Fasting

I'm so hungry! he thought to himself.

He had lost his job; he had lost his friends; he had lost the respect of his family, and, now, they were making him fast.

“Should I sneak out? No. Bad idea. I could tell them the truth. No. I'm going out to look for a job again. Yeah.”

They had him looking for work every day since he had lost his job. Every day, walking in the hot sun. That burning yellow orb, in the painfully-bright, blue sky, that fell through the atmosphere like the world's largest laser. It was endless, burning down through the hot, humid air to the harsh, white sidewalks, making them seethe with heat and light. Down this hard, hot concrete he traversed; he could feel it hitting his foot with every step, the shock going up to his knees rhythmically. He went down to the mall, or the grocery store, or the bank, filling out applications, talking to managers. There was no rest, not for a second, all day long; it was endless.

“Hey, I'm going to the mall again to look for more jobs.” He was going to the mall, but he wasn't looking for work that day.

“Well, that's good,” his mom said. “Did you read your Bible and do your prayers”

“Yup.”

His mother wore pajamas and curlers. The look on her face was that of perpetual fear, and her poor eyes looked dim enough to be Leah's.

“I'm glad you're finally taking some initiative and looking for work. If you're not going to be praying you need to look for a job; your situation will never change if you aren't diligent. You have to keep knocking down those doors until you get a job. You have to keep in prayer. And you have to repent, or things will never get better. 'Seek and ye shall find.'”
How long is she going to take? “Yup,” he said.

He was Ben. Ben lived with his parents, and, although he was twenty-two years old, they treated him like he was two. Ben was tall and lean. His hair was slicked back with too much gel, which, along with his chiseled features, and the extreme gauntness of his clean-shaven face, gave him an eroded look. Ben's crisp, brown eyes looked hollow, recessed deep into his head; when one looked into them, it was like looking straight through to the other side. His bony hands were pale and ugly (perhaps from wringing them in prayer). His wrinkly, red shirt always looked like he had slept in it. His blue jeans were the only thing that made him look normal. Overall, Ben looked like a skin-covered skeleton, except without so much fat, like an unused raincoat hanging on an otherwise empty coat rack.

When Ben got to the mall, his girlfriend, Anne, and her father, Ray, were there. Anne was short, “petite” they say. Her hair fell down her shoulders like a waterfall, cascading down in locks of bronze. Her green eyes looked so bright that they might have belonged to Rachel. Though her clothes were plain, her rosy cheeks held between them a wide smile that seemed never to diminish as she spoke.

“Hello, Ben.”

“Hello,”replied Ben. “And hello, Mr. Hope”

Ray's smile was as wide as Anne's, but it fit better on his large frame. His brown hair was just down past his ears on the sides and was balding in front.

“Let's get something to eat,” said Anne.

I'm supposed to be fasting. “OK,” said Ben.

Ben and Anne held hands as they walked through the mall, which was to help hold up the listing Ben as much as anything else; her soft skin made him feel warm. As they walked through the food court, the smells of the restaurants hit Ben's nose like a slamming door and went straight to his stomach. Beef, chicken, bread, pasta, grease, seasonings, spices, cheese, vegetables, all the smells hit him at once; he staggered under the strain.

“What do y'all want to get?” asked Ray.

“I dunno; what do you want Ben?” asked Anne.

“I don't think I'll have anything right now,” Ben said.

“But you look so hungry,” said Anne. “Are you still fasting?”

“Uh...yeah,” he replied.

“It's been a week now; shouldn't you eat something?” asked Anne.

“Actually, it's been two weeks, but I'm fine.”

“Did your parents compel you to do this?” asked Anne.

“I'm doing this of my own volition.”

“Did your parents come up with the idea?” asked Ray.

“They did think it would be a good idea,” replied Ben.

“Well, I won't tell you what to do, but you do look like you need to eat,” said Ray.

“You're going to eat,” said Anne firmly.

I guess Mom and Dad won't know. “OK.”
They went up to the counter and ordered their food from the young men and women in crisp, maroon uniforms and sat down. Unfortunately, the only table available was the short one by the mall play area. Ben's tall, gaunt body looked particularly odd at the small table, as did Ray's large, football-player build, but Anne looked not quite as far out of place.

“How's your chicken?” asked Ray.

“Good,” said Ben.

“Don't eat too quickly,” said Anne.
Just then, Ben threw up on the table. His vomit tasted sour in his mouth, the flavor lingering for several minutes. It smelled foul and looked worse.

“Oh! I told you to be careful,” said Anne.

“Guess I deserve that for lying; God sure is having fun with me,” Ben said under his breath.

“Are you OK?” asked Ray.

“I'm fine.”

“You're not fine!” said Anne. “Your parents are making you starve yourself. You're acting crazy! I'm afraid you're going to kill yourself.”

“I'm not going to kill myself; I'll be fine if God doesn't kill me.” Ben's face looked weak even though he affected an expression of calming strength. He touched Anne's seemingly fat hands with his cold ones.

“Well, when are you going to stop fasting?” asked Anne.

“Maybe when I get a job.”

“What if that doesn't happen?” asked Anne.

“I can go a long while, a month or more. We'll see.”
Anne was clutching Ben's bony hand like a roller coaster handle. Then Ray interjected, “Do you think God wants you to starve yourself?”

“I'm just trying to find God's will for my life; I need to get serious.”

“Do you think you have to fast to get a job?” Ray asked.

“It's more than that; I have a lot of problems. I've been really stupid, and I need to get back on track with God. I'm trying to repent, but I haven't heard from Him yet. I need direction!” Ben was shivering from cold and hunger and fear and passion.

“Last I heard, all you have to do is turn back to Him, and He'll forgive you, no strings attached,” said Ray.

“We love you,” said Anne as she looked into Ben's eyes. It seemed as if she would give him the warm glimmer in her eyes to fill his hollow sockets.

“Why are you so nice to me?” said Ben as tears welled up in his eyes.

“The God I worship is loving,” said Ray.

“I know, but I need answers,” said Ben looking up at Ray.

“What more do you need?”

One of the mall janitors, a small, happy-looking woman, came to clean the table. There was silence for a few seconds as she cleaned the table.
Then, Ben's phone rang, and he jolted. Shit! “It's my mom,” he said picking up the phone. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” The muffled voice could be heard around the table.

“Chick-fil-A.” He paused. “I'm filling out an application.”

“Make sure you're home by a decent hour; I don't want you out late.”

“Yes ma'am.” The sick look was returning to Ben's face.

“I'm glad you're looking for work, but don't forget to come home and do your prayers. Are you still fasting?”

“Yes ma'am.” Ben was looking progressively sicker.

“You need to get serious if you want results. God won't forgive you until you change your heart.”

“I have.” The expression on Ben's face was that of a guilty little boy.

“Oh? What did He tell you?”

“About what?” He looked vexed.

“About your situation!” came the distorted answer.

“I mean, uh, I know I'm supposed to look for work.” Ben looked as if he would drop the phone right there from sheer exhaustion.

“Is that all?”

“No; I don't know.” Ben looked confused.

“When you get some real answers to your problems, then I'll believe you've changed.” Her words persuaded Ben like sly Laban. “You need to get on your knees, young man. Well, I'll see you when you get home. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Ben looked like he might throw up again and was almost crying.

“How's your mom?” asked Ray.

“OK,” said Ben, closing the phone.

“That's good; how are you?” asked Anne.

“I'm so sorry,” Ben said as he put his head on the table.

“Look, we all make mistakes, and we all have bad circumstances come up in our lives, but you just have to keep getting up.” said Ray.

“We still love you,” said Anne. Her wide smile was as big as ever.

“God loves you, too,” said Ray, “anyone who treats you otherwise is...a damned fool! You're not the problem, and starving isn't the solution.”

“You have to learn to accept yourself,” said Anne, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I'm tired of my mom treating me like this!” Ben looked as upset as Jacob the morning after his wedding.

“I'm sure she loves you and just wants what's best for you,” said Ray, his smile almost as big as Anne's.

“But why does she do this to me?” Ben asked in an anguished tone.

“You have to let go,” said Ray, touching Ben's cold hand.

With a reassuring smile, Anne finally looked into Ben's eyes and said, “'God isn't angry with you; you are angry with God'”

“Are you going to eat those fries?” asked Ben.


Copyright © 2011 David S. Robinson. Any part of this work may be transmitted, preformed or otherwise used in any form, so long as 1) I am clearly identified as the author, 2) a link or URL to this site is included, and 3) no changes are made without my prior written consent.

p.s. Feel free to comment on anything you liked or didn't like. :)

Camping

It's the worst camping trip I ever had, and the experiences affect me to this day. It's the summer I turn sixteen. I'm going camping with my friend, Jamie Hurtson, and Jamie's father, Jim, and mother, Janet. Jim is overweight, mostly in his stomach. He has a dark, full beard, and sunglasses, he wears a gray, polo shirt that makes him look fatter than he really is. Janet wears a long blue skirt and that makes her long, thin body look thinner and weirder than usual. Mr. and Mrs. Hurtson look like one of those silly comedy duos from those black-and-white movies my father and his friends like to watch, like Laurel and Hardy, or Abbot and Costello. I'm so excited! My parents drop me off at Jamie's house, where the Hurtsons are squabbling as usual.

“There's too much stuff,” Janet says.

“I just want to be prepared. We're late, will you hurry up!” says, Jim.

“OK, OK, I just don't want to forget to do anything before we go.” Janet replies.

They have a trailer, a small white one, in their driveway. It's overloaded with junk, olive-green tents, multicolored folding chairs, two brown doormats (yes, doormats) that say “Welcome” on them, burgundy curtains, a gray La-Z-Boy, clothes of all different sizes and styles, for men and women, store-bought firewood packaged in white paper, industrial-sized bug spray in an eerie, black canister, the size of a lamp, a huge, blue vat of sunscreen, and enough food to last for two months. Incidentally, the trip is to be for three days, over the weekend.

On the way to the park, we have to stop several times, because the overloaded trailer is breaking. Eventually, we have to stop at an auto repair shop to have the wheels of the trailer fixed. The fixed wheels help, but the trailer still sags under the weight. When something carries a burden, it has to be relieved; the problem can be ignored, but it will keep being a problem until it is relieved.

When we get to the campground, we start setting up the tents. Jim is yelling, because Jamie's doing it wrong. Jamie should be a boy. That's what Jim and Janet wanted. They were very disappointed when she wasn't. She still has to dress like a girl, wear dresses and skirts, and long hair, but she has to act like a boy, be tough when she hurts, carry things for her lazy father, put up tents. Jamie is kind of short. Her hair is short too, like a girls' basketball coach. She wears a pink skirt, which looks like a bad idea; it is not conducive to holding tent pegs, especially pegs that are farther apart than her height.

“Jamie, you're not doing it right!”

“I'm trying!”

“Don't snap at me! Now fix it!”

“I'm sorry.” There is a tear in her eye.

“Just fix it,” he says angrily.

“Here, I'll help you,” I offer. “It's not your fault.” I whisper.

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” Jim said, sweetly smiling. “Are you going to let her do your work for you, Jamie? Hurry up!”

“I don't mind,” I say.

“You just sit down,” he says firmly, “you don't have to do anything.” He smiles, but his smile quickly melts to a frown. “Jamie! Get with it!” he says peevishly.

I sit down. They finally get the tents up on the dirty ground, and Janet puts the welcome mats out in front of the tents.

“There, that will keep the dirt out,” she chirps.

But the only way to keep the dirt out is to stop walking in it.

The trailer is now emptied, but the tents are very full, especially Jim and Janet's tent. It is stuffed with a La-Z-Boy, a portable T.V., a small refrigerator, and an assortment of camping implements that make the tent bulge and nearly poke out of the zippered door. The tent looks like it will burst under the pressure.

“You girls be ready for dinner, we'll eat in half an hour,” Jim calls out.

“OK,” we answer from inside our tent.

“Why does your father yell so much?” I ask, “He frightens me.”

“He just wants me to be good at things. I wish I were better.” She sighs.

“It's not your fault, you know. You shouldn't blame yourself for how he treats you.”

“I should just do what he says, but I really do try!”

“Are you talking about the tent pegs?” I ask. “You couldn't possibly have done that, for one thing, you aren't dressed for it, and for another, you aren't tall enough to span that length.”

“If only I was taller!”

“You can't be taller, but you could stand higher if you unload the burden you've gotten from him.”

“Why can't I be better at the things he likes? I'm so clumsy!”

“You have to stop burying your shame with these lies. It's his fault that you feel so inadequate.”

“Thanks for talking to me.” Tears are running down her eyes like rain on a window, the way you can see the raindrops run down a dirty window, clearing little streaks of dirt away.

Janet calls out to us inaudibly and comes into the tent. “Oh, girls! You've tracked dirt into the tent”

“We're sorry,” says Jamie.

“That's what the mats are for,” Janet says, “Why didn't you wipe your feet?” she asks.

“We did, I mean we tried to,” says Jamie.

“Obviously not,” says Janet

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Hurtson,” I say.

“Jamie, why can't you be more neat and clean?” Janet asks, “Well you are cleaning this up, Jamie,” she says, “Next time, use the mat!” Janet leaves.

“Why can't I just be better?” cries Jamie.

“The dirt won't go away unless you stop walking in it; in a place like this, even a doormat won’t keep it out.” I say

“It's no use,” Jamie says, “I'm just not good enough; I'll never be good enough.”

“Stop feeling badly about things you can't control,” I say, “you need to let go if you want to stop recycling your problems”

“You're a good friend,” she says.

“Thanks,” I say.

After dinner, we get ready for bed. We go up to the camp bathrooms to brush our teeth and so on. The bathrooms are old-looking, and the gray brick is worn and dirty. With the dark sky the whole scene is rather eerie. There are two separate bathrooms (not counting the men's rooms); I go to the one on the left, and Janet goes to the one on the right. It is dark inside, and there is a slight, high-pitched wind blowing through a vent opening near the low ceiling. I am in the stall when I hear footsteps. They are slow and slight, and even though they frighten me a little, I am sure they belong to Jamie. Then I see a dark silhouette entering; it is a man. He has on a wrinkly shirt, but I can't see his face. I am frightened and shaking.

“Excuse me?” I call out.

“Oops, sorry.” He sounds nervous.

He leaves, and I sigh; I am relieved; it was just a mistake. I don't think about it much afterwards. Then I hear slight footsteps again. I feel uneasy.

It is the same young man in the wrinkly shirt. Even the ladies sign doesn't keep him out. He walks slowly towards me. I am paralyzed with fear; I can't even scream. He comes closer, slowly. He is muscular. I can see, from in the back lighting around him, that the color of his shirt is red. The light around him makes him look like an angel. I begin to make out his face a little; he has stubble under his neck and an odd, twisted smile, I can see his eyes, they are at once dark yet full of life. They are shockingly wide open yet glassed over; they look wild and empty, like an animal's. They are penetrating. I shudder. I see his torn jeans are completely worn out in the knees. I see that his jeans tent and bulge, and his implement is nearly poking out of the zippered door. He looks like he will burst under the pressure. I see that he has a pink pill between his thumb and his index finger which looks like a bad idea.

“Aaaaaaaa!” I scream a shrill scream that hurts my own ears.

The man with the pill runs away quickly. I run to the other bathroom and knock on the door and scream for “Mrs. Hurtson!”

“What?” She opens the door.

“A man, there was a man!” I pant. “He came in!” I still pant. “I screamed before you didn't heard me!”

“What?” she asks.

“There was a man. I screamed. Didn't you hear me?” I pant and shiver.

“No, I guess I didn't hear you. What did this man do?” she says.

“He came towards me twice! He came a pill. With a pill.”

“A pill? Well, where is he?”

“He ran off away,” I reply

“Let's go get Jim.” she says.

We go to Jim and she talks to him and he comes to me.

“Are you OK?” he asks.

“I want to go home!” I say.

“It's OK; we'll be OK.”

“Maybe we should go,” says Janet.

“We'll be OK until morning. Try to get some sleep,” he says.

I don't sleep. In the morning it rains, so we pack up and drive home. On the drive home, I think about the experience I had. Why did it happen? Did I do something to encourage the man with the pill? Could I have stopped him? There had been tape on the door knob, so I hadn't locked it; I thought it was broken. Could I have locked it? Ever since that night I've felt dirty and bad, like damaged goods. I've often wondered what's wrong with me. I'm still not sure if I wasn't partly to blame. I feel so ashamed!


Copyright © 2011 David S. Robinson. Any part of this work may be transmitted, preformed or otherwise used in any form, so long as 1) I am clearly identified as the author, 2) a link or URL to this site is included, and 3) no changes are made without my prior written consent.

p.s. Feel free to comment on anything you liked or didn't like. :)