Augie allowed a long groan to escape him.
“Augustus James, I’m serious!” that voice droned in his ear like a mosquito that just wouldn’t go away.
“Matilda, why do you give a flying fuck what I do with my spare time?”
“This is exactly what I mean!” she said, looking over at him. The wart on her chin shook with indignation. “Such foul language...”
Augie resisted the temptation to snort loudly. If only she knew the sorts of things he heard her muttering under her breath, she wouldn’t be so self-righteous.
“This is so stupid,” he mumbled, checking his watch for the 16th time in the past 3 minutes. Only a short time til the end of his shift and his crazy boss wants to choose now to lecture him about religion. He stared towards the door moodily, wondering what it might take to shut her up.
The little timer on his watch dinged and he grinned. “As much as I’d like to keep talking about this, I’m afraid that isn’t an option, I gotta clock out,” he said gleefully. Matilda looked up at him with her witchy eyes, brooding in silence for a moment.
“Well, you’re working tomorrow morning,” she said finally, a sly expression set on her face.
“What?! You said I wouldn’t work again until Thursday night!” he said, turning halfway out the door, enraged.
“Well....” she said, still eyeing him beadily, sucking on her fake teeth. Then it struck him.
“FINE, I’ll go to church, are you happy, you old hag?!”
She just smiled at him and shrugged as he stormed out of the shady looking doorway and into the shadier looking street. He looked up sunset terrace towards the church on the corner, then the other way towards Ray’s package store.
Here he is being stereotypical again. Anybody remotely interesting would do the unexpected and go to the church. But since when was he ever interesting?
***
Several hours later Augie staggered back down towards St. Magdaline’s convent.
“Augie, don’t be stupid,” he instructed himself, even in his whiskey-induced stupor. But then again, when is Augie Emerson. He shook his head at all his vices and shortcomings, the biggest of which was his inability to ever see good in himself. But that was just another shortcoming in itself, wasn’t it? He rolled his eyes and stumped up the stairs of the cathedral, tripping over his untied laces a bit.
Next thing he knew his face was being slammed into the worn tile in the mudroom and his legs were tangled in with another being who was beginning to stir. As much as he knew he should be alarmed, his brain simply would not function. His ears were vaguely registering a sound very out of place, but it was a moment before he recognized the sound seemingly blaring from the beat up old walkman spinning crookedly in the left side of his line of vision.
“Sorry, bub,” he said, aware of how completely smashed he sounded. He began to get painfully to his feet. A hairy arm reached out and began to grope around on the floor, going towards the walkman. Finally the filthy homeless man came into focus in Augie’s blurred vision. He was curled under a thin blanket in the corner of the mudroom with a copper bowl beside him. He had finally clutched the walkman and was tucking it protectively under the threadbare blanket. He turned his face to Augie and he realized with a start that the man was blind. He felt like he wanted to say something, but decided against it, perhaps the smartest choice he’d made all day.
He wandered into the sanctuary with its high windows and worn pews. He took in the slightly musty smell and the quiet thumps of his footfalls as he moved towards the front.
“I guess this is it then, God,” he said aloud, feeling immensely stupid as he did so. He was still aware of how his speech was slurred. “I’m here because my life sucks. And I guess some people think that talking to you will fix things.”
He looked around furtively, half expecting a lightening bolt to strike him for his sarcasm. He suddenly felt sick and doubled over, two pews from the front of the large, open room. Next thing he knew, there was a nasty puddle of sick at his feet and he suddenly felt much better. Then the reality hit him. He just stepped on a homeless man, sassed God, and puked in a church. All while drunk on cheap liquor.
“This is really a crowning moment for you, Aug,” he thought, while hustling out of the sanctuary as quietly as he could. On his way out he hesitated in front of the homeless man, now sleeping deeply. He rummaged in his pocket, dropping the remainder of his tips from the night into the copper bowl. It echoed in the small mudroom.
He looked into the bowl to see 8 ones, three fives, and a twenty peeking up at him from among the assorted coins. He glanced at the homeless man again to make sure he was asleep before bending down and retrieving the twenty off the pile, cause that’s the kind of asshole he is.
He looked around once more before slipping out of the front doors. But a voice from behind him stopped him in his tracks.
“Riddles -- all you can say are riddles, murk and darkness."
