Talk to God
The flyer was on the post when I was on my way to work, and remained untouched when I made my way back. The wind blew and it tried to escape from the post. The tape on the bottom had fallen off, so only the bottom half of the flyer bent across the pole. The tear-off tabs fluttered in the wind, like my own personal drum solo.
I grabbed it off the pole. Straightening it out, I found that it read:
TALK TO GOD
$20 for 30 minutes
NO REFUNDS
The tear-off tabs had an address on them.
Part of me figured this was an elaborate art project, some student somewhere asking people who they spoke to in the room or something. But another part of me really had a bone to pick with the old man upstairs.
I pocketed the stub and went home, thankfully I had the next day off.
Curiosity ate at me the entire night, so I got up at the first sign of the sun. I anxiously paced my apartment for an hour before deciding to go out for breakfast.
I stopped for a coffee and some food, then carried on to the meeting place. I had to go deep into the industrial district, a place so drab that it seems to bring the rest of the city's mood down with it. Yet the farther I walked, the more people seemed to appear. Not just appear, accompany me too.
Together we marched to the location, a blindingly white building next to an abandoned factory. A queue of people trailed out of the building and down the road. One by one, we settled into the line.
A few minutes into waiting I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was an older woman, old enough to be my grandmother.
“Do you think this is real?” she wrung her hands together.
“Well…I can’t really say ma’am.”
She looked at her feet, “...I don’t know what I expected. I’m sorry for bothering you.”
I won’t lie, I studied her for a minute before I reacted. She looked tired, like life had used her as its personal punching bag.
“You weren’t bothering me…there’s not much to do at the moment anyway.” I scratched my neck, “What brings you to this event anyway?”
Her eyes lit up, the way someone looks once a heavy weight is finally put down. Relief.
“I’ve not much time left. I saw the flyer on the bus, decided there would be worse things to do, plus if he’s real…I have a question.” her eyes grew glossy.
“What are you going to ask him?”
“Why.” she whispered, tears now dripped down her face. She went on to tell me about her husband, who was drafted to Vietnam soon after their son was born, he never returned. She spoke about her son, how he followed in his fathers footsteps and went into the army, only to have the same outcome. All she wanted to know was why them?
I found myself weeping alongside her, gently I put my arm on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
We kept each other company for the rest of the wait. She told me memories she had of Phil, how they met and fell in love. Then memories of her son, George.
In return I gave her a listening ear and my contact info.
Her story added infuriated me. How life felt so skewed.
It seemed the worst people thrived.
I now found myself asking the same question, why?
With my newfound question, I entered the white building.
I was met with a ticket booth in between 2 sets of doors. A person wearing a smiley face mask was inside the booth.
I approached the booth and slid over 20$. “Here you go…”
Silently the worker took my money, and the doors on the right opened.
Inside was as white as the outside. The table and chairs were white, the walls too. A man sat at the table.
“Welcome child!” He bellowed.
I winced, “Hi…please don’t yell.”
He apologized and took a sip from his mug.
“You look kinda young to be God.” I sat down next to him.
“Hah you’re not the first one today to say that, would you like me to change?”
Before I could reply he began morphing. His skin turned to putty, his features vanished. His clothing, gone as well. He stopped shifting and settled, now with the appearance of an old man.
He gave me a smile, “so what would you like to discuss?”
I stared at him for a moment, the once spry young man was now a decrepit senior. I collected myself, cleared my throat and said “Why?”
He looked confused, like I was the first person to ever ask that. “What do you mean why?”
I went off about the unfairness of the world, how it seemed the worst people were the first to succeed. How exhausting it was to try to catch up in the rat race.
He kept nodding, and once I was finished he shifted in his chair.
“I’m not sure my answer is going to help…” he itched his nose.
“I didn’t pay 20$ for nothing.” I said.
He leaned back in his seat now, “I’m not even the 1st God, I’m the 5th.”
I was confused, what did he mean 5th?
Before I could ask more questions, he continued “This whole system we have going? It’s older than me. Now, any other questions?”
We sat in silence for a while. I soaked in this new found information, my head hurt and my eyes burned. The room felt too white to stay in. My vision kept trying to slide off the edges of the table and doorframe.
I collected myself once more and asked, “Can I get a refund on my existence?”
“Sorry…no refunds.”