Disconnect

…I give props to the legends/

Praise God but I give not to the reverend/

Joshua nodded along approvingly. He unlocked his phone to check the time. Visiting hours were almost up. He bundled his earphones and shoved them in his jacket pocket. Then fished out a worn crucifix from the other. It had been a gift from his mother. Seemingly a life time ago.

He cut an isolated figure. Slouched over in the oncology wing lobby.

Glaring florescent lights.

Unnaturally sterile air.

Cold steel benches.

He was vaguely aware of his surroundings. His mind preoccupied by contemplation.

Joshua’s mother had deteriorated rapidly. He had been informed that nothing more could be done. It was matter of making her comfortable in her last days. He hadn’t stepped into her room since the news had been broken to him. The sight of his once lively mother now so frail was too much to bear. However, he faithfully returned to the hospital nightly. Here he whiled away the two visiting hours. A recluse; outside her room.

A pair of footsteps preceded the clack of a metallic handle being firmly pushed down. A creak stirred up the lobby as the door swung open. Both sounds registered as distant. Barely audible. Joshua was still consumed by thought.  A couple exited the room and approached him. The clanging of shoe on tile faintly reverberating in the empty space.

The booming voice was incomprehensible at first. It came into focus as Joshua was yanked from the depths of his thoughts, “Josh. Josh!”

He acknowledged the figures, “yeah?”

Joshua’s focus waxed and waned as his aunt and uncle sat with him delivering words of encouragement. A tirade of empty platitudes. He politely listened; giving the occasional head nod. Peppering in the sporadic “yeah” for good measure. The interaction was placid.

Until his uncle uttered the phrase, “God willing-”

Joshua rolled his eyes and curtly interjected, “Not tonight”

“Josh-” his uncle began to counter. But his wife squeezed his hand and they shared a knowing glance.

Joshua sighed, “I need a drink” he announced as he sprung from his seat and left his relatives in the vacant lobby.

Joshua found himself in a seedy bar.

Dimly lit.

Air thick with smoke.

Rustic timber chair cradling him.

He nursed a single beer for most of the night as he ruminated. A buzz pulled him out of his trance. He slid his phone out and swiped to read the text. More meaningless platitudes. He rolled his eyes. The message concluded with a predictable.

“God be with you.”

Joshua sneered as he took a sip of his beer. This God talk was beginning to irk him. Airplane mode was the solution. He lingered at the bar, eventually driving off into the night. No destination in mind, just the need to go; fast. It was well passed the stroke of midnight. Joshua barreled along the road skirting the mountain side overlooking the CBD. Streetlights whizzing past him.

“God be with you”, he scoffed.

He gripped the steering wheel, deftly maneuvering the bends. Braking, shifting gears, accelerating all without a second thought. He was on auto-pilot.

Where was God when Charles was cheating on mom?!

The engine revved furiously.

Where was God when Charles’ smoking gave her cancer?!

The car dangerously swerved. Momentarily losing traction on a tight turn.

God be with you?!

He hit a straight and floored the accelerator.

Where was God when Charles left mom?!

He gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Joshua rocketed forward. His thoughts darting from one point of contention to the next.

Where was this just God his mother championed?!

Why did he let the good suffer?!

Where was he to punish the wicked?!

Why?!

Where?!

Why?!

Where?!

Why?!

Where?!

The gears and gauges were an extension of him. He approached a blind turn at high speed; intuitively making the adjustments to maneuver the bend. However, the car went into an unexpected skid. It struck him; he must have hit a patch of loose gravel. Joshua snapped out of auto-pilot. He steadied the car with steely focus and pulled over to the side of the road.

Hands trembling.

Heart racing.

Pupils dilated.

He left his car idling and stepped into the cool night. A bead of sweat streaked down his temple. He trudged to the edge of the cliff face and leaned on the barricade. He stared into the chasm below. The loss of control had startled him back to his senses.

Had he been driving with his head lights off?

Joshua collected himself. He pulled out his phone and scrolled to a voice note his mother had sent a few months prior. She had been cheerful as ever in the recording. Never one to moan. Joyfully carrying her cross. Her optimism occasionally irritated him. Like a song played hundreds of times, Joshua was familiar with the lulls and crescendos in her soliloquy. Her melody drew to an end and she signed off with her signature, “I love you, baby boy.”

He gulped down the knot in his throat and acknowledged it: emptiness. He ambled back to his car, this time noticing the crunch of gravel under his boots. He turned off the ignition and sat on the hood.

Sparse illumination was offered by the street lights and stars.

Crisp mountain air greeted his lungs.

Warm hood bore his weight.

He hit shuffle on his phone. He didn’t want to dwell on the despair. Music and internal dialogue his company this desolate night. The outro to a song caught his attention.

I washed my hands, I said my grace, what more do you want from me?/

Tears of a clown, guess I’m not all what is meant to be/

Shades of grey will never change if I condone/

Turn this page, help me change to right my wrongs/

Joshua exhaled. His faith in the church was tenuous at best. But, maybe, just maybe, God was merciful. It had been ages since Joshua had spoken to him. He did not know how to begin the conversation. After a few false starts he remembered his girlfriend had left her bible in his car. He slinked into the driver’s seat and rummaged through the glove compartment.

Joshua paged to Psalm 23. One of his mother’s favourite scriptures. He read it a few times. Then slouched over, gripped the steering wheel and began to pray. He spoke sincerely. Begging for his mother’s life. The words laboriously trickling out.

He was weary.

He was desperate.

He had nothing to lose.

Joshua concluded his petition, “…these things I pray, believing in Jesus Christ’s holy name.” a hesitant pause, “Amen.”

Silence.

Clarity.

Peace?

Joshua checked the time. 5:13. He pulled the weathered crucifix from his jacket pocket and hang it from the rear view mirror. It was time to return home. His focus was sharp as he cruised back. Dawn was breaking as he maneuvered into his parking. He got out of his car, crucifix in hand. His girlfriend would have been worried sick. He got his key out to unlock the front door. But his lady did so from the inside. She was solemn.

“Look,” he began, “I-”

“Josh” her voice was shaky “Your mother…”

The battered crucifix slipped out of his hand and crashed to the floor. Joshua followed suit; collapsing in a heap. He was instantly disorientated as the heartbreaking news was relayed to him. He had been disappointed, for the last time.