I Am The Local Atheist (5 page)

I couldn’t
stand it. Why did these girls get to be saved? How come hands on
their heads were an acceptable form of forgiveness for their sins?
Why had the elders’ hands on my head not saved me all that time
ago? Was it because these girls chose to go up of their own free
will? I just couldn’t stand it. None of what I was seeing was
making any sense to me.

I quietly and
unceremoniously left my pew and walked towards the doors,
completely ignoring the man who tried to wish me a good day and
hand me a pamphlet on my way out. I barely heard a word he said
over the volume of the music. It was all just too much for me. Too
much too soon. I didn’t care about being healed. I didn’t want
Jesus in me.

Fuck it
, I thought as I walked down
the steps and onto the courtyard outside.
I want a fight with Satan. I want to take Satan
on
!

Part II

I walked onto
Nelson Street not bothering to rush. I had a bit of time to spare
figuring that had mum attended her church this morning she should
be arriving home soon anyway.

Nelson Street
leads onto Bowmont Street. At the end of Bowmont Street there is an
empty section with overgrown grass ravishing it. I cut through and
followed the path that has been made by many others in their
infinite wisdom, yet for some stupid reason people still follow the
footpath right around. I don’t know why. If there is a shorter path
to where I want to go, I see no reason not to take it, unless the
view is better the long way, but in Invercargill that is few and
far between. For some reason this section appeals to me. Grass is
unkempt and the weeds reach up to my knees, yet the path is well
worn and the overgrowth is no struggle to get through. I also know
that by the time I reach the other side, there is only one road to
cross and Mum’s house is just around the corner.

The path was
slightly muddy and dirt clung to the side of my shoes, but I
trudged on anyway letting the overgrowth slide away from my legs as
droplets of water fell from their place of rest and landed on the
soil beneath. Sunlight had been scarce over the last couple of
days, evaporation even more so. All those lingering droplets had no
chance of ascending into the heavens above, only to fall into the
soil below and be transformed from one simple state of hydrogen and
oxygen into something much more complicated that soaked and
mudified anything it came into contact with. Yet days would pass,
sunshine would eventually appear and heat would fool the earth into
giving up its moisture and return it to the skies above.

As I got to
the edge of the section I looked sideways at the jungle of weeds I
was leaving behind: no one had paid any attention to them,
completely ignored them, not even bothering to tidy them up into
something more respectable. These weeds got to do whatever they
wanted; they got to follow their own will – the will to grow.
Nothing more, nothing less. While droplets of rain transformed into
vapour and mist and received their ascension without even
questioning it.

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.”