God's Idiot

Evan Locklear was having a fretful night of little sleep. As usual, he was in the only bedroom of his shabby house, moonlight revealing a spartan interior through broken blinds. His twin bed, far too short for his lanky frame, had a thin sheet which served as a blanket for him, and while it was perfect for the summer heat of North Carolina, the winter left him clammy and shivering. While that may have disturbed the peace of most people, Evan had grown used to it. What troubled him that night was not the weather, but the state of his life. He was in his late thirties, stuck in the same small town in which he'd been raised, and living in the same house to boot, the only child of all his siblings who'd had the desperate necessity for its cold sterility.

His pastor's attire hung in the closet in solitude. While many small towns are centered on their faith and in some sense run by their pastor, Axholme, North Carolina was no such town. Instead, the elderly were bitter and run down after years of economic hardship, and the youth were too busy getting high behind trailer parks or vandalizing state property to go to church. Every Sunday, Evan stood up in the pulpit of the centrally located church in Axholme to deliver some watery message about Christianity, and every Sunday he saw about four dull faces looking back at him.

His sister had called him on the phone just four days ago, and when he'd first mentioned his troubles, she'd sniped, "Well you should've gotten a normal job like the rest of us, Evan! Don't come crawling around for handouts now!"

Seeing as his sister was the only one who deigned to call him regularly, he'd swallowed her words like a good Christian and had turned back to his Bible, now old and worn from decades of use.

"Please, O Lord, give me something," he'd whispered. Therein he'd experienced a horrifying first; a vacuous feeling pervaded his essence, spreading from the heaviness in his heart through every artery and every vein until his whole body was numb with the thought: there may be no one listening to his prayers.

That day, those heathen thoughts had been wiped away by Psalms 84:11 - "For the Lord God is brighter than the brilliance of a sunrise! Wrapping himself around me like a shield, he is so generous with his gifts of grace and glory. Those who walk along his paths with integrity will never lack one thing they need, for he provides it all!"

However, those thoughts were troubling him now. That doubt lingered in his heart, and it did not help that the town was utterly alien to him. Evan's spirit had long been his strong suit. In grade school, when bullies had come to take his lunch money he'd coughed up happily, and when they'd broken his glasses and bloodied his nose he'd remembered the teachings of Christ and stayed as docile as a field mouse. They may have torn his hair, teased him on his thin frame, but they would never break his spirit…

So as the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon and Evan's alarm went off with its usual dull drone, he was resolved to take that indomitable spirit throughout his day. They may test me, he thought, but they won't break me.

***

His day began with his normal breakfast of a soft boiled egg with one slice of wheat toast lightly buttered. He went to put the egg in the pot, but as soon as it fell in the shell cracked and began leaking egg white throughout the boiling water. Deciding a semi-poached egg would be better than nothing, Evan turned to the bread, which was smoking in the toaster. As he yanked on the release, he saw a blackened husk fly out of the only working slot of his machine, landing on the counter in a sad, crumbly mess.

Evan took a deep breath and remembered how his mom used to fix burnt toast. He grabbed a butter knife from the kitchen and began deliberately scraping off the burnt outer crust, revealing slightly less burnt bread underneath. Once he was pleased with the result, and had made a mess in his sink, he put the now-cold toast on his plate and began buttering, realizing too late that the egg had been in the water for far too long.

"Oh, no," he muttered. He hated hard boiled eggs, and even preferred undercooked whites to what he found beneath the broken shell of his current breakfast. He couldn't afford to cook another egg, so he thought he'd better swallow it in one bite and enjoy what was left of the toast.

"This is fine," he told himself, and he adopted a smile on his face. Perhaps he knew that life would test him that day, for that smile stayed bright as he brushed his teeth, showered, and donned his generic clothing - a beige sweater and simple blue jeans.

As soon as he stepped out of his house, he found that his car had been spray painted to read, "God-loving nerd!" in large capital letters.

"Jesus says to turn the other cheek," he reminded himself as he tried to wipe some off with a wet rag. It did not budge, but he needed to go into the center of town, so he got in anyway and backed out of his driveway… Or at least, that's what his plan was. He stuck the key in the ignition and found that the engine wouldn't start. After trying a few times, he looked at the fuel gauge and saw it was a hair above empty.

"That's not possible," said Evan, remembering how he'd just filled it yesterday. The terrible solution bubbled up in his consciousness: someone had siphoned his gas.

"That's okay, I'm due for a walk, anyway," he said quietly, rapping his fingers on the steering wheel. His hands shook just slightly as he exited the car.

It had rained the previous day and night in Axholme, so he found a wet, earthen smell wafting up from the sidewalks. Being a small town, these walkways were prone to large roots breaking through the cement, and small tufts of grass and weeds poking in between every available crevice. After about ten minutes of dodging such obstacles, he was about halfway into downtown Axholme. He wondered if this cement remembered all those times he'd trodden upon it as a child, running from bullies or to Jimmy's house. Jimmy was Evan's only friend growing up, but he'd long since moved far away from North Carolina and rarely, if ever, called.

Perhaps too caught up in his recollections, he tripped on an obtusely shaped root and landed hard on his hands, crying out as they broke his fall.

"Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh dear Lord," he said, rubbing the scraped skin on his palms. His sweater had some unsightly bits of dirt and mud in it, but for the most part, he was unharmed. He leaned against the tree which had wronged him and looked up at its bare branches. It was so old it ought to remember him, and so he simply whispered, "You must be mad at me for forgetting you, old friend. I'm sorry."

He continued on his way, wincing as he did so and noting that his knees were bothering him as well.

Once Evan managed to get in town, he decided on spending the day there. Axholme had a locally owned diner; it was filthy, greasy, and had notably bad service, but it was there he ate an undercooked burger with stale fries and a flat coke. Some quiet part of him wanted to say, "Really firing on all cylinders today, aren't we?" but that part was quickly silenced by a deep gratitude to the Lord for giving him food on his plate.

When the waitress, a young woman he knew to be called Janice, as well as a thief and an addict, came to clear his plate, she asked, "What did you think?" Perhaps trying to goad a sarcastic reply out of him.

Indeed, one formed at his lips, but then Evan shook his head and replied, "You know, it was fantastic, young lady, and I'll tell you what," he looked her in her glazed blue eyes and said, "I know the path you're on looks dark, and there will be pain ahead for you no matter what, but if you ever need a way out, the Church will always have its doors and heart open for you."

She chewed her gum and assumed a disgusted expression. "I spit in your soda, freak."

"Ah," said Evan, his smile plastered on his face. His eye was twitching only slightly as he paid and left the dirty diner.

He had a few errands to run, which were done in quick and relatively painless succession. He first went to the hardware store to pick up some nails. They overcharged him by a dollar, but he didn't mind. Going back into the store to haggle over the price would be too much bother, anyway, and he knew the kid who worked the counter, Marcus, was a swindler and unafraid of a fight. His breath just misted before him as he called, "I wish I could help you, young man! The Church is always open!"

He did his groceries, coming up under budget for once, and he made his way back home to put them away without tripping over anything. Feeling as though his luck may have finally turned, he drank a quick cup of coffee and decided to head back into town to visit the old library and maybe even grab dinner.

And visit the library he did. It was a ratty old building, with most of the books possessing more scribbled vulgarities than typed words, but he enjoyed himself nonetheless. In fact, he even went to check out a copy of his favorite book, Jane Eyre.

"You wanna check something out?" asked the old librarian, Darlene, who looked as though she hadn't left her seat since the 1950's. "For God's sake, just take it, dumbass."

"Thank you," said Evan, forgiving her vulgarity and making a mental note to include Darlene in his prayers that night.

It was a mark of the dinginess of that aforementioned diner that even now, at peak supper hours, it held but four customers, three of which sat at the bar. Janice was there and raised a thinly drawn eyebrow. "Back again? I'll just have to spit in your food this time."

Evan's eye twitched, but he kept his voice steady. "May I sit anywhere?"

She shrugged and waved a dismissive arm. He sat down and perused the menu, finally saying, "I think I'll have the macaroni and cheese with a side of green beans and… a ginger ale."

"Ginger ale isn't against the Bible, or whatever?" asked Janice, still chewing gum.

"No it is not," said Evan with a smile.

She smirked and jotted something down on her notepad. Evan watched her walk away, blue streaks running through her jet black hair. Her skin was motley and patched with scabs from her long nails picking at them. He was not so innocent as to overlook the tracks running up her left arm, nor did he miss those moments in between the vacant stares and glazed expressions when the fear and shame humanized her so brutally. Her shirt was profane, some sort of band he did not know, and her jeans were torn… He put his head down and made a mental note to pray for Janice tonight as well.

Of course, his mac and cheese was thin and pathetic, and the green beans stone cold and canned. The ginger ale tasted old and far too sweet, but he finished it regardless and gave thanks to the Lord both before and after the meal. When he was done, Janice came to clear his plates, but before she did, she spent several seconds looking at him.

"I don't care that you spit in my food," said Evan, "if that's what you're here to tell me."

"Can I sit down?" she blurted.

Evan's eyes disappeared into his hairline. "Oh! Oh… of course!"

She slunk down into the seat opposite his, her frame attempting to twist itself into the smallest possible form. "So… listen, about earlier… Y'know I'm sorry about… your drink."

"It's already forgiven," said Evan. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"

"I… You were right," she said, her voice small and her sharp eyes darting from the floor to the window. "I'm in a bad spot. I-I don't know how to get out."

"It'll be alright," said Evan, his deep voice calm and quiet.

"How? I… I can't see how!"

He reached across and braced her tiny shoulder with his hand. "The path is through the Lord, Janice. The Lord. Through Him, all souls are redeemable, no matter how damaged."

"Yeah, right… I'm not- I mean, I can't just believe in some sky-man who lives in the clouds and-"

"Why not?" rebutted Evan. "And besides, I'm not asking you to believe anything tangible. There are some who think God lives in the clouds, and while I've never taken an airplane myself, I'm fairly certain that's not true. It's not that which we believe in, it's the power, the grace, and the Holy Spirit which sees us through times both good and bad."

"How about horrible times?" she asked her smallest voice.

"Those too," said Evan. "Listen, God forgives. He really does. There are no sins, large or small, that cannot be forgiven with repentance and a journey of faith."

"Do you know what happens after we die?" asked Janice, surprisingly infantile as she picked at the scabs on her arms.

Evan took her hand in his own and said, "To be truthful, I do not know. I have faith that the Lord will judge us for our time on Earth, and to those who follow the righteous path, I believe he will grant eternal life in heaven."

She was silent for some time, but her eyes met Evan's and they looked, for the first time, hopeful. However, that hope was quickly shattered as she said, "Oh no!"

"What?" said Evan, and he turned to see four young men in trucker jackets run up to his table.

"The hell you doin' with my girl?" asked the largest one.

"Tony, please-"

Janice's words were cut by the dull thunk of Tony's fist hitting Evan's face. Evan felt his nose break, and he cried out in pain.

He was hit three more times, and his head lolled around as he tried to blink away the hurt. He was dimly aware of Janice pulling at her boyfriend, but he pushed her to the ground and began dragging Evan out of the diner. No one stood to help him, and Janice was left crying on the ground. All Evan could say was, "Wait… wait, no… I forgive-I…"

And then he was in the alley next to the diner, feeling kicks at his stomach, his face, his legs, any inch of him that was available was pummeled by a flurry of boots and fists, until he was left in a bloody mess, whimpering and shivering in the cold night's air.

Tony grabbed Evan by the beige collar of a now torn and hopelessly soiled sweater. "If I ever catch you near my girl again, the only thing they're gonna find of you is the body… C'mon, guys."

Released to the ground, Evan spent an indefinite amount of time crying until his eyes had spent all their tears. Every inch of his body hurt, and he felt black eyes blooming on his face. He had lost a tooth or two somewhere in the alley… what use was it finding them?

At last, Evan managed to pull himself to his feet, his legs shaking underneath him. He stumbled back into the diner, leaving a bloody trail on the ground, and pulled out ten dollars even from his pocket, throwing it on the table. He did not see Janice. He had no desire to see Janice.

Some part of him pondered this existence as he limped home. Was there nothing else for him than this town? Was he destined to die here, a pastor amongst the faithless? He had once seen nobility in being a beacon of God to those who were blind, yet when the blind were so… violent, what was the point?

He struggled to fit the key in the door. His hands were shaking desperately. He went into the bathroom, noting that one of the two lights was broken, and fished out some rubbing alcohol for his open wounds. It stung as he applied it, and he remembered Janice picking at her scabs from years of drug use.

Evan drew himself a hot bath, one of the few pleasures left to him. His body was far too long to fit in the tub well, so his knees, as rigid as they were, were forced to bend. He sank into the water as best he could, and again remembered that momentarily hopeful look in Janice's eyes. It was then that he resolved to stay in Axholme, for there was at least one soul here to save, and be it on his last breath he would save it. He inhaled deeply, feeling a sharp pain in his chest, and said, "Dear Lord, please keep Tony Alverez in your grace, as well as Janice Dunn and Darlene Rochester. They know not the depth of their sins, and I implore you to see light in them…"