Renounced

Renounced

It was the dead of night.  The church parking lot was completely empty as Evan wheeled past in his chair.  It wouldn’t be long before the pastor arrived to prepare for the Sunday service.  That meant there wasn’t much time.  That was good.  Too much time meant he might get cold feet.  He had a plan; a design that was entirely his.  And so far, everything was working out.

He rolled to the front door of the church.  It was locked.  Of course it was.  But Evan had prepared for this.  He pulled out a hammer, tucked away in a blanket he was using to cover his now useless, unfeeling legs.  He found no one ever questioned the blanket.  It infuriated him.  It made no sense to cover legs that felt nothing with a blanket.  But it didn’t matter.  To everyone else, it was a clichéd token of comfort for a cripple.  That’s how they all saw him now.  How quickly perceptions could change.

Evan gave one swing of the hammer and the door latch was broken.  He snorted.  It was so easy.  Nothing was stopping him.

He wheeled himself into the antechamber, just outside the sanctuary.  It looked strange to him in the blackness of night.  He’d never been to the church when everything was turned off.  It felt cold and sad.  Fitting, it seemed to him.

He did not want to dwell in this place.  He began remembering all the people he once called friends who he’d greeted here after Sunday services; people he no longer spoke to.  He rolled past the ghosts of his memories; of an entirely different life, lived not that long ago; and headed into the sanctuary.

It was haunting.  He slowly passed empty pew after empty pew and stopped at the foot of the stage at the head of the room.  Up two small steps there was a pulpit, and behind that was a massive crucifix sculpture – complete with the dying Christ.

Evan stared up at this faux messiah, as though he was looking Jesus in the eye.  He folded his hands together in the all-too familiar prayer pose.  “Our heavenly Father,” he began.  “Have you forgotten me?”

He let that question hang for a moment; waiting, as though the statue of Christ might come to life and respond.  Nothing happened.  There was only silence and darkness…and Evan.

“Maybe you don’t recognize me?”  Evan continued.  “I can’t blame you.  I don’t even recognize myself.  The car accident destroyed my body.”

Tears began to well up in Evan’s eyes.  He wiped them away and returned to his supplication.

“Did you know that the day after…only weeks ago,” he had to stop.  He breathed in, composed himself.  “I was supposed to have the biggest race of my life?  College scouts were coming.  I was guaranteed to get a scholarship.  Everyone said so: my parents, the coach, my…friends.  ‘You were born to run,’ they all said to me.  ‘God has truly blessed you,’ they said.  But not anymore I guess.”

He was shaking.  He smoothed the blanket on his legs to calm himself so he could go on.  So he could give God a piece of his mind.

“It’s amazing how quickly your whole life can change.  It didn’t take long after the accident for all those friends, all those concerned church-going people, to stop talking to me.  I thought it might happen…after a few months.  That it would have been more gradual, and maybe I would’ve gotten used to it.  Nope.  It was one week.  All of a sudden, it felt like calling the cable company for a service repair – all ringing, and no answer.”

Evan breathed.

“My parents resent me,” he told the crucifix.  “They haven’t said it, but I can see it.  Every day.  Especially when I have to poop.  Hah, I’ve never said that word in here.  It just seemed disrespectful.  But do you know what disrespectful is?  It’s when your father has to hold you up while your mother pulls down your pants and underwear and shoves a suppository up your ass…” he paused, “…to get the poop out.  If that doesn’t work, she has to put her own fingers in there to clear a path.  And all you can do is be there; not feeling anything, but knowing what’s happening.  Knowing your mother is quiet because she’s imagining how she’ll have to do this for the rest of her life.  Then, you know she’s wiping you down because she finally starts talking again, opening with a joke.  Trying to make this whole thing bearable.”

Evan waited, expecting something.  He wasn’t sure what; maybe to be struck down or the End of Days to begin.  But nothing happened.

“But all of that isn’t even the worst part,” he said, more calmly than he expected of himself.  “The worst part came yesterday, when the doctor told my mom that I have pancreatic cancer.  Apparently, they wouldn’t have found it if not for the accident.  That’s how my mom started to tell me the news, which made me think, ‘Maybe the accident was a blessing in disguise.’  Until she got to the next part – the cancer has spread.  Then, I went online and found out that ninety-five percent of the people who have this die.  So I just sat there, staring at my computer screen repeating three things over and over in my head: ‘I’m paralyzed, I’m dying and I’m completely alone.’”

Evan cried.  He didn’t even wipe the tears away; he just sat there glaring at the crucifix with rancor while keeping his hands folded.

“You hear that, FATHER?!” he screamed with rage.  “I thought you were supposed to protect me!  To shield me!  Why even give me the gifts you did, if you were only going to take them away before I could really use them?!”

Evan was sobbing.  But the words came like a flood, spewing from him on a river of anger and bitterness.

“My whole life I’ve been a faithful, born-again Christian.  For me!  Not for anyone else.  I gave you everything and you took everything from me.  How is that just?!  How is that fair?!”

Light began peaking in.  Evan looked out the window to see the sun emerging.  He wanted to say more; to keep raging at his creator for the injustice of it all.  But there was nothing left to say.  He had come here with a goal, and if he was going to achieve it he had to act.

He turned back to the crucifix.  The light of morning illuminated the face of the wooden Christ with a faint glow; but the eyes remained dark.  It felt to Evan like it was looking at him mournfully.  His heart skipped a beat, and tears fell afresh.  He grimaced.  He would not be deterred.  He was resolved in what he was about to do.

“I…hate…you,” he said, so venomously.  “A father is supposed to love his son.  A creator is supposed to shelter his creation.  But you didn’t do any of that.  So I’m here to take my life in my own hands.”

From under the blanket, Evan pulled out a lighter.  He quickly brushed his thumb against the flint wheel igniting the wick.  A small flame danced in the empty church as he held the wheel down.

“I racked my brain thinking of how I could make you feel the same unfairness that I’ve been feeling,” Evan continued.  “My parents stood there yesterday, looking down at me as they told me about the cancer.  They were crying, but you know what they did after they finished?  Nothing.  They just left me alone, to sit and think.  Think about all the things I’d never do.  All the people I’d never meet.  Then I started thinking of you and of how you didn’t do anything either.  You have all the power to, but you didn’t.  You ignored me, abandoned me.  And that’s when I knew what I had to do.  So I made my plan, and carried it out step by step.  I thought you might stop me, somehow.  But you didn’t.”    

Evan held the lighter up.  He looked at the flame for just a moment before closing his eyes.  He lowered it to the blanket on his lap and almost instantly he heard the blanket catch.  He felt the warmth of the flame on his chest.  He smelled the smoke coming up from the growing fire.  He released the flint wheel and let his hand drop.  Then he opened his eyes.

“This morning, there won’t be any songs or sermons.  You’re done here.  Just like me.  Goodbye Father.”

Evan let the lighter fall to the ground and with his other hand he pulled a small pistol out from under the blanket.  He did not hesitate.  He raised the gun to this temple and pulled the trigger.

Everything went black.