Notes on Patient 1103 - Session 4

“The door to the church was open. Despite the chaos of that evening, that is the one detail I remember most clearly; a church door swinging lightly on its hinges, lit up equally by the fading sun and the growing blaze. Does that count as a metaphor? I'm not sure I remember anymore. But the image stuck nonetheless.”

“The neighbors were in the street, of course. An impromptu gathering of the curious, the rubberneckers, the morbid. And I can't blame them. Despair draws a crowd. Tragedy needs witnesses. I was partially grateful, come to think of it. Their bodies, pressed together in the crowd, standing in solidarity against the autumn cold, made the whole thing real. Well, less surreal at least. Disassociation can do that, weaving a subtle sense that nothing around us is real, that the world is less tangible in some way. Or so I'm told.”

“Did you know they still whisper about me in town? At least when I'm around. Or was around. Sorry, I forget sometimes. Nothing but averted eyes and solemn tones greet me on every trip to the store. Which is just about the only place I go anymore, to be honest. Or, used to, I guess. Surely nothing has changed in my time away.” ... “Hmm? Oh no, I don't really want to go home. Not yet at least. I like it here very much, thank you. The hospital staff are much nicer to me than folks out there. Plus I get to give the sermon on Sunday mornings here. A small flock, to be sure. And a damaged one. But aren't the broken those who need grace the most?”

“I do wonder what stories they tell about me though. I wonder how the tale has changed in transmission, moving from mouth to ear to mouth to ear, over and over. Am I still the tragic martyr? The lonely hero who lost his flock, his livelihood, in a freak occurrence. Or do they think me cursed? Cast out and rejected by the Hand of God. I don't believe that myself, of course. I rationally and fully understand that the lightning strike was a total coincidence. And it's only logical that the wiring in the building would be faulty. It was an old building after all. Safety codes have changed quite a bit since then, I'd imagine.”

“But still. The curiosity is there I suppose; in the small hours, as I lay in my cot waiting for sleep and trying desperately to ignore the snores of my roommate. By the way, have you heard any more about my transfer request?” ... “No?” ... “Oh.”

“Anyways, where was I? Oh right. Sometimes I do think that maybe it was a sign. It's only natural to ponder the question, in an academic sense. Perhaps it was a clear notification that I was veering from my path. A dramatic pink-slip from the Big Boss, as it were.”

“Which is nonsense. After all, lightning starts from the ground, or from the roof of the church in this case, and weaves its way heavenward along a path of charged particles. And it is total coincidence that I happened to be there that night, a lonely preacher questioning his faith for the last time. Maybe that bolt didn't come from above to send me a message. Maybe it came from me, and streaked upwards to kill God.”

“Oh dear. It seems I've gone off topic again. What was your question doc?” … “Right. What do I remember. Well, the door to the church was open...”



Word Count 595