chapter 3

bull

The second time God betrays me is in the dark. I can find my breath, but it takes time. I’ve been in and out of the burn center for a few years now. I’m young, might I add - and I’m trying to fix myself. Contacted the priest that visited - I got a job there, simple one, and I’m sitting there thinking - "Well, hey, I didn’t die. Good thing I didn’t."

The job is simple. Just clean the place. Scrub the floors, go between the pews, pick up trash - sanitize the bathrooms, clean up, clean up, everybody clean up. It’s not a bad job by any means, but it gets the job done. I clean after hours because (and he doesn’t say it to my face, but I hear it through word of mouth); "El podría asustaría los ninos." And God forbid they see that.

I don’t live anywhere except the priest’s vicarage. A kind man, he was. It felt small, and he said that this was a place he’d be in for a long time. It had two floors from what I remember - with a creaky wooden staircase. An ornate rug sat in front of the fireplace, while the pasty cream walls held pictures of valleys, skies, portraits, you name it. But for some reason, they were always perfectly spaced apart from each other to where it felt like it was uncomfortable. I can’t remember his face now - and it’s probably because I didn’t care enough to remember it.

While I’m cleaning the countertop, he’s reading, and we’re having a light conversation. It’s nothing big, but I’m trying to focus. Got a lot on my mind.

"Did you pick up your medication?" His eyes don’t peel away from the Bible.

"Yeah. A little bit of a pain, though. When isn’t it?"

"Ah. Got a flare-up?"

"When don’t I, huh? Haha." I say while I make circular motions with a towel. "Exercise has been helping. I just need some of the, uh… painkillers before I do it. Or else it’s just impossible."

"Have you been easy on yourself? I’d hope so."

"Well, yeah. It’s one at a time. Baby steps, Toro. Baby steps."

"Not a baby no more, though." I laugh a little. "Just messin’. I just wanna look like a..person, again, I think. Need meat on my bones."

"Oh, Toro. Don’t talk about yourself like that," His finger wedges between the two sections of the Bible to keep his place. I hear it press against the table behind me. "It’s rough, no doubt. I can’t imagine being in your position - but God has a plan for you, as he does for all of us, and I’m sure yours is very bright."

I mutter a wordless, "Thank you, Father," and I continue on.

Outside of the window that perches right above the sink sits the open valley with spaced out trees. The first thing I see is a swallow.

.

.

.

.

The next time I blink, I’m lying on my bed, looking up at the ceiling. At times where the chronic pain gets worse, all I can do is wait for it to pass. I can grind my teeth and groan as much as I want but it won’t change the fact that the pain is there. At times like this, all I can do is wait. Wait for God to do something.

So I sit there and I think, please, Father, just make me normal again.

Take the pain away so I can be human.

And obviously, he doesn’t.

The other two priests are fast asleep, and that’s when I force myself up and decide that I can’t let God fix me this time.

So I put on my neatly folded pants, shake on a jacket - take the keys and drive.

During nights where I couldn’t sleep, if there wasn’t much concern for me, all I did was leave in the middle of the night to drive and then come back in the morning. It was a routine that the priest let me have if I needed it, but so long as I wasn’t off murdering people, it seemed like I was fine. I told him I was clean ‘cause if I started smoking, I’d put a hole in my vulnerable lungs. If I drank, I’d fuck up my already fucked liver. So when I told him all I do is just drive around, he was fine with it.

The only thing that was good about driving at night was being in pitch black darkness. The vicarage was a little far from any proper town, but there was a little one close by with orange street lights. They flashed past me once I arrived, and all I really did was just go up and down. Just to clear my mind. Alone time was more of my thing because it meant that I didn’t have to get preached to within moments of having a thought. Not like I didn’t appreciate it, because it was me learning how to appreciate God and how to gain access back into his light again, and when I did that, it meant I’d be a person again. A person worth his time.

And then - a blur of collision at a red light, smoke again, and -

The next time I blink, it’s in the back of a van. It stinks of cigarette smoke, and the two men that have me back here are barely speaking. The radio blares with noise. All I can see is darkness, and all I can feel is restraint. I’m pounding my legs on where I think the door might be, and I’m panicking, and I’m screaming "Knock this shit off," and then I’m back to darkness.

Everything from here on is in bits and pieces. The only colors I can remember seeing are red, gray, and mucus yellow.

I’m being pushed around. I’m being told that it’s none of my business, and that I’m nothin’ more than livestock. I’ve got burlap over my head, tied with rope against my neck, and poked holes to keep me breathing. The only smell I can fathom is thick and uncomfortable. Everything is hot. My legs hurt, my arms hurt.

I blink.

I stink of sticky blood. I’m coughing on the dirty floor, I’m being laughed at.

I blink again.

I’m plowing a guy a little smaller than me, meeker than me - straight to the ground, and I’m screaming profanities at him, and my throat feels like it’s burning. I’m screaming "Fuck you, you’re nothin’ to me! You’re a fuckin’ nobody! You’re fuckin’ dead to me!". His half-lidded eyes flicker with light, and I’m on top of him now, screaming and screaming and knocking his teeth out and he’s sputtering blood and nobody’s doing anything about it. I grab his neck and I start screaming some more - and I feel hot tears flood my eyes, and -

I blink again.

I’m a little heavier today. I didn’t get to shower. I don’t get to shower, usually they’ll choose for me. The chronic pain becomes part of my life. Old bandages might’ve infected me by now, but I can’t tell.

I blink again.

I’m beating another man down to a stain. This time, men are cheering.

I blink again.

There’s a gun in my hands.

I blink again.

For the first time, instead of pointing at me and saying "you", they call me my name.

I blink again.

I realize that I haven’t seen the color blue in 2 years. Nor have I seen white - at least, without being tainted yellow.

Tick.

This place is underneath layers of dirt, ground, and rock. There’s no way for God to find me. He’s all the way up there - and I’m here, in my own Hell that he let happen.

Tick.

God does not like me.