the outside. There was just ‘The Salvation Army’ written on a sign outside with its shield to the left. I walked in the front door with a bag of groceries at each side, pushing my way through the doors shoulder first. An elderly woman dressed in uniform was walking towards me and made to hold the door open for me but I was already through as it closed shut behind me.
“Welcome to the Sallies” she said, smile beaming from her face. “My name’s Sylvia.”
“Hi” I replied, without much enthusiasm. “David.”
“Hi David. Have you come for worship?”
“Ah, no.”
“We have our lunch bank on Tuesdays.” She looked at my bags of groceries. “But you look all set for the rest of the week.” Her permanent smile was beginning to annoy me.
“Ah, no. I was hoping to find some volunteer work.”
“Oh, great.” That just made her smile even worse. “The Lord is always thankful for the services that his subjects provide.”
She drew me closer to a wall that had some leaflets stuck to it and a table beneath. “We have a great service overseas where you can do the Lord’s work helping people in poverty. Whatever your skills are may be of great benefit. So what do you do?”
I was tempted to say ‘I monitor actions on the computer’ but she wouldn’t have got it so I just admitted that I did nothing.
“Oh, well…” she seemed to stumble for something to say. “Ah, well, I’m not sure what you can do to help then. I’ll just get my superior.”
Shit. Anyone superior to her must surely be dead.
A younger woman with dark hair walked out of a door around the corner. The two spoke to each other with Sylvia pointing towards me and explaining my situation. Sylvia departed and the women came up to me.
“Hi. My name’s Captain Alice Pointer. I heard you were looking for some volunteer work.”
“Yes. Just something light, well, I’m not sure really. I don’t care. I just want to do something that’ll help. I have no muscle and my skill level is zero, except in the realm of computer games where I’m very close to becoming an expert. I’m quite proud of that, but that may not help.”
She smiled very generously. “Well, perhaps all I can do is offer some casual work helping to shift some boxes of recycled goods from the old Family Store to the new one just around the corner. It used to be a small factory but hasn’t been used for a very long time, so we thought we’d take it over and convert it into a fully functioning store. There probably will be some heavy lifting, but at least it’ll be a chance to build some muscles, right?” Sarcasm was plastered all over her face.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Yeah sure.”
“Okay, well I will have to pass you on to Christie who is in charge of that, but she won’t be here until tomorrow so how about you come in at about nine-thirty or ten and we’ll get going.”
I tried to smile but wasn’t really in the mood for it. “That sounds great. I’ll definitely be here.” I said “thanks” as I walked out the door and back into the chill of another August afternoon. The grocery bags were beginning to strain on my shoulders as I carried them back to the flat.
Tinsdale and Martin were sitting on the couch testing a new video game. Tinsdale had a bottle of beer open before him, while Martin was hunched over the controller, his eyes peering at the TV screen from behind black-rimmed glasses.
“Hey,” they both said in unison.
Tinsdale hit Martin on the arm. “Jinx.”
“What-the-fuck? Y’ don’t smack someone on the arm for a jinx.”
“I didn’t want it to turn into a curse so had to let the tension out.”
I went into the kitchen and started packing my groceries into the cupboards.
Tinsdale called out from the lounge “just grab a beer if y’ want one. We’re playing the new Need for Speed.”
“Cheers” I replied without any intention of grabbing a beer. After I was done packing my groceries into what small storage space I had been allocated in one of the cupboards, I sat down with them for a while, but got bored. I wasn’t in any mood to be playing racing games, especially with Tinsdale drinking and driving – he often got arrogant and pushy, and would hog the console for long periods claiming that he had to win this or that race otherwise his manhood was at stake. The only thing that was ever at stake with Tinsdale was his head exploding from being too full of himself.
I got up and went to my room opening the old wooden slide-top pencil case beside my bed. It was empty. I went to my closet and uncovered the loose piece of floorboard in the corner, pulling out what was left of my ounce packet. I didn’t know when I’d be able to afford another ounce, or even half an ounce, so was trying to get through this one a bit slower than usual. I lay down on my bed and began rolling a joint as I looked up at the poster of Ecclesiastic Seal on my ceiling. An ex-girlfriend had put it up but forgotten to take it with her when she left the room bawling her eyes out. I didn’t really like the band that much, but I had no better posters up on my walls and she had never come back for it anyway.
When I finished rolling I put the rest of the bag in the pencil case, lit up the joint and blew smoke towards the ceiling. The high came pretty fast and I lay there for quite a while just staring into a nowhere space, enjoying the shapes in the room as they moved around before my eyes, different parts of the room making their presence known over other parts and then swapping their roles as though even inanimate objects had roles. Well of course they did. Their role was to be a presence, to be a wall, to be a shelf, to be anything, to be one thing. It all made sense and I was at ease, at peace… I closed my eyes.
I woke up hours later and it was night outside. I felt so refreshed, but hungry. Definitely hungry. It was eight o’clock. I cooked some dinner – chops and baked beans on toast – then sat down with Tinsdale and Martin as they raced each other off for the rest of the night.
* * *
Christie was a much younger woman than Alice, approximately early twenties with shoulder length blonde hair. Her smile was mischievous.
We didn’t say much more than “hi’s” but she maintained her mischievous grin throughout her explanation of what I had to do. She even gave me keys to The Salvation Army car but made me promise not to tell anyone. Her nose wrinkled up when I promised. And I couldn’t help smiling back at her: Can we have sex now?
“Awesome” she said, and then spun around and took off.
I’ll take that as a ‘no’.
I was left in a room filled with old boxes and lots of rubbish.
Christie had given me pretty clear directions on where to start and how to tackle the problem of moving everything to the new location but the information had stayed in my head for about five seconds before more came in and replaced it. I was
left knowing where to end but had completely forgotten where to start. So I started where I was standing.
I got the car loaded up with boxes and then drove it around the corner to the shed which was a bare factory floor with an alcove room built into the upper right hand side. Shifting the boxes turned out to be pretty decent exercise as I jogged up and down the stairs trying my best to keep a consistent pace. Some of the boxes were quite heavy, being filled with old clothes, kitchenware, and the likes that people in need (students included) would end up sifting through to find a bargain. I had to walk up the stairs and place them down carefully in the room above but I kept up the pace by jogging down the stairs again. It didn’t take long before I was sweating and wiping my brow with my sweatshirt sleeve. The only exercise I had subjected myself to for a year was either walking to Work & Income to explain how my search for work was working out, or walking to the grocery store and carrying my bags back home. The last few months had involved a few too many cheesecakes-on-special appearing in my grocery bags, and then being transferred into rolls of fat onto my body where I had never seen rolls of fat before. So at least it felt good to be working all those cheesecake rolls off and being the middle-man between the transference of cheesecake into the completing of a job.
Lunch arrived after I had transferred four whole loads in the car from the original building to the new one, taking my time with the loading because I knew that I’d be making up for it as I ran through the unloading. I sat in the car and turned the radio on. It was already tuned into a mainstream radio station. I dialled through several channels until it landed on a Christian channel where a man was preaching about the Old Testament. My first reaction was to quickly dial past it but I thought that perhaps I needed to listen, since it had been such a long time since I had put any faith in The Bible.
I Am The Local Atheist Page 4