I Am The Local Atheist (37 page)

The 2nd Chronicle

On the ninth
day of February, with overachieving southerlies putting nails in
the coffin of summer, I began txting a message while driving.

It could be
argued that this is the ultimate betrayal of one’s own virtues
towards a product that modern society has willed the dependency on
of which is similar to that of a narcotic. Sure, the taste is
sweet, like wine, and the spitting out is a necessity in order to
savour the taste, but to swallow and let the product creep into
your bloodstream like a vine twisting around a trellis is no better
than injecting heroin directly into a vein.

I was on my way downtown in the hope of finding the new RPG
for PC ‘Retaliation Street’, from the store ‘Game Me’ on the corner
of Esk and Dee where Martin used to hang low key and earn some
mon-ee
…and when your album sales weren’t
doing too good, who’s the Doctor they told you to go and
see?

The game was
being released simultaneously over the net and in stores, but I
wanted it straight away and not have to wait an entire week for the
game. As I was backing the car down the drive Martin sent me a txt
asking me to grab an auxillary RCA plug.

[ sure ]

[ pay y back
whn y rtrn ]

[ sweet ] I
sent another message: [ gettn food on way ]

[ ask at
counter whn wrld rifle chmp comes in. Is it same date 4 thm as on
net ]

He wasn’t a
big eater while playing games.

I pulled out
of the drive and got to the supermarket in less than a minute
managing to burn a bit of tread around a couple of the corners on
my way. While I was standing at the checkout counter watching the
completely bored checkout girl scan my terminal supplies (microwave
pizza, chips and L&P), I received another message from Martin:
[ shop closes at 2 tday. If y gonna b late I cn ring some1 else
]

I didn’t
bother saying thank you to the checkout girl as she handed me my
bag of food – she probably wouldn’t have cared anyway – and before
I got a chance to reply to Martin’s txt I bumped into Peter
I-have-no-idea-what-his-last-name-is-but-he’s-the-father-of-a-kid-that-attended-youth-camp-once
and he began asking me how things were going and if I was still
dealing with troubled kids through the church.

“
Ummm, no. I don’t really have much to do with the church
anymore. Kinda, wanted to try some other things, y’know…” I had
forgotten to wear my cap and couldn’t hang my head low enough to
hide my eyes. I didn’t want to stand around with all these people
about.

“
Y’ got anything on at the moment?”

“
Ummm, nah, just some volunteer work.”

“
Earning any money from that?”

“
Nup.”

“
Y’ wanna earn some money?”

I stood up
straight. “What doing?”

“
Working in my liquor store.”

I paused, for
a second, but the money bells kept ringing in my head. “Sure.”

Peter was keen
to point out that all I had to do was stand at the counter most of
the time and serve customers while occasionally restocking the
shelves, and with having contemplated temporary work at the
meat-works just for the sake of earning a big wad of money in a
short amount of time, I was very keen to hear him out – I had never
liked the thought of my fingers in two pieces separated by a
cleaver. So before parting company, we exchanged numbers – yes,
cellphone numbers: they have a good use, I have never denied that,
but so do drugs; it is the inherent evil that is hidden by a veil
of goodly usefulness, flavour and appeal that brings upon the
denial of their ability to subjugate the individual to their every
whim; to suddenly ignore the demand for more expenses to be paid in
order to alleviate the need and desire of a momentary high.

Upon entering
my car I remembered that I hadn’t replied to Martin yet. I decided
to txt him saying that I was on my way now, so that he wouldn’t
need to ring anyone else. But of course, by the time this entire
thought process had played itself out, I was already buckled in and
on my way to the shop. So I resolved to txt him while driving, thus
completely making a shambles of all I had thought and propounded as
all the evils of the cellphone. There I was, in my car, right hand
on the steering wheel, eyes on the road, left hand clasping the
phone of death and moral decay – the fact that I hadn’t been caught
for speeding, driving on the wrong side of the road, running red
lights, driving the wrong way down one-way streets and just plain
disregard for the rode code in general, doesn’t say much for my
ability to carry the same moral principles over to other areas of
my life! But still, I went forth with every intention of ignoring
what I had once believed and began the process of taking glances at
the phone to make sure I was keying in the right letters while
keeping, what were getting progressively shorter and shorter,
glances on where I was driving.

Okay, it’s
fair to say that I got the whole thing done without killing myself.
But the fact that I never thought about that, or even the slight
chance of being involved, if not the cause of, a horrendous crash
which could potentially (if Satan was lucky enough) destroy my
computer game-playing days forever, just shows how much the phone
had entwined itself around my life already and created a false
sense of security that was nothing more than just a façade that
allowed me to ignore all the dangers that were inherent in
possessing such an object.

Just like Mum
and alcohol: cellphones and cars do not go together at all!

A chronicle (marked as the 3
^rd
)

[#]
: [ Hi it emma what u up 2
]

Me
: [ playn new puta game. What u up
to? Haha… ]

Emma
: [
You
will have to teach me smtm im havin lunch
]

Me
: [ Sure ]

Emma
: [ Ok sweet ]

Me
: [ Who are you ]

Emma
: [ Sum1 you know ]

Me
: [ Who? ]

Emma
: [ Emma ]

Me
: [ I dont knw anyone called emma
]

Emma
: [ k ]

Me
: [ How’d you get my number?
]

Emma
: [ Friends who know ppl who know
ppl. ]

Emma
: [ Heard you bit of rebel.
]

Me
: [ No different than anyone else
]

Emma
: [ You want to fuk ]

Me
: [ U know who ur talking too?
]

Emma
: [ Yup I sure do. U burn crosses
cos u a rebel ]

Me
: [ Nah. Just passionate bout what
I believe in ]

Emma
: [ U passionate bout sex?
]

Me
: [ This getting weird ]

Emma
: [ You like it weird? We can do
all sorts of kinky stuff u want ]

Me
: [ What? ]

Emma
: [ Got friend who want 2 check
out ur big balls haha. Takes balls 2 pick on sum1 who cant defend
themself ]

Me
: [ What are you talkin bout?
]

Emma
: [ My friend wants to come ober
an check out ur big balls ]

Me
: [ What? ]

Emma
: [ She turned on by you being
rebel. Me too! 3 of us could fuk. Be real cool. Keen? ]

Me
: [ What? ]

Emma
: [ See you soon ]

But she didn’t
turn up until later the next day. And when she did turn up I was
seriously frightened. I wondered why she wouldn’t just come to the
door and wondered if the reason she was staying in her car was
because she had some Christian friends in the car who were going to
jump me and beat the crap out of me as some kind of retribution for
what I had done to the church. I know that some churches were
aligned with each other, but I never thought it might extend to
defending each other’s ‘honour’.

I sent a txt:
[ I’m inside ]

Emma
: [ I know ]

Me
: [ Coming in? ]

Emma
: [ Come out ]

Me
: [ Why? ]

Emma
: [ just come out ]

When I didn’t
come out she started yelling abuse at the top of her voice with
what must have been her friend joining in.

“
Come out you cunt! What are you – a fuckin’
faggot?”

“
Fuckin’ loser!”

“
You fuckin’ wanker! Suck your own cock you fuckin’ shit
hole!”

Emma
: [ I’m outside fuk u
]

Me
: [ Yeah that’s true ]

Emma
: [ Don’t like having t wait 4
guys ]

Me
: [ Don’t like th way u screaming
shit at me. Y don’t u just come t door like normal person?
]

Emma
: [ Coz im not nrml ]

[new #]
: [ Y da fuk u nt cum ot an c
my m8 r u gay? ]

Me
: [ Just dont like being yelled at.
]

[new #]
: [ u nt wanna fuk my frnd?
]

Me
: [ nah. Kinda seems bit psycho.
Not my type ]

At that point
the voices began yelling again: “You fuckin’ asshole! You da psycho
you faggot!”

“
We’ll teach you to pick on Jesus!”

A male voice screamed “I’ll stab you ya’ fuckin’ cunt!
Come out!
”

I ran to the
front door in a mad rush to lock it, but Tinsdale appeared in the
hallway.

“
Who the fuck is that psychotic bitch outside?”

“
I don’t know.”

The screams were verging on hysterical. “You fuckin’ wanker!
God is sending you to hell
you
prrrrrrrick
!”

A couple of
bottles smashed on the driveway.

Tinsdale’s
shoulders flexed backwards. “I’m not putting up with this shit. Get
out of the way.”

I moved quickly as he opened the door and went outside
grabbing an empty bottle from the trash. “Who da
fuck
do you cunts think
you are coming here and yelling shit and smashing bottles on
my
driveway?”

I peeked my head around the door frame and watched him smash
the passenger-side mirror with his own fist, knocking it off the
hinges and leaving it dangling by the wires; and then reaching
through the window with the same hand and grabbing the male
passenger in the front seat by the collar and pulling him halfway
through the window before yelling “You gonna fucking clean up this
fuckin’ mess you made
cunt
?” The empty bottle was wavering
precariously next to the passenger’s face.

While the
girls in the back were yelling at him to leave their friend alone,
the driver was out of his seat and running around the vehicle with
his fist clenched, but by the time he got within range, Tinsdale
had let go of the passenger, dropped the bottle, and had walked
right into the driver, picking him up and slamming him down on the
ground.

“
So
you
gonna
clean up this mess then? Huh?” He put a foot on the man’s head.
“Huh?”

As he
struggled the driver gasped “Just tell your flatmate to never…”

“
I got a better idea fuckwit. How about you and your friends
never come anywhere near my house again?” Tinsdale looked at the
cowering faces in the vehicle. “And you better pass the message on
to any other dumb fucks you know who might be getting the same
idea. Got that?”

The faces
nodded.

Tinsdale
released the face under his foot. “Now piss off!”

The driver
made his way back to his seat and as the car started up and pulled
out of the driveway, Tinsdale picked up his bottle and gave it a
well directed throw that landed on the side of the car smashing and
scattering across the road as they drove away.

Tinsdale
returned inside, head held high, swagging in smug satisfaction.

“
Thanks,” I said tentatively.

“
Shut the fuck up! That shit better
never
happen again. I don’t ask
people to share this flat because I think they’re going to cause
trouble for me, got that?”

“
Got it.”

I couldn’t
help smiling as he walked away from me and the thought of those
fanatics driving away having bit off more than they had asked
for.

I think I’m going to like living here
.

Chronicle the fourth

It didn’t take
long to realise how much of a rip-off Vodafone was. Every ‘good’
deal was attached to a core plan which had you paying a set fee of
no less than $10 a month with an additional cost associated with
the ‘add on’ deal. I checked their website and found that even if I
only wanted to add on 100 txts for one month at $5.95, my total
bill goes up to $25.95 per month. I recently put $20 on my phone
and already it has run out after only about a week or so. What a
shit deal.