Christie saw me smiling and scrunched her nose up. Lucas patted me on the back. “Great fun eh?”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah, yeah it is.” For once, actually, in a long time, I felt less weight on my shoulders, like some of the frustrations of the past had been drained away and a kind of happiness was taking shape instead.
Alice gathered everyone into a circle around her and placed her hands on her knees. Several kids climbed all over Lucas and dragged him down to a sitting position so they could listen to Alice while using him as a pillow.
“Okay guys, we’re going to move ourselves into the other room so we can write our special prayer notes. Remember to think of someone special in your life that you want to pass really, really, really positive thoughts onto. They could be someone in your family, someone you want to say ‘thank you’ to, or someone you know is having a rough time and needs some positivity. Can someone give me an example of what a really, really, positive thought could be?”
One kid put up their hand. “Being nice.”
“Definitely!” Alice replied.
Another child put up a hand. “Don’t swear.”
“Not swearing is definitely a positive thing.”
All the other kids caught on and started calling out:
“Don’t hurt people.”
“Don’t punch anyone.”
“I hate it when people punch.”
“I hate it when people say mean things
“Don’t say mean things!”
“My sister says mean things.”
“My Mum says ‘Don’t sit in front of the computer for too long’.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t do drugs.”
“Don’t steal.”
Alice nodded. “Don’t steal – that is great. What happens if you steal?”
“It means you go to prison.”
“Yeah, that can definitely happen. But what if someone stole something from you, like your favourite toy that you play with all the time, and you could no longer play with ever again? Would you be angry?”
“Yes.”
“I’d feel pretty hurt too. Does anyone here like feeling hurt, like when someone is mean to you?”
“No.”
“So stealing isn’t very good then is it? Anyone want to go to prison?”
“Nooooo!!!”
Alice swept her hands through the air. “That’s really great to hear. What your prayer notes are going to be are positive thoughts, or just to wish someone a happy day filled with lots of good things. Write whatever ideas you have on the piece of paper that we’ve got out there for you with crayons, felts or pens, and make it bright and colourful. When you finish writing or colouring in, fold it up – no need to show it to anyone – and take it home and say that prayer to God before you go to bed. Seems like a pretty simple task, eh?”
“Yes,” some kids said.
“Well, get to it then and we’ll bring out the food after everyone’s finished!”
They all jumped up and ran out into the other room, except Lucas, who had to rise laboriously with three kids still attached and stomp his way into the hall where the paper and pens were.
Christie, Alice and I followed behind and stood to one side as he helped them get to work and listen to some of them tell him if the person they had chosen was a good choice.
“Sounds good to me” he would offer. “If I was in that situation, I would certainly like some love in my life.”
Christie looked over at him in awe. “Lucas does such great work for the church, and it’s all voluntary. It’s so amazing.”
Alice saw the way she was looking at him. “Try not too get too enamoured. I know what you’re thinking, but first he has to be converted.”
Christie’s face lost all expression. “What?”
“He’s not a Christian.”
“He’s not a Christian?”
“No. What made you think he was?”
“What makes you think he isn’t?”
“Have you ever noticed that when he talks to you he never mentions God (unless he’s purposely trying to argue the opposite point with you), never talks about Jesus – even as a reference point – never uses any religious thought that could ever be construed as having faith in God?”
“Everyone has their own private faith. Some people don’t like to bring attention to theirs.”
“Has he ever attended a Sunday service?”
“Lieutenants Jo and Mack hardly ever turn up!”
“But they still turn up. Lucas has never been to church for a service as long as I’ve known him.” Alice looked at me. “What do you think David? How long have you known him for?”
“Probably not as long as you, but he’s made it pretty clear to me that he’s no Christian.”
“Well I’ll be,” Christie said in astonishment. “Still, that doesn’t mean he isn’t convertible. I know several people who got married to Christians and were converted later on down the track.”
“Well, I’d be impressed,” Alice said, “if love drove the two of you together and you managed to convert him.”
“With God on your side, anything is possible.”
“Amen,” Alice said.
I felt my lips begin to part in an attempt to agree with them, but only empty air came out.
Part VII
– Paid work –
I had made up my mind: Volunteer work was not doing me any good. I just couldn’t get over the fact that I wasn’t being paid for it. And it wasn’t even that in the end. Apart from genuinely smiling and enjoying myself for the first time in a very long time (outside of playing video games), Charge Up was only bringing back memories of Youth Group, where I had once – somewhere in my distant past it seemed sometimes – been a part of the lives of teenagers and helping them to come to terms with the conflicting world around them; but that was now starting to weigh heavily on my mind again. And I desperately wanted to forget something that I had cared so much about, but had been taken off my hands for someone else’s ideas of what was and wasn’t appropriate.
I really wasn’t getting anything out of the jobs either, at least, not in the way Lucas seemed to be getting something out of them. He had made it absolutely clear that he was no Christian, yet everything he did had the same spirit that I had seen in the people that I had always looked up to. He said he did it for himself, but everything he was doing also made good in the world. I found that strange, because the self centredness that Lucas talked about and lived by was the sort that I had been taught was anathema, was how evil wormed its way into your soul. I saw no evil in Lucas, at least none that manifested itself with immediate consequences. Guess I would have to wait and see.
I resolved to go back to living life in front of the computer screen but was interrupted by a severe phonecall from Work & Income stating that I was being taken off the benefit due to not following through with the follow up meetings that I was required by law to do on a regular basis while receiving a benefit. I tried explaining that I had been doing volunteer work and that that was taking up most of my time. Surely that should count for something, but it just didn’t seem to impress the person on the phone. “You have been unemployed without any valid reason for far too long now and you have a choice: sign up for more education, or find a job! Either way your unemployment benefit will be withdrawn two weeks from now. A letter will be mailed out to you as an official reminder and statement.” She hung up.
Rude, I thought.
Tinsdale looked over at me from the couch. “Who was that?”
“Work and Income.”
“Bastards.”
“Yeah. I’m being taken off the dole.”
“I know someone who works at the Freezing Works if you want me to call him. You can earn big wads of money, dude – might lose a finger or two though, haha.”
Parts of that sentence were tempting, other parts not so much. “Might have to get back to you on that one.”
“Sure. Well, wanna ear
n some easy dosh in the meantime?”
It wasn’t hard to figure out where this was going.
“I’ve got a couple of ounces that need to be sold.”
Just like that. As soon as there’s an opportunity. In with the deal. “I’m not a drug dealer” I said, moving away from the phone and into the lounge where he sat.
“But you’re quite happy to smoke it, aren’t you?”
What a dick. I had always felt like there was a clear-cut difference between being a pot smoker and being someone who sold it. One only ever affected your own life, the other affected others’. “Guess I’m just not ready to stoop that low.”
Tinsdale’s face lost more expression than I thought possible. I saw his body stiffen. I wanted to backtrack real quick, but didn’t have a clue how I was going to do that. I actually thought he might rise up and smack me in the face – deservedly so, I was quickly realising.
“Just remember,” he said with too much calm – the tone threatened without even the slightest bit of anger. “I may not be your dealer around here, but the person who is, is still doing you a service that you are a willing part of, and you can call it low or whatever, but I – one of these low stooping people – have allowed you to live here and have a roof over your head, a roof that you chose to live under, for whatever reasons; reasons I haven’t questioned and don’t give a fuck about. And for the record, I personally don’t give a shit if you think it’s stooping low, just don’t bring your hypocrisy to my table – got that?”
I folded my arms – “Yeah. I got it.” – and walked off to my room.
For the next few days I played video games with almost as much passion as when I had first been kicked out of the church and had nothing else to turn to. I used my anger to destroy worlds, wipe out masses of NPCs, take down as many empires as possible, cast the most punishing spells I could think of, and stealth my way through the most murderous rampages ever.
Until the letter arrived. And then I was stuck wondering what I was going to do next. No more money would equal no more video games. There goes my stress relief!
Lucky for me, I was practically handed a paying job on a silver platter after bumping into someone I had once met quite a long time ago, and he, remembering who I was, asked if I wanted this job at his liquor store. A part of me wanted to say ‘no’ out of respect for Mum, but the other part couldn’t say ‘no’ out of respect for the money that I’d be earning. So I took the job.
And the job was a piece of piss. I stood behind a counter and scanned the boxes of beer, told the customer how much it cost, they gave me their money, I put it in the till and told them to have a good night while wondering how many of them actually would have a good night after the vomiting session, the stumbling through doorways and hitting their heads on cupboards, the falling down steps and faceplanting the concrete footpath…
“Don’t you give me that look” the customer said to me. “There could be a lot worse drugs out there that my children could be doing. You have no right to judge.”
I pretended to not know what she was talking about as she stood there handing the bags of Ready-To-Drinks to her teenage daughter and her friends. I swear, not a single one of those kids looked like they were over sixteen. But if they drank responsibly, then she was right – who was I to judge?
They left with the girls looking inside the bags like they were filled with Christmas presents. I had been given precise instructions that it was my decision whether or not to sell alcohol to an adult who I suspected would be supplying it to underage drinkers, but I could honestly say that I didn’t care.
I had cared once about how teenagers lived their lives, I had cared once about how they developed their relationship with God, but that had all been taken away from me.
And now I was seeing parents who were hardly even blinking an eye at the dangers they were subjecting their children to, so all of a sudden I was wondering why I had even bothered caring in the first place. Why should I be responsible for other people’s actions? Why should I be the one that has to do all of God’s dirty work? Bringing people back from the brink of disaster, helping to guide people through their problems? Where was all that when I needed it? No one had been there for me – not Mum, not Dad, no one who had once called me a ‘friend’, and certainly not the church that I had been so angry at. They were the first to desert me, and everyone else was happy to just follow along.
I tapped the counter gently as the girl stood in front of me placing the six-pack of Purple Goannas down between us. She smiled suggestively, leaning her head to one side so her blonde hair fell across her bare shoulders… and my eyesight followed it down…
“Can I see some ID please?” For those big massive breasts of yours?
She seemed annoyed but placed the ID down anyway. I picked it up eyeing the brunette in the photo, looking at the blonde in front of me, looking at the brunette, the blonde… Actually I didn’t even care whether this was the same person or not. Half these IDs were old photos anyway, and with teenagers, a mere two years could change the appearance drastically. I was just enjoying having the girl stand in front of me. She had been the first decent thing that I got to look at the whole day – I wasn’t about to let her out of my sight anytime soon.
I made a non-committal sigh. “Sorry, about this, but y’ know I gotta be sure.”
“Right.”
I took a couple more looks at the picture, at her, the picture, her… She had amazing eyes. At least in person – the photo wasn’t doing her justice at all. Her blue eyes were about the only thing that really matched the photo – and even they were hard to be completely sure about. If I was asked to go on a date with the girl in the photo, I’d definitely be thinking twice, but this hot chick in front of me was another thing all together.
She shifted impatiently.
“I could get done by the cops if I sell alcohol to minors.”
“Are you saying that I look like a minor?” All humour was gone from her face as she looked at me questioningly.
“No, not at all.”
“Then why the fuck are you taking so long to decide if it’s me or not?”
I gave her back the ID, scanned the barcode and placed the drinks in a bag as she handed me the money. She left looking pissed off. I ignored the bottle-shaped bulge that stuck out from the back of her pants and rode up her back. She probably would have thrown the stolen item at me no matter what it was. I wasn’t keen on feeling that kind of retribution.
Another bunch of girls came to the counter and dropped their IDs down without me even asking to see them. I didn’t even bother looking. They can drink as much alcohol as they like and fuck themselves up as much as they want for all I care.
I took their money, placed it in the till and bid them a good night as they walked cheerily out the door.
It was kind of a surreal experience to walk around such a colourful interior of a shop designed to attract as much clientele as possible while going home to newspaper articles about road crashes, house fires, domestic violence, homicides… all caused by the product on sale. Yet, I felt that strange compulsion to try as many of these drinks as possible, just like all the others that entered the shop, and I barely even drank alcohol – usually only when someone else was offering. But there were so many colourful drinks with labels that looked so appealing, liquid that looked like harmless fizzy drinks or cordials, caramel and lime milkshakes; I didn’t want to take my eyes off all the glorious colour that I was seeing. I wanted to drink it all down.
“Excuse me mate.”
A man behind me caught my attention as I turned away from a display. He wore dark sunglasses that made it impossible for me to see his eyes.
“Can ya show us where the cabinets are?” A woman stood behind him wearing similarly dark, but big and rounded sunglasses. I’m not sure why either of them were wearing shades inside, but thought that they might have been protecting their eyes from all the distracting colour in the shop. If that were the case then it was a pret
ty good idea.
“The Merlot Cabernets?” I asked, trying to clarify his question.
“Nah mate, the liquor cabinets – where the best shit is locked up.”
“Ah yes, it’s over here,” I said leading them to the other side of the room and unlocking the cabinet doors to all the spirits.
The gentleman’s hand reached for a bottle of gin. His partner coughed. “Wow, you really want to get me fucked-up tonight don’t you?”
The hand casually passed over the gin bottle and headed towards the martini bottles.
“That’s better boy.”
The man grinned. “Know this woman like the back of my hand.”
“Don’t get smart or I’ll fuckin’ deal to ya’.” She looked at me cheekily and said, “now all we need is the martini glasses, eh? You got those boy?”
“No” I said, trying not to look at her with derision.
I took the drinks to the counter with the man and woman walking behind me out of sight. I briefly saw her image in the reflection of one of the fizzy drink fridges pause at some bottles that we were passing but as I got to the counter I focussed on scanning the drinks and taking the man’s cash that he had ready and waiting in his hands.
The man was looking at me with some strange happy smile plastered across his face, like he was really high, but he wasn’t exhibiting any signs of being stoned that I could notice. It just looked as though he couldn’t wait to start drinking. He asked me what I’d be getting up to later on, as if to make conversation while I bagged the drinks and got his change. The woman walked past and was already out the door. “Gonna drink a few yourself later on then?”
“Nope” I said. “I have no intention of parading my stupidity to the world.” And there it was: my own derision voiced.
I Am The Local Atheist Page 10