Chastise

An organ is a percussion instrument and this guy was playing it as such. Slamming keys, wading back and forth on his stool head thrown back somewhere between agony and euphoria. The choir swayed with his cues. Back and to the left fathoming utter despair, face front with reality's handclap, bent to the right slightly at the middle ducking glory's benevolent glare. The heat was palpable enough for me to buy that lucifer really was underfoot.

"Stomp him down! Stomp him down! Stomp that sonbitch down! Down! Do YOU HEAR ME?" Immaculate white brogues keeping time with the organist's bobbing pompadour, the tenor's swaying vestments, his own hoarse rhetoric. Crimson faced he fell silent and crouched, surveying the feet of his parishioners. "I, ah, I ah, I ah, I sense that we have a new faces amongst us this fine morning. I, ah, sense, that ah, we have our own prodigal son amongst us this morning! Are you out there brother?" Still crouched he weaved his way down the aisle, pausing at each set of benches to gaze down at the legs of the faithful. "I can feel you brother, you came here today to our merry flock. How are you Mary-Jo? I'd recognize baby blue flats anywhere. Maybe you can tell me where our new brother is? Or maybe you Mr. Paul, sir, looks like you just rushed off from work judging by those steel-toes. Don't worry all the better to kick his rear on back to hell! Am I right? Am I right my beautiful people!" With this, arms outstretched, he rose, the organist kicked back in and the crown began to wobble.

"Am I right my beautiful, beautiful people? Have we not gathered here on this, the most beautiful of mornings not only to express our unending gratitude to our Lord and Savior for his most plentiful bounty, but also to let his counterpart downstairs, he champion of the philanders, he promoter of vice-ah, he lord of the sodomites, know that He! IS! NOT! WELCOME! Now, my beautiful people! Now is the time to choose sides! Because when the glorious, GLORIOUS rapture comes, the time for shyness, the time for reservations will have long passed my beautiful brothers and sisters, now is the time to declare your allegiances! Brother declare yourself!" Suddenly his eyes met mine and he headed towards me with a maddened fervor.

"A new face my friends!" hands on my shoulders he repeated, but only loud of enough for me to hear, "A new face, my friend". I backed up into the young girl seated next to me with her family. "Erah sorry," I stammered.

"No need to be sorry my brother! Take a look at those Sambas she has on! You think little Sadie here doesn't take licking on the soccer field? Brother what is your name? Tell me, us, your name!"

I wondered if I was supposed to yell out "Hallelujah!" or "Reborn!" or "Amen!" like everyone around me. Or maybe this was some sort of homework assignment I had missed since I had missed last week's episode. Like, come up with a famous name for yourself from the Bible and explain your origin.

Again with the hands on the shoulders, "I'da  assumed you mute but I just heard with my own ears you testifying to young Sadie! Tell us friend, your name is all."

"Edward," I lied. "Ed," I lied. "Eddy," I lied, but put a vowel on the end. "Eddy is my name."

"No it isn't," he said only loud enough for me and perhaps young Sadie to hear. "No, it isn't," and suddenly "Brother Eddy! Welcome Brother Eddy!" He slung his way around so that he was standing next to me, arm over my shoulder, pulling me into aisle, presenting me."Brother Eddy" he said as the organ churned and discreetly he shoved me back into the aisle.

Spinning on a heel he charged back towards the pulpit and as the heads of the faithful gradually followed him I doubletimed it the few feet towards the back door. Hitting it with the full force of half my body, I was surprised by just how little the full force of half my body resonated with an old church door.

Blinded by the  mid morning light I fumbled for a cigarette and considered the parking lot. Long and black, fascinating. The agnostic summer sun baking my loafers into the tar. At the far end of lot lay a gymnasium, or a rectory, or a sweat shop or something. I watched the heat waves distort the building and felt nauseas as I tried to figure out where I was or where I could pick up a bus or where I would take said bus to. Hands shaking I dropped the cigarette and as I bent down to pick it up I realized that I should not have bent down to pick it up. I coughed and tried to choke the previous evening's activities back down my throat. Successful, I leaned back against some marble statue of whichever beatnick holding an object dramatically, chest high and slightly thrust forward. I fished around in my pocket for my phone and practiced holding it in that fashion. Useless, I concluded and put my arms down. Then again considering there was no sewage system back then, you know, Before C, maybe one would hold important items chest high to avoid having them covered in horseshit. In fact, maybe this is where the very term horseshit came from. Lazy fibbers would carry around like, fliers reading  "Barabbas was framed!" To which other commoners would respond, "Horseshit!"Because, you know, the sign would be covered in such.

Two older gentlemen clad in suits that probably fit nicely when their owners were four inches taller suddenly flung the doors open behind me. Frightened that Father Uncomfortable Shoe Fixation had sent his geriatric goons after me for cutting out before the final song extolling Moses' kindliness, I skipped down two steps and turned, crouched, shrinking myself-basics of self defense. Before I could make for the rape whistle/mace combo keychain which I don't own/know exists a flood,-strong wording- darn steady stream of people came through the doors. I dialed down my Balboa realizing that church time was over, and I, standing in front of the steeple, was gazing upon all of the people.  They passed the tough guys with the doors and the calcium deficiencies, shook hands with the preacher and pretty much walked right into me standing below. I even managed to press the flesh with a few of the, albeit confused, god fearing myself, undoubtedly planting seeds that would bloom into a few successful business relationships. A few successful business relationships of faith, that is. Come spring of course. 

Once everyone had passed through our line Preach approached me. "What are you doing?" I mumbled something about the importance of filling out Sudoku puzzles, at least initially, in pencil before he cut me off, and in a congenial tone gently said "Hang around fifteen minutes- there's a place for you here."  As close as he was to me I noticed his breath was quite inoffensive. As I considered this he abruptly returned to the church flanked by his two baby boomers.

I didn't want to wait around for fifteen minutes. Although I did appreciate the fact that he had phrased it "hang around" letting me know that we were around the same age bracket and therefore peers and therefore could be a little informal with our language. Me and Preach, kickin' it, lettin' it all hang out, just two guys on one of those laaazy Summer Sunday afternoons. That notion was replaced by my recollection that many churches have cemeteries somewhere on the grounds and that maybe "Hang around for fifteen minutes" meant, like, hang around for fifteen minutes, from a tree, until I suffocated. Once again frightened, I recounted the change in my pocket, which consisted of a nickel, a green lifesaver and some chapstick which was not mine. Then I curled into a fetal position and fell asleep, oddly, without incident.

"You can't sleep on concrete." I begged to differ as I squinted up at the voice while unfetaling myself. It was Preach now wearing a hip black ringer tee, denims,  although his shoes still sucked. "I could have had you picked up loitering, come on now." He already had his back to me and was walking away as I was wiping the gravel/drool mix that had accumulated on the left side of my face. A baptism of sorts, only not at all. I was damn tired of this dude saying cryptic things and strolling on away so I got up onto my haunches and made myself known.

"Hey!"

"Yes sir?" stride paused, back still to me, dry ice.

I had nothing specific in mind to say. Scrambling, "Where are we going?"

"In here." He gestured towards a building adjacent to the church.

"Good." I said for no other reason than to put myself in control of the situation. In essence, I had just now approved the plan of going into the building adjacent to the church. With this approval the plan was now good; before, not so much. The universe once again aligned I followed him with a certain self assured pep in my steps.

We walked down a musty corridor until we arrived at lit up room at which point he opened the door and ushered me in. Of course. An industrial sized coffee urn sitting atop a collapsible table. Dull grey folding chairs arranged in a semicircle. Thick burnt orange carpeting. Styrofoam cups; in the trashcan, on the table in wrapped stacks, abandoned, forgotten amongst aging books about dinosaurs. People milling around. Grizzled looking gentlemen with dirty fingernails and baseball caps covering mops of greasy graying hair. Cardiac problems in cheap shirt tie sets from Sears clutching cell phones or tapping earpieces saying things like "Well, if that can be resolved we should move forward!" probably to a nonexistent party on the other end. What at one point may have been pretty ladies in short skirts exposing lots of thin leg compensating for hair and faces fried by cigarette smoke and shame.

Father Gerald, as he was greeted by many of the faithfully flawed,worked the room before finally sitting me down in a chair and setting me up with a cup of coffee that I did not ask for that tasted like regret in lukewarm water. Then he left. Always leaving, this Gerry. Group then began, at last. I wasn't sure who was in charge here; I never am in these situations. I want the man in charge to be wearing a monocle and checking an engraved gold pocket watch- not some cat with the shakes who keeps asking if anyone smokes menthols. The group began to share, which was unfortunate seeing as how I really wanted nothing of what they were so willing sharing.

When it was my turn for story time I told Skye, Lee,  Just call me P., Name Obscured By Frequent Outbursts Of Sobbing, and all the others, about how I used to work on "a rig" and how I had slipped, whoops, and hurt my back and how that "damned drink" (I put the accent on the end of damned and shook my fist here) had taken over my life. Then, confusing my stories, I started to breakdown rambling about all "the victims". Attentive as they are since these stories are all they have to replace running down kiddies on Halloween and beating up on spouses, the group picked up on my misstep immediately. Then it was all "What victims?" "What happened on the 'rig' 'Eddy?'" Coolly I looked each of the assembled dead in the pupil and said two words; "Nine. Eleven." Then I covered my face with my hands and began to weep as I stood up, kicked over my chair and left the room.

Back in the corridor with no particular place to go, I noticed a room that hadn't been lit up before. I crept back towards the room I had just left to ensure that no do-gooder was going to come and try to save me from myself, or whatever protocol calls for when fully grown people run out of a classroom in tears. Amongst the stunned din of the room I heard someone declare that I "Obviously needed some time". I did indeed need time. Time to steal a pretty lamp or something else equally pawn worthy from this new found room of opportunities. Knowing that someone may still very well step into the hall I understood that I had to look casual, had to "act as if" as they say. Act as if I had reason to enter the room next to the room where they hold the chemical dependency despondents meetings in the building adjacent to whatever church I woke up in mid mass amid a lot of talk of stomping and a lot of actual stomping, as well. I accomplished all this by sticking my hands in my pockets, thumbs sticking out, my upper back slightly slumped back and my torso jutting out just so- all in an effort to indicate that I indeed am a rambling sort of man who enters strange rooms as he pleases. And on whims. Impulsively, on whims, and as I please- not necessarily in that order, extra ice if I could trouble you, sugar.

I reached the doorknob and in one swift motion turned it, abandoned my rambling aesthetic, and entered. A pair of shoes was on the floor in front of me. Frozen, I tried to figure out an exit strategy but all I could come up with were various profanities. From the doorway I could hear fumbling from the interior of the room. I couldn't just leave. Rambling, my brain told me. Casual, my brain told me. Whims, as I please.  Forcing a distorted impression of confidence I walked right on in.

There are some things you just do not see. Some things you never even imagine seeing. Just because you don't ever have that particular combination of firing synapses which would lead you to a particular image. For instance, a man of the cloth sans cloth. Brother Gerald stood staring at me incredulous, shirtless. Behind him, cowering under a blanket on a couch was what I could only assume was a blonde haired prodigal daughter from group in for some private counseling. "Ah, yeah?  Alright man, alright," was all I could manage while backing away from him, out of the room, into permanently scarred retinas. My foot struck something  and smoothly I fell to the floor. I tensed up my eyes and released them while turning my head somehow willing myself to be out of this room already. As I opened my eyes I came face to face with what I had tripped on. The pair of tennis shoes. Black, three striped tennis shoes. Black, three striped, Adidas Sambas, tennis shoes. I had nothing. I saw nothing.  All I could hear was air rushing into my ears. I was at once out of breath and utterly vitalized. My chest burned as I rose. The air, the deafness was overwhelming. I brushed past Brother Gerald and to the couch. I ripped the blanket off of the girl. The girl. The girl. The girl. Her eyes welled as I dropped the blanket back to her, not out of charity, but because I physically could not bear even its meager weight anymore. I found the lamp I wanted. I looked at the preacher. Grabbing the lamp, I ripped it cords and all from the wall. "I'm leaving with this and you are not going to say a thing. Yes?" He said nothing, made no expression as I brushed passed him towards the door.  I turned back to face him once more and there was nothing else
        Later on images came back. Above the bruises on my wrists from the handcuffs were more bruises on the palm of my hand from the cord. I had accidently shattered the index finger on my left hand one of the few times I missed. I can't be sure. What returns to me, what wakes me every night, what I see during the blur of appeal and probation hearings I never have once asked for, are the girl's bare feet dangling above the rapidly pooling blood. Staring at Sadie's bare feet as she screamed , "What did you do? I loved him!" over and over and over again.
"No more horror flicks, no more horror flicks
No more the moon shine, the moon shines, sorry Prince
More kicks than wrecks
More effects than bass
No more horror flicks, no more horror flicks"

Hot Chip



"Love is the only Salvation, understand me. Jesus is Waiting…Help Me."



                                                          Al Green