Church Ball
Last night Chris and I had lifted his dad’s keys to the church. Mikey helped us make our very own; no one else would do it because the key said, “DO NOT COPY.” It didn’t matter; now we could get in and out as we pleased.
The light from the stage shined onto the basketball court where we stood. It felt better to do this in the dark. Tables with shining white cloths were huddled in the corner of the room; someone was getting married tomorrow. Today they were just in the way.
The basketball court was alive with the sound of shuffling feet. Chris and I picked the teams, five on five. Shirts and skins; we stripped in preparation; our bodies all shiny and new. Then we played.
Our games aren’t like the ones on TV, this is Mormon church ball. The same game might be played in prison, if there weren’t so many guards.
Call your own fouls.
Elbows were expected, pushing of, reaching in, and rough handled shots are normal. The only taboo is traveling.
Only pussies call fouls that didn’t draw blood.
My pale skin glistened with hard won sweat. All ten of us sparkled under the stage lights like Stephanie Meyer’s vampires. The court feels like a sauna before long, all of our sweat makes the room feel humid; like the minutes before a storm.
There was a hustle and flow to the movement of the ball. Squeaking sneakers and the dribbling ball make a music that echoes through the hall. Our grunting and calls sound out in tribal rhythm. The ball flies through the air amongst elbows and knees on its planned trajectory. The ball hits the rim with more of a feeling than a sound.
And I jump.
So does Chris. He throws his elbow toward me and catches my nose with a pop and a sound like grating sand. Bright red blood sprays with my breath. I drop to the pine and the game moves on.
“What the heck man?” I said, jumping to push the offender.
“That was clean!”
“Clean? My ass!”
“You’re too much of a pussy to play the game then you should just go home.” Chris pushed me with all his might.
“ I’m not a pussy, I can kick your ass.”
“Bring it on cock muncher”
We dance like in middle school, too far to touch, but still too close for comfort. The room is filled with rancorous shouting like speaking in tongues.
“Fight, Fight, Fight, Fight, Fight!”
Chris’s hand flies to my face and my body freezes. I watch in slo-mo as my nose flattens again. Tears and blood flood the floor as I hunch over, gasping in pain from the reopened wound. Chris finds my chin with an uppercut that sprays blood all over his hands and bare chest. The shiny white table cloths are sprinkled with blood like spray-paint. I drop to the ground and the room buzzes. Chris stands victorious; proud like a statue. I feel hands pull me up from the ground and start to drag me off the court.
The light flickers and sparkles as I gasp for breath; starved for oxygen.
I pick myself up, sprint at Chris and drive him to the ground like a football player. Deep hard packing sounds fill the room as his face turns into hamburger. My hands are like hammers, each stoke driving in his nose like a nail. His gasps turn to gurgles; and then, silence. The shouting has stopped. The room sounds like death.
So does Chris.
Lamoni runs and grabs his phone. The ambulance is on its way.
Paul and Alma drag Chris outside; leaving a trail like bread crumbs dripping. Chris’s blue eyes stare at me out of broken sockets as he’s dropped out of doors. Alma pins a note to his chest because even dental records couldn’t identify him now. The court is stained red to match the once pure tablecloths. The lights from the stage still sparkle and shine as we all make off like thieves. I run until my legs feel like rubber, and my heart pumps battery acid. The siren of the ambulance sings from the church parking lot and I know it won’t be long until different sirens sing for me.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
This is my latest story I think its damn good. In a couple of drafts i'm gonna send it off for publication
Ayúdeme
Oliver sat quietly in the corner sanitizing his pens, one by one, until they sparkled. Then he started over. Next were the notebooks, he lined them up with laser precision, exactly to the edge of his desk. He laid down his pens; black, blue, red. There was purpose for everything on his perfectly ordered desk, from the pencil sharpener to the hand sanitizer. Everything had its place. Such perfection took time; Oliver arrived twenty minutes early for class every day. This gave him just enough time to wipe down his seat and all seats that touched it, or may touch it. The sterile smell of sanitizer followed Oliver in a cloud; like Pigpen in reverse. It was his bubble of safety. His cloud was pure, undefiled, clean.
It always made Oliver nervous when the other students came to class, they might not be clean. Oliver shuddered at the thought. Oliver squirmed silently as the other students filed in. Oliver stared intently at his desk; his pens had become disordered. A backpack bumped his desk and his note books left their perfect place and spread ever so slightly towards the center. Oliver’s heart raced as he tried to keep order. He re-ordered the pens, re aligned the notebooks, all with careful precision. Then the unthinkable happened.
“Hey, dude, you got a pen I can borrow?”
Oliver stared straight ahead and acted as if he had not heard. His heart pounded out a furious tribal beat. His face looked like a fresh tomato; beads of sweat glistened as they rolled down his cheeks.
“Hey, buddy, d’you have an extra pen?”
The student reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. Oliver shuddered under the weight of his finger. Now he’d have to wash his jacket. Oliver stayed solid like a statue; his eyes riveted to the whiteboard. His face contorted into a mask of fear and concentration. Please ask someone else, please ask someone else he thought as intensely as he could. He made no move to respond. The student, frustrated, turned to another more cooperative neighbor. Oliver deflated in relief.
Oliver remained tense throughout the remainder of the class. He felt every eye in the room searching him. They wondered why he would not share his pens; he knew it. The eyes added weight onto his shoulders. His breath quickened and became shallower. His pulse raced. He had to leave, there were too many eyes on him. Quickly ,but deliberately, Oliver packed up his things. Everything had to be ordered properly. Before most in the class noticed, Oliver was out the door and down the hall; his eyes already shrink-wrapped in tears. Oliver rushed out the building almost out-running his cloud of sanitizer.
When he entered his turn of the century brownstone building, Oliver could finally begin to relax. He had raced back to his apartment on foot all of the way from NYU where he was a student. He calmly put his gloves on and then pressed the elevator call button three times. The gentle hum of the elevator in motion calmed him down. Oliver felt better now that he was back in his element, now that he was home. The elevator doors opened in front of him and he waited the three seconds called for in his normal ritual and then he entered the car. He casually pressed the button to his floor, the seventh floor (he’d specifically requested that floor, it had taken him six months to find an apartment on the east side of a building on the seventh floor in a neighborhood cheap enough for him to live in). When he reached his floor he waited the prescribed three seconds and then exited the car. He took exactly twenty-one steps to his door touched it three times and the entered. He took his sanitary gloves off, they were now very soiled. He put them promptly in the wastebasket. Oliver’s whole body sighed relief as he collapsed onto his plastic coated sofa.
Fffffpppppfffff the air slowly released out of the sofa as Oliver sunk into it. Oliver sat for just a moment before his mind began racing through the events that had run him out of his class room.
Oliver recounted his escape and made sure that he had not made a mistake. He was afraid to go back, What will they think of me? They’ll think I’m a freak, running out of class… I am a freak. Tears welled up in his eyes as he recounted his steps and his touches. Oliver didn’t really want to count out his steps and touches; but he was afraid of what might happen if he didn’t. His momma had raised him to be careful. Sometimes that was all he thought he was being, not crazy. His momma had taught him to touch the door three times before entering a room in memory of the Holy Trinity. But he saw how people looked at him when he did it.
Oliver often worried about what others thought of him. He was afraid that he might be seen as a freak and ridiculed. He worried constantly about being caught. That’s why he did all of his cleaning and all of his touching door knobs and avoiding cracks, in secret. That’s why his classes were always three hours apart, that’s why he always walked home alone. Oliver had tried to get help before. But the shrink had done nothing for him but give his neuroses labels. Obsessive compulsive this, paranoid delusional that. Oliver quit after a month.
He had no money for that. He lived off of the insurance money his mother had left him when she died. Oliver lived his life wholly alone ever since. He still thought about her every day, she had understood. She had loved him even with his faults. He felt his loneliness but he told himself that no one could ever understand why he was the way he was. Oliver looked up from his couch and realized that he had to get going.
It was a Wednesday, and he realized that if he didn’t ride the subway he would never get to his church in time to wipe down his pew unnoticed. His church was across town, it was too far to walk, usually he went there strait from campus, but he had rushed home already. It was nearly twice as far from his apartment as it was from the school. The subway was his only option.
He walked to the terminal, Five hundred and sixty seven steps. His train arrived five minutes late, the tardiness made Oliver shudder. Could he really trust a train that did not run on time. As the doors opened to the train he stood and started counting, One one-thousand, two one-thousand, Three one-thous— the doors slid shut and the train began to glide away. Oliver watched as the train picked up speed out of the terminal. Just as well, he thought, maybe the next train will show up on time. But deep down inside Oliver felt his failure, he was too afraid to board a train because he needed three full seconds to cross the threshold.
His head hung and his shoulders drooped as he waited for the next train to come. He repeated the events of the first failure over again and again in his mind as he waited. With each repetition the words became faster and more slurred. They became a mantra of his failure, a calming buzz, like white noise, only the approaching train broke his trance. His feet hadn’t moved since the last train, even though four other trains had come by. The train approached and he quickly pressed the button three times the door slid open and his count began.
Passengers filed past him both on and off of the train. Some grumbled as they passed, hurling curses and insults, but until the three seconds were up, Oliver stood like a statue. But he heard everything.
When his three seconds were up, Oliver slip through the doors just as they closed, almost catching the tails of his trench-coat, it had been a close call. He quickly scanned the car he had chosen, it was disgusting. There were wrappers strewn across the floor, gum plastered the bottoms and tops of the chairs and the hand rails. Oliver’s pulse began to quicken. His palms began to sweat, this would not do.
He stood frozen in place; he couldn’t even finish his seven steps into the train. Some of the florescent lights were out and others were flickering imminent death. The train looked like something out of a horror movie. Just then the train lurched forward sending Oliver into a fresh wad of gum. His jacket stuck to the seat as he tried to stand. Waves of horror crashed through his body. His person had been violated by some unknown monster. He did know where that gum had come from. All sorts of nasty little bugs came in saliva. He really didn’t know which ones, but he was afraid of them all. He bolted from the seat, his jacket tugging him back by elastic strands, like a bungee cord of disease.
He stood, too horrified to move, until the next stop. This one would have to do. As the doors slid open he counted to three, maybe a little faster than usual, but this was no time for caution. Oliver counted the steps as he ran to the nearest trash can. He put on his surgical gloves and quickly disposed of his trench coat. The jacket was a lost cause; Oliver knew he could never fully sanitize it.
Only then did Oliver realize that he’d gotten off a few stops early and he would have to wait for the next train for another twenty five minutes. All of these delays would get him to the chapel right on-time for the service. He would have no time to wipe down the pew. He couldn’t do it without people noticing. But he couldn’t miss the service all together; he knew that, his momma had raised him to believe that all sorts of bad things happened to people who skipped church.
His momma had taught him that people who play hooky go to hell; with boys who don’t wash their hands before dinner and don’t clean behind their ears. Oliver’s momma had taught him all sorts of things about hell that the priest never said. She had used it as a catch-all. Everything that Oliver did that was bad, or that she didn’t like was a one way ticket to hell. And for Oliver’s part he never questioned his momma. Oliver thought about all of his mother’s counsel about hell as he waited for the next train.
Oliver waited the twenty five minutes and counted out his entrance to the train. Beads of sweat glistened in the florescent light of the train. His hands shook lightly as he waited for the train to lurch forward. His skinny legs spread-wide to brace himself against the sudden motion. As Oliver rode the train his sweat began to run down his forehead. He had to dab at it to keep it out of his eyes.
Rings of fear slowly grew out of his armpits as he inched closer and closer to the church. When the train glided to a halt he counted out his exit and began to number his stepsto church. At step Five-hundred and seven Oliver saw a man crumpled in a heap. The man was shabbily dressed and he reeked of the gutter. A sign that laid next to him said honeles pleise halp. As Oliver approached the man the homeless man called out to the nearly deserted sidewalk.
“!Ayudeme!”
Oliver paused in his count and looked at the man. The sidewalk was stained underneath him. His blood was creeping into and filling all of the cracks in the pavement. The injured man’s labored breathing filled the night air, one gasp at a time. He was dying. With each gasp fresh blood bubbled out of his mouth. The man had a pierced lung. Oliver knew that without a hospital this man was not long for this world. Oliver paused, but didn’t know what to do. He reached for his coat pocket to find his phone and fresh gloves, but none were to be found. His coat was in the train station garbage at least two miles back. Oliver had no time to go back and get them.
The man’s eyes pleaded with Oliver for help.
“Ayudeme…”
Even though Oliver didn’t understand the man’s words he knew that he was begging for his help. He knew if he missed church he’d go to hell. That much he was sure of. And if he didn’t get there as fast as possible he wouldn’t be able to wipe down his pew. If he was dirty he’d go to hell, and people would see him cleaning. People always stared when he cleaned. He couldn’t bear the weight of all those eyes.
Surely someone else would come along and help this man; someone who had a phone or time or who could help him. Someone else would surely do what he could not. He simply had no time. Oliver looked down at the man one more time, second guessing what he knew he must do.
* * *
The door to Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Catholic Church felt heavier today. Oliver’s narrow shoulders slumped in defeat as the priest greeted him. The priest was about to say something to comfort him but Oliver didn’t pause. He was one of the few people who attended the Wednesday night masses. Oliver crossed himself three times as he found a seat in the third pew from the back. He pulled out his box of anti-bacterial wipes and wiped down the seat, but his efforts were half-hearted at best. His mind kept replaying the homeless man’s eyes, his hard breathing and raspy plea for help. Oliver couldn’t focus on the service. He sang very little and didn’t stand at all. All he heard was the man’s plea. “Ayudeme…ayudeme…” the words burned in Oliver’s brain. He didn’t snap out of his trance until he heard the beginning of the Priest’s sermon. “Today,” the priest said, “we are going to read out of the gospel of St. Luke. Chapter ten verses 25-37. A pharisee tested Our Savior by asking who was his neighbor. In response the savior said this, ‘A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead. A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn and cared for him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, 'Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back. Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers' victim?’ He answered, ‘The one who treated him with mercy.’ Our savior told him to go and do likewise. So should we all.
How many times have each of us looked past the suffering of others in search of our own comfort?”
Oliver’s eyes stung with tears and his stomach sank to the floor. He thought he was going to be sick. The priest knows what I did. I let that man die. It’s all my fault. God is going to punish me. Tears began to stream down Oliver’s face and he didn’t think to dab them. They fell freely to the floor.
“I’ll tell you this,” the priest continued, “no one who looks past the suffering of another is acceptable in the sight of God. Such a man has great cause to repent.” The Priest preached with an unusual fervor.
“Each of you need’s to think about who you know whose needs you have over looked. Who could you help today, who can you bring the light of Christ to?—”
He might still be alive. I could still save him. I might not have to go to hell. Oliver sprang out of his pew and sprinted out the door, he didn’t bother to count his steps. He ran all the way back to where he’d seen the man.
But where the man had been there was only a chalk outline on a stain of dried red. The man had died. Oliver’s knees buckled. His whole frame shook as tears streamed freely down his face until his chest was soaked and his eyes ran dry. His fate was certain. He knew there was no way to escape hell now. There was no point any more. This man had died, and he had allowed it. Oliver’s thin frame slumped over the chalk outline. The cry of the dying man echoed in his head.
“Ayudeme…”
He had said no. I let him die. I killed him. I could have done so many things, but I didn’t. It’s all my fault all my damn insecurities. I could wash off germs but I can’t wash this off.
Oliver sat there for what felt like hours. He couldn’t escape his realization; this man’s death was his fault. He replayed a thousand alternatives in his head. If only he’d caught the first bus, if only he hadn’t fallen in the gum… but all roads led back to the same one. It was his fault and if he wasn’t so afraid of germs, and disease, the man wouldn’t be dead now. If only I weren’t such a coward, that man would still be alive. If only I could be a man…
All at once Oliver raised his slender frame from the ground. And he began to walk home. His eyes still burned red from tears. He tried not to count his steps home, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t try to ride the subway, he didn’t even consider it. When he reached the door to his apartment; He touched the door once, twice… he fought the urge, but he couldn’t resist and he touched it a third time. He ran up the stairs to his apartment at full speed, counting the steps to his room; his eyes burned from a fresh set of tears. I’m so weak he told himself. He quickly touched the doorknob, one two three before bursting through his door. Oliver collapsed on his floor shivering and shaking. Self loathing poured through his eyes onto the floor. He knew that he could never get past his habits. He knew then that he couldn’t live like this anymore.
“Ayudeme…” The man’s eyes burned into his soul from his memory. He ached in his helplessness.
Oliver crawled to the cabinet to his medicine cabinet.
“Ayudeme” The plea sounded more like an accusation. His eyes swam in his shame. He quickened his crawl to the medicine cabinet. He opened a bottle of Tylenol and tried to silence the voice. He downed the whole bottle. He wanted to stop the pain. This would be a neat death, a calm death. He didn’t want to leave a mess.
“Ayudeme”As the world swirled around him and his chest began to burn, he saw the man’s eyes accusing him…
“Ayudeme.”
Oliver sat quietly in the corner sanitizing his pens, one by one, until they sparkled. Then he started over. Next were the notebooks, he lined them up with laser precision, exactly to the edge of his desk. He laid down his pens; black, blue, red. There was purpose for everything on his perfectly ordered desk, from the pencil sharpener to the hand sanitizer. Everything had its place. Such perfection took time; Oliver arrived twenty minutes early for class every day. This gave him just enough time to wipe down his seat and all seats that touched it, or may touch it. The sterile smell of sanitizer followed Oliver in a cloud; like Pigpen in reverse. It was his bubble of safety. His cloud was pure, undefiled, clean.
It always made Oliver nervous when the other students came to class, they might not be clean. Oliver shuddered at the thought. Oliver squirmed silently as the other students filed in. Oliver stared intently at his desk; his pens had become disordered. A backpack bumped his desk and his note books left their perfect place and spread ever so slightly towards the center. Oliver’s heart raced as he tried to keep order. He re-ordered the pens, re aligned the notebooks, all with careful precision. Then the unthinkable happened.
“Hey, dude, you got a pen I can borrow?”
Oliver stared straight ahead and acted as if he had not heard. His heart pounded out a furious tribal beat. His face looked like a fresh tomato; beads of sweat glistened as they rolled down his cheeks.
“Hey, buddy, d’you have an extra pen?”
The student reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. Oliver shuddered under the weight of his finger. Now he’d have to wash his jacket. Oliver stayed solid like a statue; his eyes riveted to the whiteboard. His face contorted into a mask of fear and concentration. Please ask someone else, please ask someone else he thought as intensely as he could. He made no move to respond. The student, frustrated, turned to another more cooperative neighbor. Oliver deflated in relief.
Oliver remained tense throughout the remainder of the class. He felt every eye in the room searching him. They wondered why he would not share his pens; he knew it. The eyes added weight onto his shoulders. His breath quickened and became shallower. His pulse raced. He had to leave, there were too many eyes on him. Quickly ,but deliberately, Oliver packed up his things. Everything had to be ordered properly. Before most in the class noticed, Oliver was out the door and down the hall; his eyes already shrink-wrapped in tears. Oliver rushed out the building almost out-running his cloud of sanitizer.
When he entered his turn of the century brownstone building, Oliver could finally begin to relax. He had raced back to his apartment on foot all of the way from NYU where he was a student. He calmly put his gloves on and then pressed the elevator call button three times. The gentle hum of the elevator in motion calmed him down. Oliver felt better now that he was back in his element, now that he was home. The elevator doors opened in front of him and he waited the three seconds called for in his normal ritual and then he entered the car. He casually pressed the button to his floor, the seventh floor (he’d specifically requested that floor, it had taken him six months to find an apartment on the east side of a building on the seventh floor in a neighborhood cheap enough for him to live in). When he reached his floor he waited the prescribed three seconds and then exited the car. He took exactly twenty-one steps to his door touched it three times and the entered. He took his sanitary gloves off, they were now very soiled. He put them promptly in the wastebasket. Oliver’s whole body sighed relief as he collapsed onto his plastic coated sofa.
Fffffpppppfffff the air slowly released out of the sofa as Oliver sunk into it. Oliver sat for just a moment before his mind began racing through the events that had run him out of his class room.
Oliver recounted his escape and made sure that he had not made a mistake. He was afraid to go back, What will they think of me? They’ll think I’m a freak, running out of class… I am a freak. Tears welled up in his eyes as he recounted his steps and his touches. Oliver didn’t really want to count out his steps and touches; but he was afraid of what might happen if he didn’t. His momma had raised him to be careful. Sometimes that was all he thought he was being, not crazy. His momma had taught him to touch the door three times before entering a room in memory of the Holy Trinity. But he saw how people looked at him when he did it.
Oliver often worried about what others thought of him. He was afraid that he might be seen as a freak and ridiculed. He worried constantly about being caught. That’s why he did all of his cleaning and all of his touching door knobs and avoiding cracks, in secret. That’s why his classes were always three hours apart, that’s why he always walked home alone. Oliver had tried to get help before. But the shrink had done nothing for him but give his neuroses labels. Obsessive compulsive this, paranoid delusional that. Oliver quit after a month.
He had no money for that. He lived off of the insurance money his mother had left him when she died. Oliver lived his life wholly alone ever since. He still thought about her every day, she had understood. She had loved him even with his faults. He felt his loneliness but he told himself that no one could ever understand why he was the way he was. Oliver looked up from his couch and realized that he had to get going.
It was a Wednesday, and he realized that if he didn’t ride the subway he would never get to his church in time to wipe down his pew unnoticed. His church was across town, it was too far to walk, usually he went there strait from campus, but he had rushed home already. It was nearly twice as far from his apartment as it was from the school. The subway was his only option.
He walked to the terminal, Five hundred and sixty seven steps. His train arrived five minutes late, the tardiness made Oliver shudder. Could he really trust a train that did not run on time. As the doors opened to the train he stood and started counting, One one-thousand, two one-thousand, Three one-thous— the doors slid shut and the train began to glide away. Oliver watched as the train picked up speed out of the terminal. Just as well, he thought, maybe the next train will show up on time. But deep down inside Oliver felt his failure, he was too afraid to board a train because he needed three full seconds to cross the threshold.
His head hung and his shoulders drooped as he waited for the next train to come. He repeated the events of the first failure over again and again in his mind as he waited. With each repetition the words became faster and more slurred. They became a mantra of his failure, a calming buzz, like white noise, only the approaching train broke his trance. His feet hadn’t moved since the last train, even though four other trains had come by. The train approached and he quickly pressed the button three times the door slid open and his count began.
Passengers filed past him both on and off of the train. Some grumbled as they passed, hurling curses and insults, but until the three seconds were up, Oliver stood like a statue. But he heard everything.
When his three seconds were up, Oliver slip through the doors just as they closed, almost catching the tails of his trench-coat, it had been a close call. He quickly scanned the car he had chosen, it was disgusting. There were wrappers strewn across the floor, gum plastered the bottoms and tops of the chairs and the hand rails. Oliver’s pulse began to quicken. His palms began to sweat, this would not do.
He stood frozen in place; he couldn’t even finish his seven steps into the train. Some of the florescent lights were out and others were flickering imminent death. The train looked like something out of a horror movie. Just then the train lurched forward sending Oliver into a fresh wad of gum. His jacket stuck to the seat as he tried to stand. Waves of horror crashed through his body. His person had been violated by some unknown monster. He did know where that gum had come from. All sorts of nasty little bugs came in saliva. He really didn’t know which ones, but he was afraid of them all. He bolted from the seat, his jacket tugging him back by elastic strands, like a bungee cord of disease.
He stood, too horrified to move, until the next stop. This one would have to do. As the doors slid open he counted to three, maybe a little faster than usual, but this was no time for caution. Oliver counted the steps as he ran to the nearest trash can. He put on his surgical gloves and quickly disposed of his trench coat. The jacket was a lost cause; Oliver knew he could never fully sanitize it.
Only then did Oliver realize that he’d gotten off a few stops early and he would have to wait for the next train for another twenty five minutes. All of these delays would get him to the chapel right on-time for the service. He would have no time to wipe down the pew. He couldn’t do it without people noticing. But he couldn’t miss the service all together; he knew that, his momma had raised him to believe that all sorts of bad things happened to people who skipped church.
His momma had taught him that people who play hooky go to hell; with boys who don’t wash their hands before dinner and don’t clean behind their ears. Oliver’s momma had taught him all sorts of things about hell that the priest never said. She had used it as a catch-all. Everything that Oliver did that was bad, or that she didn’t like was a one way ticket to hell. And for Oliver’s part he never questioned his momma. Oliver thought about all of his mother’s counsel about hell as he waited for the next train.
Oliver waited the twenty five minutes and counted out his entrance to the train. Beads of sweat glistened in the florescent light of the train. His hands shook lightly as he waited for the train to lurch forward. His skinny legs spread-wide to brace himself against the sudden motion. As Oliver rode the train his sweat began to run down his forehead. He had to dab at it to keep it out of his eyes.
Rings of fear slowly grew out of his armpits as he inched closer and closer to the church. When the train glided to a halt he counted out his exit and began to number his stepsto church. At step Five-hundred and seven Oliver saw a man crumpled in a heap. The man was shabbily dressed and he reeked of the gutter. A sign that laid next to him said honeles pleise halp. As Oliver approached the man the homeless man called out to the nearly deserted sidewalk.
“!Ayudeme!”
Oliver paused in his count and looked at the man. The sidewalk was stained underneath him. His blood was creeping into and filling all of the cracks in the pavement. The injured man’s labored breathing filled the night air, one gasp at a time. He was dying. With each gasp fresh blood bubbled out of his mouth. The man had a pierced lung. Oliver knew that without a hospital this man was not long for this world. Oliver paused, but didn’t know what to do. He reached for his coat pocket to find his phone and fresh gloves, but none were to be found. His coat was in the train station garbage at least two miles back. Oliver had no time to go back and get them.
The man’s eyes pleaded with Oliver for help.
“Ayudeme…”
Even though Oliver didn’t understand the man’s words he knew that he was begging for his help. He knew if he missed church he’d go to hell. That much he was sure of. And if he didn’t get there as fast as possible he wouldn’t be able to wipe down his pew. If he was dirty he’d go to hell, and people would see him cleaning. People always stared when he cleaned. He couldn’t bear the weight of all those eyes.
Surely someone else would come along and help this man; someone who had a phone or time or who could help him. Someone else would surely do what he could not. He simply had no time. Oliver looked down at the man one more time, second guessing what he knew he must do.
* * *
The door to Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Catholic Church felt heavier today. Oliver’s narrow shoulders slumped in defeat as the priest greeted him. The priest was about to say something to comfort him but Oliver didn’t pause. He was one of the few people who attended the Wednesday night masses. Oliver crossed himself three times as he found a seat in the third pew from the back. He pulled out his box of anti-bacterial wipes and wiped down the seat, but his efforts were half-hearted at best. His mind kept replaying the homeless man’s eyes, his hard breathing and raspy plea for help. Oliver couldn’t focus on the service. He sang very little and didn’t stand at all. All he heard was the man’s plea. “Ayudeme…ayudeme…” the words burned in Oliver’s brain. He didn’t snap out of his trance until he heard the beginning of the Priest’s sermon. “Today,” the priest said, “we are going to read out of the gospel of St. Luke. Chapter ten verses 25-37. A pharisee tested Our Savior by asking who was his neighbor. In response the savior said this, ‘A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead. A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn and cared for him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, 'Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back. Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers' victim?’ He answered, ‘The one who treated him with mercy.’ Our savior told him to go and do likewise. So should we all.
How many times have each of us looked past the suffering of others in search of our own comfort?”
Oliver’s eyes stung with tears and his stomach sank to the floor. He thought he was going to be sick. The priest knows what I did. I let that man die. It’s all my fault. God is going to punish me. Tears began to stream down Oliver’s face and he didn’t think to dab them. They fell freely to the floor.
“I’ll tell you this,” the priest continued, “no one who looks past the suffering of another is acceptable in the sight of God. Such a man has great cause to repent.” The Priest preached with an unusual fervor.
“Each of you need’s to think about who you know whose needs you have over looked. Who could you help today, who can you bring the light of Christ to?—”
He might still be alive. I could still save him. I might not have to go to hell. Oliver sprang out of his pew and sprinted out the door, he didn’t bother to count his steps. He ran all the way back to where he’d seen the man.
But where the man had been there was only a chalk outline on a stain of dried red. The man had died. Oliver’s knees buckled. His whole frame shook as tears streamed freely down his face until his chest was soaked and his eyes ran dry. His fate was certain. He knew there was no way to escape hell now. There was no point any more. This man had died, and he had allowed it. Oliver’s thin frame slumped over the chalk outline. The cry of the dying man echoed in his head.
“Ayudeme…”
He had said no. I let him die. I killed him. I could have done so many things, but I didn’t. It’s all my fault all my damn insecurities. I could wash off germs but I can’t wash this off.
Oliver sat there for what felt like hours. He couldn’t escape his realization; this man’s death was his fault. He replayed a thousand alternatives in his head. If only he’d caught the first bus, if only he hadn’t fallen in the gum… but all roads led back to the same one. It was his fault and if he wasn’t so afraid of germs, and disease, the man wouldn’t be dead now. If only I weren’t such a coward, that man would still be alive. If only I could be a man…
All at once Oliver raised his slender frame from the ground. And he began to walk home. His eyes still burned red from tears. He tried not to count his steps home, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t try to ride the subway, he didn’t even consider it. When he reached the door to his apartment; He touched the door once, twice… he fought the urge, but he couldn’t resist and he touched it a third time. He ran up the stairs to his apartment at full speed, counting the steps to his room; his eyes burned from a fresh set of tears. I’m so weak he told himself. He quickly touched the doorknob, one two three before bursting through his door. Oliver collapsed on his floor shivering and shaking. Self loathing poured through his eyes onto the floor. He knew that he could never get past his habits. He knew then that he couldn’t live like this anymore.
“Ayudeme…” The man’s eyes burned into his soul from his memory. He ached in his helplessness.
Oliver crawled to the cabinet to his medicine cabinet.
“Ayudeme” The plea sounded more like an accusation. His eyes swam in his shame. He quickened his crawl to the medicine cabinet. He opened a bottle of Tylenol and tried to silence the voice. He downed the whole bottle. He wanted to stop the pain. This would be a neat death, a calm death. He didn’t want to leave a mess.
“Ayudeme”As the world swirled around him and his chest began to burn, he saw the man’s eyes accusing him…
“Ayudeme.”
Thursday, February 4, 2010
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