Speaking With Tongues

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven, And Why Maybe It Would Be A Good Idea For All Women To Be Nuns.


I began taking sleeping pills, every time I went to church. On one particular Sunday night, notlong after my chapter four, I was suddenly aware of my real reason for this pattern: I took numbing medication whenever I felt overly emotional about anything. Sundays at church became overwhelming because I had to see Aidan, whom I hated, I had to go with my family, whom I did not love, and I had to think about God, whom I did not know. The pills emptied me of emotion and formed a shell around my very being, a shell impervious to any disturbance to my numbness.

Though I didn’t really feel anything, I sure as hell was sleepy. I couldn’t keep my god damn eyes open. I was sitting in the pew and I kept nodding off, my head tilting and my lower jaw drooping. I was a little upset because the night’s agenda suddenly seemed pretty interesting and I wouldn’t have even doodled this time.

At the beginning of the service, some Russian missionary nun was speaking about her ministry and her life. She was this frail little woman with wisps of gray hair shooting out from underneath her head covering and I could see how pink her cheeks were even though I was fifty yards away. Her name was Olivia and she seemed pretty shy and all, but still really passionate, happily passionate, about her calling. Most of the time, she was giving subtle hints to the ladies that virginity is the best way to go and that all women should be nuns and so on.

It was pretty funny; I mean, it would’ve been if I could stay the hell awake, but when I got a few chances to actually think, I thought it would be pretty funny if all women would become nuns. If they did, man would eventually become extinct, or life would be twice as interesting because of all the fornication going on while man struggled to remain in existence. Really, it was amusing but I couldn’t stay awake for even that, and I’d have mini-dreams about Aidan, fornicating (or rather, raping) Olivia.

So what I did was, I finally decided to go lay down in the storage room in the back of the church where there were a bunch of broken benches and empty instrument cases and old choir robes on hangers. The room was long and narrow and it was as cold as an igloo, so I grabbed one of the mothy choir robes and covered myself and went to sleep on a slanted bench with one of its two legs missing. Well, I tried to sleep but it was still too damn cold, so I finally pulled the robe on and actually wore it. Boy, it must’ve belonged to some whale. I must’ve looked dazzling, swimming in the stupid thing.

Right as I was falling asleep and drooling all over the place, some unexpected noises startled me into a fully wakened state. I could’ve sworn I was hearing a man spit, but not really spit- just making the noises of spitting, as if in disgust. After hearing it several times, I realized that it was my pastor making those disgusted, spitting noises. It was coming from another room connected to the storage room, where they stored all the books. It was like some sort of library where we kept books and CDs that writers and singers from across the country who would visit our church would give to the church for selling. Both of these rooms, the one I was in and the one I was assuming my pastor was in, were rightbehind the pulpit of the church and they were connected by a small hallway that had a door leading you to the actual pulpit and stage so that when pastors are late they can sneak through there to get straight to the pulpit rather than walking down the long aisle in the middle of the church.

I got off the dilapidated bench and walked towards the door connecting our rooms. But the room was dark, causing me to trip all over the place and make a parade of noise. So when I reached the door and crouched on the floor with my ear up against it, I was scared they stopped talking because they heard my parade. My heart started pounding its way out of my chest and I was ready to flee but then I heard the faintest sobs coming from an old-sounding woman. My pastor sounded like he was going to explode.

“Dissent! You do nothing but cause dissent! Your ideas are garbage!”

Even though I didn’t know who he was talking to or what he was referring to, I mean even if the ideas he was referring to were garbage and did cause dissent, I really didn’t like his tone. It made me feel sick. You don’t really expect your pastor to make those spitting noises and to sound so maniacally angry. It’s like when some lousy- toothed old man goes to the dentist, you don’t really expect the dentist to start yelling and cursing at the man just because he doesn’t brush his teeth. I mean, sure, he can advise the man to brush every once in a while, and even that would make the man feel pretty horribly embarrassed, but he’s not going to use his expertise to ridicule the guy. Man, I was pretty annoyed at the way my pastor was talking to whoever he was talking to.

When the crying woman spoke, it sounded like she had her eyes lowered and was trying to retain pride and not cry.

“Please, forgive me. I do not mean to cause dissent.”
Yeah, but it didn’t sound like she wasn’t still agreeing with whatever her ideas were.

“What did you expect? You think you can teach your venomous, vile rituals to Christians? We arenot mystics nor heretics, and that is exactly what you teach.”

He was talking to the nun. I didn’t really know what he was referring to, I must’ve slept through the rest of her speech that didn’t have to do with virginity and nunneries. “Don’t you ever dare step foot in our church again. And I would highly discourage you from stepping in another church again.”

“Excuse me pastor, but you don’t have the right to advise me what to do when I’m outside your church.” Her voice was real shaky. “And it isn’t my intention to ever visit here again. Sincerely, I am sorry for the dissent I might’ve caused, it wasn’t deliberate. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll pack up my books and leave as soon as I’m finished.” He made those nasty spitting noises again. I really hoped he wasn’t actually spitting on her or her books, but even if it was just towards the floor, it still really made me feel sick.

“I suggest you burn your books! It’d be best not to have such garbage litter the minds of any person, Christian or not.”

Olivia didn’t answer but I could hear her sniffling louder than before and I could hear boxes and books moving around so she must’ve been packing them up and awkwardly trying not to look at my pastor. I didn’t hear any door opening or closing during the entire process, so I pictured him just sort of standing there with his arms folded, on his home territory, deliberately belittling her and making her reallyembarrassed. What a bastard. I mean, why couldn’t he just leave the damn room? His business with her was obviously done, why did he have to make her feel even worse? I can’t stand that stuff.

I felt so horrible for the nun. I don’t know if I felt more pity for her or more hatred for my pastor. I wondered if he knew anything about Aidan’s philandering and if he’d treat him half as bad as he was treating Olivia. I was so caught up in listening against the door that I was literally thrown back when the pastor barged through my door suddenly. Because it was dark, he didn’t realize that it was a person, rather than some inanimate object, that made the door open slower than expected, so he just walked all over me and fell on the ground. Olivia stuck her head in and popped the lights on, gasping at the sight of the pastor sprawled all over me on the floor. I must’ve looked excellent in the mothy maroon robe and with tears all over my face. I didn’t realize until then that I had been crying. I wasn’t embarrassed, but I started wiping wildly at my face and got up and tore the gigantic robe from my body. They looked dumbfounded. I looked down at my pastor, spread out on the floor in his Armani suit and shiny shoes and fuming face, and he finally said “What are you doing in here?” spitting a little bit. Boy, I really had this urge to kick him right in his groin. I felt suddenly like a monster. A monster of hate.

I couldn’t really think of what to say, I mean if I had time to think about it, I would’ve probably given him this whole speech on how I would’ve never expected such words and hypocrisy and conduct from him in any situation. But all I could really think of at the time was profane words, so I finally yelled, kind of sobbing, “You go to hell!” and I stormed out of the room and drove away in fury, bawling and wanting to smash right into his damn pulpit with my Volkswagon.