Faith is a Strange Thing

Daily Prompt

2/20/14

Drake Lashly

"Faith is a strange thing" a voice whispered to me through the thickness of self-desire and longing that condensed itself into the people who surrounded me. I looked to the bartender in confusion assuming it was he who hinted at the possibility of interesting debate. The thick skinned man behind the counter paid no attention, he was lost in an empty glass that needed to be cleaned for the next sucker to press his lip to it. The flicker of the hanging lamp drew my attention away from the idea of social banter and awoke my senses to my surroundings. The flickering lamp dangled from the cracked ceiling and slowly swung back and forth like a pendulum, setting the pace for the entirety of the room. I adjusted my position on the blood red, uneven stool that cursed my self-esteem by being just tall enough to force my feet to rest on the wooden pegs. The fog seemed to pour in from outside and the sound of rain pelting the old bar echoed through and bounced off the walls. Surrounded by people bound to their skeletons, not ashamed to show them in this empty place, forgotten by the world and its god.

The stool to my left was pulled out of place and filled by the presence of another. The nameless pile of bones spoke aloud to me, "Faith is a very strange thing my friend". Unable to reply, my throat parched by the drowning seas of loathing. I just stared into the man white eyes. His pupils were once blue, but had faded along with the rest of him as age hindered his body. A slight smile cracked through his chapped lips as I observed him. "But what do I know, I'm just an old withering man burdened by my years" his smile grew and revealed his front teeth. They glowed a holy whiteness that took me by surprise. As he continued to speak it almost appeared the insides of his mouth shined brighter than the room itself.

"Pardon me, but I came with hopes of sharing. I do hope you don't mind" he paused and saw me. He raised his hand to the bartender, signaling a round of drinks. The thick man responded filling the freshly cleaned glass for myself and pulling another off the shelf for the buyer. "Have you ever wondered" he took a silent breath and continued. "What happens when we die?" the man took a swig of his drink and urged me to do the same. I obeyed, and mustered out what I could, "I've never given it much thought" I watched my glass, as if I was having a conversation with it. "Probably for the best. These thoughts could drive an old man crazy. It intrigues me how we can live day by day knowing we have something to do. Being given messages, or internal drives to do things. Then one day, it just stops" a sigh escaped the man shimmering lips.

A glass hit the ground and shattered behind them. Two men stood up and grabbed one another by the collar. They barked at each other like dogs do, until the bartender whistled and threatened to take away their treats. Gesturing to the bottle in his hand the two men obeyed and sat back down where they waited to be indulged in their treats.

The old man never once moved his glance away from me. He spoke, "Men are bound to be abandoned, to lose their path. I used to wonder where these fate-less men came" he looked around. "Now I know" he gulped his indulgence. My mind drifted back to my own drink in my now smudged glass. "You know, there's a church right behind this old bar. Not in much better condition, but it's there living in the shadow of paths end" He looked to me, wielding a face of interest. I could tell he wondered if I could comprehend his words. "It's my old church. Gone there for seventeen years now, and I haven't once stepped foot in this old bar. I see it every day though, through the churches window. Every morning the first of the suns light shines down through this window and it makes this place seem a lot brighter than it really is"

He stopped and drank the golden brown liquid pouring relentlessly from his glass. The bartender came back around and stopped in between us, "Last call" the only words I heard him say all night. The man gestured with his had again and the bartender filled our bowls. As he left us to our drinks the old man said, "Now this giant is my final guide, my Shepard" another sigh escaped.

Silence surrounded us. Unfamiliar to the man, but a close friend to me. Unable to contain himself any longer he broke the silence asking me a question I've never been able to find the words for, "Do you believe in god?" A chill shot up my spine killing my close friend silence and demanded a response. My mind crisscrossed and panicked. I looked helplessly at the man until he spoke again, "Yea, I've been searching for the answer myself" we shared a sigh. "Every morning at that church, believe it or not, I was given a message through that bright light. That message always made me feel like I was getting closer to an answer, but it never came to me" he took a drink out of his glass. I did the same, but I finished mine and set it down. I rested my head in my arms on the cold surface of the table.

The lamp swung and the rain poured and the man continued to stare. "I never felt a presence in that church, but those messages were my path. Until I looked past the light, at this forsaken place. So I followed that light, and here I am" he took off his jacket and set it on the table. "So here I am" he repeated. He finished his drink and set the glass on the table and stood up. As he walked away he spoke again, "Faith is a strange thing my friend"

I woke in a puddle of my drool. My mind was a haze of blurred memory. I lifted myself and fought against gravity. The bar was empty and the only movement in the room was the lamp, still on pace. The seat next to me was empty, but the old man's black jacket was still on the table. I reached for it and stumbled to stand, using the table as a crutch. It was as if I was out at sea for weeks and just got back to dry land. I gathered myself, holding the man's jacket I moved to the door hoping to catch him.

The rain had abated and I stared off into the clouds with a rather droll manner of awe. Sun broke through the cracks and pierced my vision. I held the jacket up to shield my eyes, when a strange realization dawned on me. I wasn't holding a jacket, but instead it was a black cassock the priests wear. Images of the church appeared in my head, and my path changed toward the church.

I walked in the two large doors, paying no mind to the carvings in the oak of the door. I walked aimlessly, and yet knew exactly where to go. Up towards the top of the church there was a large window that flooded light into the church. There was no movement, and I was with my friend, silence. I walked past the benches where people would sit during Sunday mornings and to the spot where the beam of light touched the ground. There, under the light was a gold plaque with words engraved in it. The plaque read, "Faith is a strange thing. Believe it or not, but it lead you here."