Chapter 5

I spoke at the first two meetings that I went to.

I was silent at the next twenty. 

I became accustomed to the idea that this was not going to be an easy fix.

The Magic Fridge.

When I was sixteen, my father started calling our fridge the Magic Fridge. 

You just keep eating the food son, because it will refill itself Magically.

What do you mean?

Well, whenever the fridge runs out of food, it just fills itself up magically.

I would laugh at the joke. 

I had seen no connection to my parents working and me being fed.

When I was younger, I would look at all the times in my life that I would fuck up.

For some reason, things still seemed to work out.  Like someone or something was pulling the strings. 

The Magic Life.

Until my twenty-third meeting, I tried not to give too much thought to the concept of God.

Most of these meetings seemed to meet at a church.  It was not a religious organization, but the churches didn’t seem to mind one way or another.

They prey.

They read from their papers.

Does anyone have an issue that they would like to discuss?

An older gentleman raised his hand.

My name is John.

Hi, John.

I wanted to talk about how paramount the concept of finding a higher power is to this organization.

I roll my eyes.

If it wasn’t for my higher power, I am sure that I wouldn’t be standing here today.

I am not angry, but I don’t want to be either.

I get out of my seat.

I put my jacket on and I walk out of the church. 

Not a second after I light my cigarette, an older man walks out of the church doors. 

He also lights a cigarette.

Why did you walk out son?

I hate it when men who are not my father call me son.

I am an atheist.

He smiles.

Is that right?

Yeah, it is.  Is that ok with you?  Or am I kicked out?

He smiles.

Something tells me you’ve gotta’ problem with God.

I can’t have a problem with god because god doesn’t exist.

He smiles.

If I see him smile at me again I will snap, so I look somewhere else.

Above the church doors, there is a rather large wooden cross mounted atop of the roof. 

I have seen a cross just like that somewhere.

Blessed Sacrament Church.

The church itself was attached to a number of buildings.

These buildings served as a school when the Church itself was not holding services.

My first years of learning took place in these buildings.

Every Wednesday, Mrs. Thomas would have us form a single file line in front of the classroom door.

She would lead the line through the halls to the entrance of the Church.

We would sit in the wooden pews and listen to the man in a robe talk about a man with a beard. 

He would talk about what the man with a beard said to the people that listened. 

Above the man in the robe, hanging from the church’s ceiling, the man with a beard was outstretched on a cross. 

He was dead.

My classmates would read from a book in front of the entire school. 

The rest of my classmates would listen.

I would look at the stained glass that lined the walls.

Did the man with a beard paint the glass?

The man in the robe would tell us to stand.

My classmates would stand.

I remained seated.

The man in the robe would tell us to kneel.

My classmate would kneel.

I remained seated.

The man in the robe would tell us to sit.

My classmates would sit. 

I was already seated.

I would watch the others.

I was always reminded of C-3PO from Star Wars.

Near the end of each Wednesday service, my classmates would stand in their pews and form a line leading to the front of the church.

I would remain seated.

I would watch as my peers got their crackers and juice. 

I would remain seated.

Sometime before this I had raised my hand during class and asked why I was not allowed to have the crackers and juice.

Mrs. Thomas smiled.

Because you haven’t been christened.

I never understood what being dumped in water had to do with crackers and juice.

My classmates seemed to know the answer to this question, because every day during recess they would form a group and sing a song about how I was going to hell.

They were very creative. Every day the song would have a different melody. 

Some of the songs were quite catchy.

They were catchy enough that they remained in my head.

Uh oh!

Recess is done!

They rang the bell!

But Chad is still going to hell!

I looked at the man outside the door of the church smoking a cigarette.

As I looked into his eyes, I flicked the cigarette into the churchyard.

I turned around and walked home.