The car behind me honks its horn furiously.
Apparently, I have been sitting at this light for quite some time now. I drive on through the light right as it changes from green to yellow. The car that was behind me speeds up to get right alongside my car. The window rolls down, and loud music escapes its threshold. I hear the driver just over the music shout at me, “Where did you learn to drive? Get your bowling ball on wheels out of my way you sad excuse for life!”
Now, that wasn’t nice mister driver. I’ll return the favor by not even making eye contact with you. I’m better than that. You don’t deserve my attention after such a rude comment. So instead, I’ll continue to drive my normal way and carry on with the rest of my day. I’m still going to get to the church in one piece. I’m still going to talk to Jeffers. I have to tell him the strange happenings today, as well as go over the sermon for tomorrow.
And, I’ll excuse the tear that is running down my cheek.
By the time I get to the church, it’s almost lunch time, and my stomach is growling. I pull into one of the staff parking spots; right next to Jeffers’ car. I’m really glad he’s here, that way I don’t have to wait too long. I get out of my car and walk inside. Jeffers has his office separate from the rest of the staff, which I find weird. You know, back when I was a young up and coming preacher, we didn’t have separate offices. We all shared the same room. We all had the same wall dedicated to multiple bookshelves that contained all of our resource material: bibles, dictionaries, concordances, and supplementary materials. Jeffers has the exact opposite. He has one desk where his computer sits. One dwarf sized bookshelf that is no taller than his desk. That bookshelf contains no more than maybe 15 books total. Most of which are leadership books, financial self-help books, and then there’s the few that talk about power and influence.
I knock on the door, and I hear Jeffers announce that I may enter. I walk inside and close the door behind me. Even though he is younger than I am by 30 years, he still treats me like I am beneath him and he speaks to me with such a tone of anger in his voice. So instead of fighting with him or arguing with him, I just close the door and try my best not to slam it shut; not like I could anyway. That door weighs more than I do, or at least it feels like it. His office is like walking into a cave. His desk is a solid oak piece with a polished ebony stain, and on top is a strip of darkened leather that has been fashioned and cut to fit the rectangular surface. The color tone matches all over the room. The walls are of a dark walnut, and the one bookshelf color matches his desk. His chair is of aged burgundy leather, and has cherry maple handles for armrests. On the walls are several motivational framed pictures that seem to uplift, but they make me feel ashamed to look at them. I guess because it doesn’t make sense to have them in a preacher’s office. That may be just me though. The only two items that add a splash of color to Jeffers’ office are the water cooler on the left side, and the faux palm tree on the right-hand side.
“Have a seat.” Jeffers says.
I sit down in the black, plastic, imitation leather chair and it exhales vigorously through a tiny rip in the cushion. Jeffers looks at me intently as I sit down. I thought I was being gentle.
“You look worried, Elverson. Whatever could be the matter this time?” He places his chin on top of his folded hands, bent at the wrist, propped up by his elbows on the table.
I start from the beginning, from when I left my apartment, and end with my embarrassment at the department store. I especially wanted him to know the full extent of what I went through at the restaurant and following at the alteration shop. While I regaled Jeffers with my tales of woe; I watched his face as he closed his eyes several times. He hates it when I stutter, and this time I stuttered the whole way through. It was painful even for me to hear. Somehow, I don’t think that Jeffers actually listened to a single word I said.
“So, what you are basically telling me is that you went throughout your normal day, and just couldn’t handle the ridicule anymore? Is that it?” Jeffers asks me.
“N-n-no.”
“Then what is it then? Did walking past the pseudo frigid apartment make you suddenly crave a new kind of food? Did you think to yourself that since you were suddenly cold that you needed fresh, hot food to warm you up? Are you trying to tell me that you once again gave in to your gluttonous indulgences and you are simply here to whine at me about it because mommy isn’t there for you anymore?” Jeffers is now irritated with me. He really did not have to bring my mother into this. “Is that all you came in here for? You just want to have a pity party?”
“No. I-it wasn’t. I w-w-want to g-g-go over to-to-tomorrow’s ser-ser-sermon.” I say.
Jeffers lets his hands drop on top of his table and slightly shakes his head. With a deep sigh he says to me, “Alright, fine. Let’s hear what you have to say and we will compare notes.”
“I w-w-want to do a four p-p-part session on Psalm 23 p-p-please.” I say. I have noticed lately that the rest of the staff has not been giving me as much time on the podium as I once was used to. Jeffers has only been with us for a short time. Since his arrival to our church, the rest of the staff elected him as head of the council that oversees church operations. After a few weeks of him in charge, that’s when I started having less involvement in each mass. However, on the positive side, our attendance has grown tremendously since this change. So, I don’t argue. I’ve spoken with several people in the congregation on a few occasions and they say that he’s the best Catholic priest they’ve ever listened to; no offense to me, of course. Then, they accredit that to God’s timing. And besides, who I am to stand in the way of God’s timing?
Jeffers looks at me through his eyebrows and asks, “How much of that psalm did you want to read: the whole thing or only part of it?”
“Th-th-the whole th-th-thing.” I say.
“There is not enough time for you to read the whole thing, Elverson. You know as well as I do that your allotted time each mass is only 5 minutes. No more and no less. Do you remember? The congregation, let alone the rest of the church staff, doesn’t have time to sit an extra 35 minutes just for you to finish reading six blasted verses! I highly suggest that you choose something else, or just stick with one verse for right now. The human brain can only absorb what the butt can tolerate. In other words, when our flock starts getting uncomfortable in the pews, they’re no longer willing to listen.”
He’s said that line to me before. Sure, it’s degrading, but I don’t like confrontation so I choose to keep my mouth shut. I press my lips together and simply nod my head.
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” He hands me a sheet of paper. “Here is tomorrow’s schedule. See to it that you are here on time, and please make sure you follow the order of events. I don’t want you going off on a random tangent and then playing it off by saying that ‘God is speaking through you’ because he doesn’t do that anymore. You are to simply read the one verse that you are allotted time for, and stick with that. Do you understand?”
I nod my head again. I look at the paper Jeffers gave me. I am listed close to the bottom, right after the sermon, and right before the closing song. I find this odd because just last week I was right before the sermon. The verse that I’m to read has nothing to do with Psalm 23. It is from the book of Luke, chapter 4 verse 21. It’s even printed on the bulletin for tomorrow. Well, that’s nice. That saves me from having to turn there and waste any more time, therefore possibly making Jeffers even more angry with me.
“We’ve changed things around only slightly this time. If you notice, your portion comes right after the sermon. I’ve listed it as a “closing thought” and I think it may serve both you and the rest of our flock really well. Is there anything else you had on your mind?” Jeffers asks me.
“W-well I am c-c-concerned with the n-n-new restaurant that j-j-just opened. I d-d-don’t trust them; n-n-not after t-t-today.” I say.
Jeffers hangs his head slightly. “Listen to me. I don’t want to hear any
more about food from you. It’s bad enough that I have to look at your obesity and try to block the images from my head of what you eat just to sustain your current size. On top of that, when you come into my office reeking of Chinese food because God only knows how many leftovers you crammed into your car, it makes me sick! I’m on sensory overload right now. Please don’t bring up your newest craze and expect me to lend a sympathetic ear.”
I remain silent.
“Now, if you have nothing else, please leave my office. Go enjoy the rest of your day and I will see you tomorrow.” I grab both armrests of the chair for support as I gently wrestle my bottom from the chair cushion. I walk out of his office feeling baffled, but I guess that’s how it goes with being in the room with a strong leader. I’m glad that he’s in charge, because I don’t think I could have brought in the number of people that have been constantly coming to each mass. Our congregation has now reached 1,000 people for Sunday morning mass, and it’s nice to see all of our pews full. For that, I am grateful!
I get back into my car and drive back to my apartment. The smell of Chinese deliciousness is infiltrating my nose. I can’t wait to eat lunch, and then put the rest in the fridge for later today. Even though today was fraught with tension, I managed to accomplish everything on my list. It is only a 10-minute drive to my place of dwelling so it is not too far at all. I like that very much. Everything is within close proximity. I look down at my radio, and the stupid thing has decided to go back to static again. This time, I just press the power button to turn it off. I don’t want to fool with it right now. I just want to get home. I think I’ll turn on the television while I eat. Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea. What time is it right now?
I check my watch and it is 12:45pm. Well, that’s disappointing. I’ve missed my favorite Saturday show on the food channel. It’s a cake baking competition show that takes random people from off the street and pits them against one another, to see who can bake the best cake. The title of the show is “Anybody Can Bake: True or False?” and is really quite hilarious. Sometimes I tend to cheer on the ones who are obviously struggling because they have no idea what they’re doing. Nine times out of ten, their cakes turn out to be a total pile of mush. Then, you have the rare occasion that someone you would think is going to fail miserably, totally surprises everyone and makes this amazing masterpiece within the given amount of time. The winner is given a cash prize of $25,000 dollars. What I really appreciate though, is that the other players don’t walk away empty handed. They’re given a full line of new cooking and baking utensils, and a “How to Bake” cookbook.
I pull into the apartment complex, pass the first row of buildings, and into my usual spot. I love it when my spot isn’t taken. It’s the one that’s closest to the staircase. Of course, the only time I leave home is if I need food or when I go to Sunday mass. All of the other times of the week are spent here at home sweet home. There are lots of wonderful programs on TV with which to entertain myself with and keep me occupied. Monday through Friday is my time to watch game shows, followed by the soap operas that come on as well. Saturdays are my cooking show days. I love Saturdays! So far, the cake one is my favorite, mainly because I love cake. I have written that network several times to see if they offer a delivery service of the cakes that are made each week. Sadly, they always tell me no, but they thank me for watching the show.
I get out of my car, and I prop the seat forward so I can get to all of the food. I want that to go in first, so I can set everything up, and put the rest away. Trip number two will have to be for the pants. With my arms fully loaded with food, I make the grudgingly painful journey up the stairs. I pass by the first-floor tenants with no ill effects. I come to the second floor while holding my breath, and the dealers are not out. Fascinating. They must have had a long night wherever they went, because it’s quiet. That’s one thing I can look forward to on the weekends is a solid night of sleep, because those guys go to the clubs and sometimes don’t come back until the wee hours of the morning. When they get back, they’re so exhausted, that all they want to do is go to sleep. So therefore, they make little to no noise whatsoever.
Finally, I make it to the third floor. I swear those stairs get longer each time I climb them. I pause for a few minutes to catch my breath, and then I set my food down in front of my door so I can grab my keys. I open my door, pick my food back up and make my way inside. I set all of the food down on the kitchen table, and take my lunch out of its bag. I breathe deeply and take in the hypnotic aroma of what will soon be in my belly.
“You w-w-wait right here.” I say. I head out the door and go back down to my car. I open the trunk, grab all of my new pants, and close the trunk back. I turn and face the mountain of stairs again; and sigh heavily. Why is it that stairs always seem taller from the ground and shorter from the top? I’ll never understand that. Anyway, I shrug my shoulders, and head up the stairs once again.
However, this time up, my second-floor neighbors have awoken, and are outside of their doors. Well, that’s just great. I think I am going to keep my head down this time. Maybe I can avoid any conversation by accidentally making eye contact. For some reason that always seems to get them to ask me questions that I don’t have the answers to. I shall see if this tactic works.
I come around the corner of the railing, still looking down, and I can feel both sets of eyes on me. This is not really that comfortable. I’m getting anxious and starting to shake a little bit. Then I hear one of them cough and ask the other a question.
“What do you suppose Father Fatty’s gonna do today?” says the first man.
“I aint no psychic or nothing, but I figure he is gonna stuff his face with whatever is making that intoxicating smell. Aint that right boy?” says the second one.
I keep my head down.
“Hey! I’m talking to you, dummy! Have you all of a sudden gone deaf in your old age?” threatens the first guy.
I shake my head no.
“I thought not. You gonna answer me then?”
I shake my head no again as I keep going.
“Say, boy! Where you get that food at?” asks the second man. “It sure smells good. I think I’ll come up there and eat it for you. I’m just trying to do you a solid so you can lose a few of them pounds!” Both men start laughing. I round the next railing and start going up to my floor. I just know that if I open my mouth, I’ll get hazed for my stutter as well. Staying true to his word, man number two starts to follow me.
Then the first man says, “You better not do that man. You go up there without asking, and you might get struck by lightning or some stuff like that.”
“Yeah you right. Good talk, fatty! We gonna catch up with you later.” says the second man, as he steps back away from me and walks back down from the first two stairs that he reached.
I make it to my floor and quickly go inside. Once all four locks on my door are secured to my satisfaction, I make my way to the table, grab my food, and head to my favorite chair to sit down. Now it’s time to feast. I open the first container and the smell is just as overwhelming as when I first got it from the restaurant. Grabbing the plastic fork, I do a happy butt-jiggle because it’s time to dig in! I take my first bite and look around with a sudden thought: I still need something to drink. That means that I have to get back up. Dang it.
7
Brains over Braun
So that was the great tunnel, huh? It didn’t seem all that “great” to me. If there are millions upon millions of us in this city, shouldn’t there be a large enough tunnel to facilitate? Call me crazy, but it doesn’t make sense.
Moving away from the tunnel, I make my way back to the section of wall where I was sitting before, press my back up against it, and slump down to the ground. I feel sad now as I drop my head down and rest. I really enjoyed talking to Richard. I wonder how many others are like him. Are there others that were also given the same vision of being head of parliament?
An awkward sensation comes over me. It fee
ls like I’m being studied; like I’m being watched. I raise my head to determine the direction it’s coming from. To my right, I notice someone by himself looking up at the board. That’s not it. I look left and my eyes grow wide. There is an enormous crowd of other GOC that has gathered together, and they were all looking at me.
I need to know what I’ve done to earn such attention, so I stand up and walk over to them. As I walk closer, I realize only a few of them are actually looking at me. The rest of them seem to be looking THROUGH me. So now I have to know. What are they doing exactly?
So, I ask the one closest to me as I draw near the crowd, “What’s going on here?”, I ask.
His eyes shift to mine in a distracted manner, “Oh… uh… well you see… hang on…”
“Never mind. Thank you, though.” I must have rattled his thought process of something. I need to ask somebody else.
“Excuse me, sir? Can you tell me what is going on?” I ask the person a few people back from the first row.
“Shh! Listen.” He says without even so much as making eye contact with me.
“Listen? To what?”
“That one there by the board has been our source of entertainment for the past few days. We’re watching and waiting to see if he loses his temper again. He turns red and flops around a lot. It’s quite funny, actually. Though, I wouldn’t want to stand close to him when he gets that way. He’s been known in the past to harm others like us.”
“So, what do you do if he sees you laughing at him?” I ask.
“Oh, that’s easy. We flee! He eventually gets tired, runs out of energy, and then takes a nap. When he wakes up, he’s fine.” Everyone in the large circle laughs out loud, and then hushes one another in fear of being heard. Silence falls over the crowd as they each watch the lone GOC by the board.
The loner paces back and forth, and the pacing becomes more rapid with each lap. His face crinkles and starts to change colors. As his face turns a bright red, he begins to vibrate as he opens his mouth. “What kind of silly foolishness is this? Three days I’ve waited! I am tired of waiting! You stupid, junky, worthless, no-good sound board! The least you could do is recognize my potential for greatness, but no! You sit there day in and day out pondering which random numbers you’re going to select and you’ve skipped over me!”
Fate Of The Dragon Page 8
