[The Church Meeting]
“Well, I think it’s a good idea. Yes; a thousand is a lot of money for the parish to part with but we would all benefit. Plus, how exciting to have such a prominent political figure in our church!” Sue puffed out her chest as she stood unnecessarily.
Had the world gone absolutely batty?
A thousand bucks for a seminar on how to pay a tax on breathing?
The more Noah thought about it, the worse it got for him in his own mind.
Frustration.
Anger.
Festering at first…
Then rolling into a boil
Are these people all for real?
His face; a placid façade. Not confident he wouldn’t explode, Noah excused himself; unassumingly.
It was a late night meeting and the bathroom down the hallway was next to never used at that hour. The motion-sensor lights turned on after a short flicker. Noah checked under each stall for feet to put his hyper-active mind at ease. He knew no one was there.
Palms-Firmly pressed on the edge of the sink.
Elbows-Locked in tension.
Legs-Dense as marble.
Smooshed Father’s old Sunday penny loafers, his feet were sweaty and sore after a full day of walking all over the church compound—back n’ forth. Noah looked right at his reflection but all he could see was pure hatred…he just got like that sometimes…not being able to predict what he’d do or say: removing himself from certain situations [such as this] seemed best. The stupidity of people drove him fucking mad! He hated every single one of them:
They all just sit there in their fancy suits and dresses. Smug, self-righteous. Not one of them could last one meeting without looking at their latest electronic devices if they tried…let alone manage to actually give a shit about any one of the many sinners and perceived saints they all gathered to discuss at this Wednesday night meeting; or any of our meetings for that matter!
Noah took a deep breath and continued his inner monologue with equal passion.
Why would these people even consider inviting a politician and a tax man to speak at our church, LET ALONE PAY THEM TO DO SO?!
This tax is a sin all on its own!
Helpful?
Sincere?
Ha! Laughable!
Noah knew he should say something. He also knew it wouldn’t make a difference. When Father was alive and worked at the local worship center there was structure!
There was at least a clear sense of what was right and wrong. That was all gone to the bin and taken straight to the dumpster for disposal.
Compromising beliefs to suit the whims of a sickly society? Where is this world headed! How would Jesus react if he found out his “devoted followers” were in the proverbial bed sheets with the local parasitic tax collectors and corrupt inbred purchased politicians? Jesus was angered when he saw business and politics being conducted in the sacred house of worship of his day…
Noah was expected to not only tolerate it, but support it all without question. Satin was present at this Wednesday night meeting and Noah would take no more part in it. He stared into his own soul…
Seething…
Unable… to communicate.
Noah knew full well that each personal agenda they held close to their chests wouldn’t allow the ears and the brain to hear his reasoning’s, even if he channeled the lord himself in the dead language of their professed Savior Jesus Christ.
Nostrils flaring. Lips pursed. Jaw clenched.
Then, came the out-loud self-talk….slow and quiet:
“I’m so sick of them! All of them. Our congregation is hurting already as it is and these idiots want to squeeze the last ounce of blood out of every one of us! For what? A bull shit appearance by our latest political slob? … To talk about what? Taxing the poor? Taxing the sick? Taxing us all to breathe fucking air? I’d be surprised if the Bush’s or the Koch brothers or any of the large Monsanto-type corporations actually pay a dime or if we are all expected to cover their pollution too! Since when do these assholes have a monopoly on oxygen? Father warned about this. I didn’t want to believe it. What a fucking nightmare!”
It was definitely strange-but Noah justified it while comparing his vice to those of others. If the occasional bad word and socially empathetic open eye made him strange…Noah didn’t mind.
“The money gathered to help the homeless? What a fucking joke!”
His voice began to raise:
“Not one person, including Mr. G.Q. politician in there, actually gives a shit about the homeless. Common sense dictates that not one single penny of that stupid tax will ever land in the hand of the Homeless Alcoholic Drug-Addicted Schizoid American—as I know these hypocrites ALL call them outside of church.”
Noah was so angry that it rendered him immobile. He wanted to run, scream and throw something even! But all he could do was stand there, in that stupid over-teched bathroom. The motion-sensor lights switched off and left the hall in complete darkness. Taking a deep drawn-out breath, Noah ran his fingers and hands over his face and through his hair…trying to physically shake the hate out of his mind
The lights switched back on.
Unnoticed.
Enough was enough.
He walked back down the long hall, opened the door and stared at all the self-absorbed sheeple. Everyone gradually looked up at Noah.
“You okay there buddy? You look ill!”
Dale, the insurance salesman smiled his greasy smile as he did his best impersonation of a sincere human being. Noah wanted to walk over and throw-up his left-over Chinese dinner on Dale’s slick-rick hair.
“Heah. I’m not feelin’ so good. I’m gonna go home early. Sorry everyone.”
Packing up his bag and heading out the door he half-heartedly said his farewells:
“Goodnight everyone. God Bless.”
Over the years Noah got real good at masking his thoughts and feelings.
Business as usual he thought.
He walked over to his beat-up Jesus-freak wagon, pulled out his “God Loves Me’ key chain…then proceeded with his daily ritual of jimmying his car key in the passenger-side door. He wasn’t sure why he even locked it…maybe it was Mother’s voice playing like a broken record in his brain ‘Safety First Noah!’ It was a piece of crap, but Noah couldn’t afford to get any major work done on Mother’s hand-me-down station wagon. Heck, he could barely afford his rent these days after the church cut his hours down to three days a week. They told him the church was low on funds and would be using more volunteers to cover his other hours…and the hours of most of the full-time staff. Zero-hour contracts were a nightmare of slave-labor proportions, and Noah knew he was being lied to.
- Add-ons to the church offices cost a pretty penny.
- He saw the church tithe books only three weeks before.
- He also knew there were a few people giving themselves raises…
But what could Noah do about it? So, as usual, he smiled, said ‘Thank You’ and went home to scream in his pillow. Back to the night of the meeting:
Noah drove through the town on his way back to his apartment. He was still frustrated…and now it was building to resentment.
Teeth. Fists. Lips. All tightly clenched.
Thoughts of driving into a building crossed his mind. But he quickly reminded himself that his life was God’s to take, not his own. Plus, he was too scared to follow through.
Pills?
Not a guarantee that some asshole with a hero complex wouldn’t find him and call an ambulance or pump his stomach right there on the spot.
Hanging or wrist slitting?
Too painful and messy…also, not a guaranteed sure thing.
Gun?
Not even an option. Knowing Noah’s luck he’d miss…and besides, who would look after his dog and all his potted plants?
By the time Noah had finished talking himself off the ledge he never would have jumped off of…he realized he was already home. What a horrible day. He honestly wasn’t sure if he could take much more of this. He walked his dog to the end of the block and back in a daze. Went inside, loosened the noose he had professionally knotted strategically around his neck, took off his socially acceptable uniform of a suit and climbed into bed.
Why couldn’t life make more sense? With this, Noah finally slept.
Into The Mystic, Ash 
A great actress when reading it
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