Sound of a Broken Drum

Chapter 11

Mom and I went to church for the shortest time when she was dating this one guy
I don't even remember his name
I do remember for a short time, there was Sunday school
One day, in Sunday School I became curious with a thought
A simple naive thought at the time
But I asked the teacher
What if God actually doesn't like us?
The teacher said 'God loves everybody' and told me to sit down.
The other kids laughed and I felt embarrassed for asking the question
But the thought never left me.
I know what he said
But how do you know? How do you really know?
Is that what it looks like when you look around?
God loves everyone
God loves the wives with black eyes that get smacked around by their drunk husbands
God loves the lonely who die alone
God loves the young girls getting sold into sex slavery
God loves the man who is beheaded for stealing bread to give to his starving family
God loves the dyslexic that gets mercilessly picked on by the jocks in school
The ones who in turn drop a pill in the drinks of women to get what they want from them
God loves how color decides the fate of people
God loves the man being dragged, tied from behind a pickup truck as it cruises down the countryside
God loves the hate people feel towards each other
And God loves the blood that pours out of them.
This is the reality that God loves
The one my teacher so easily accepts in his privilege when he told me to sit down
The smug comfort of 'knowing' God loves you

But I've always wondered
What if God actually hates some people?
What if God is a narcissist who only rewards those that praise him?
What if God is a piece of shit just like a good number of people out there in the world?
The abusers, the murderers, the completely soulless
Maybe God creates some people to just bully them, fuck with them, tease them. See how much they can take. Before they give up.
I don't know where I'm going to this
There's enough bullshit in the world
Feeding you as much as they can
Saying you just need this or that
And they'll take whatever they can from you as a trade for that plate full of bullshit.
And this idea of mine
So quickly anybody would dismiss as talk from a rambling lunatic
It is as possible as any other bullshit religious idea out there.
And at least there's cultural evidence of it.

I'm not saying everything and everyone is bad
Maybe not even most are bad
But there is enough bad in the world to make some people open their eyes and see what the fuck is going on
There is enough bad in the world to know not everything is right and fair
Not everyone can be trusted
Not everyone gets a good ending
Or even a dignified ending.

I don't know what to say
There's not really a silver lining
Except
that there is something in the fight
The struggle
That gives it meaning and makes it worth fighting
Over and over and over again
Even if futilely, in defeat on uneven ground
Even if you lose in the end
It's not always about winners like society's clowns try to make you think
You have a story worth sharing
Worth remembering
As your own
And you are not alone.

When you drop, all you can see is down.

I just thought.

How?

It felt

Real. Real just like everything else.

Her.

Charlotte. Just like everything else.

If not

More.

But then in my thoughts, something started to come loose. Her face. Those eyes. Her mouth. Something started to feel loose. Like the screws were coming out from these memories of her. And the more I thought about them, the less I remembered. The way dreams are when you wake up. They slowly fade. The next thing you remember, they become nothing.

And just like that, the puzzle pieces started coming back into place.

That first evening. At the coffee shop. The drink ticket. It was never there. I never made a drink. There was never a 'Charlotte'.