Ever go upstairs and not remember why you did? Or take the groceries out the car but then forget the kid? Ever open up the fridge and find the teapot in it? Forget to play the lottery then curse when others win it? Lose your keys? Kill the grass? Return home to check the gas? Fail to find your car though it’s right next to where you are So then you verbally abuse it while more shoppers watch you lose it Now if you were on the booze it might excuse it… (let’s defuse it) Scientists would say your frontal lobe is disengaged. You won’t remember that, so write this down: you’re middle-aged
I don’t remember what I wore Or who sat next to me I don’t remember who cried more And who came just to see
I don’t remember hymns they played The readings that were read Or why he paused before he said That you weren’t really dead
I just remember how you looked When you slept next to me The Sunday dinners that you cooked And how you sipped your tea Those corny jokes you always told Which rarely made me laugh How next to you I looked so old In every photograph
I don’t remember telling you To leave me all alone
I don’t remember telling you I’d be fine on my own
I brush your hair and talk of things You still remember The torch that lit the songs we’d sing Now just an ember I pour the tea You study me And wonder why I still come by. I dig out photos of the boys More reminiscing Now in a house devoid of noise Each night you listen A vigil kept While fear has crept Into a mind That’s been confined. Sinatra’s on the radio And works his magic This world which you no longer know At once, less tragic It was our song You hum along Then understand And take my hand
The great white’s famous for its size So when you see its dorsal It shouldn’t come as a surprise You may be its next morsel Don’t try to swim or duck and dive From Carcharodon carcharias It views each move to stay alive As utterly hilarious But be aware some do swim by For quite another reason… Just hope you never catch its eye During the mating season
Father Marc assumed his usual seat in the front pew of St Jude Church and unfastened his collar. Each evening after mass the old Jesuit liked to collect his thoughts for several minutes before extinguishing the candles and clearing the altar. His church had a cheery interior by day but sunset draped a grey cowl over the building which he didn’t like, entombing everyone and everything inside. Now peering into the shadowy recesses around him, he decided he’d turn on more lights for evening mass, even in summer.
In a grotto to the left of the altar stood a life-sized statue of The Virgin Mary, illuminated by several rows of red offertory candles. Earlier in the day an elderly parishioner had brought in a dozen crimson roses from her garden and asked if she might lay them at the statue’s feet. In the flickering candlelight the carefully arranged blossoms created a dramatic effect against the white linen which he now believed merited closer inspection. Genuflecting before the altar, he followed the raised marble railing which led to the grotto.
Father Marc gingerly lowered himself onto the wooden prayer kneeler before The Virgin. He could remain thus only briefly before his knees locked and he leaned forward to transfer some of his body weight onto the wooden book rest. The solitary figure studied the statue’s expression and thought she looked more melancholy than he remembered, while The Virgin’s gaze never wavered from the front entrance to the church. Reaching over the rows of offertory candles, Father Marc selected one of the roses to enjoy its scent but discovered it had none. Disappointed, he replaced it and began counting the number of offertory candles lit that day by the hopeful.
Nineteen… no, twenty. Will there be $20 in the donations box, I wonder? I doubt those three little monkeys threw in anything.
A deep, sinister chuckle rose from within the shadows behind him at this last remark. Father Marc tensed and the hair stood up on his arms; he was not alone. For a moment he thought he’d unknowingly locked in a straggler but dismissed the idea just as quickly. Every instinct told him this was not a believer. The laugh was not human.
“Let me blow those out for you, Father,” came the low, menacing snarl. “You know me… I prefer to work in the dark.”
This time the guttural growl came from much closer yet he’d heard no footsteps. His blood froze and his knees were now on fire as he tried to stand without success. Bracing his arms against the book rest, he looked to The Virgin for guidance but her gaze was fixed upon what was now approaching.
Help me, Blessed Virgin. What has come into my church?
“She can’t hear you, you fool!” the voice snapped angrily. “But I’m listening to your every thought.” It then softened in tone but couldn’t conceal an underlying rage. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve journeyed a long way to find you.”
In one final effort Father Marc managed to get to his feet and turned around but saw no one. The church appeared empty but he knew this was not the case because every nerve in his body screamed he was in mortal danger. Whatever was hiding was playing a game. Waiting. Watching.
“I need to make a confession,” the voice whined mockingly. “I’m about to revert to my old ways and you wouldn’t want that, now would you? Won’t you come in and join me? I really don’t want to have to come out there and get you,” it hissed.
At that moment the light above the confessional door lit up, giving the cleric a start. It was in there waiting for him. Father Marc took a tentative step towards the confessional then stopped. As a Jesuit he’d been trained not to fear evil and although every instinct was telling him to flee this was not an option. Whatever had entered his church had no right being there and he grew angry, not only at this act of defilement but its sheer audacity. As his anger grew, so did his resolve. All the years of training now took over and he advanced slowly forward.
Blessed Mother, stay with your poor servant.
“It’s only you I want for now, Father,” the voice threatened. “I’ll deal with her later.”
Father Marc was no longer listening to the demon behind the door. Whispering the Act of Contrition, he was imagining what God looked like. He hoped his creator would be forgiving and reward him for what he was about to face in his name. The priest also wondered where God was at this very moment. Was he watching events here on Earth? Was this a test? Was the plan to intercede at the last moment and then reward him for his faith? His mind now racing, he hadn’t noticed that the sun had now set, plunging the church into total darkness except for the candlelit grotto and the ominous light above the confessional door.
His knees no longer hurt and he’d regained control over his breathing. The only sound was the loose change in his pocket which rattled with every step. He tried to visualise the demon that lay in wait for him and how best to fight it, fully aware the odds did not favour an old man. Martyrdom seemed inevitable and the priest accepted his fate as many others had before him, while his mind continued to release thousands of memories, one of which was a prayer his grandfather had taught him:
Aronhiate, onne aonstaniouas taitenr
“You don’t know which gods to call upon, do you?” the fiend tormented him. “How pleased do you think they’ll be to learn you’ve been playing them off against each other all these years? If you’re afraid now, wait until they get hold of you…”
When Father Marc arrived at the confessional the light above the door went out. Maintaining his composure, he pulled a plastic lighter from his shirt pocket and flicked it. He listened for any type of sound coming from inside the confessional but the church was shrouded in silence as if every living thing was hiding and holding its breath. His left temple ached and his stomach was turning.
God have mercy on my soul.
He reached for the door handle but his right hand stopped short and hovered above it, shaking, while the small flame from his lighter continually rose and fell, threatening to abandon him at any moment. Scarcely breathing, he silently closed his grip on the door handle and was about to turn it when he had a revelation.
It’s behind me.
Before he could turn around Father Marc was set upon. The old cleric was seized from behind and hurled across the church, landing in a broken heap beside the grotto. Disoriented and bleeding badly, he was again raised off the ground and slammed face down into the prayer kneeler before The Virgin. He clung onto the book rest with the last of his strength, realising this was where his enemy wanted him. Daring to open his eyes, he tried to focus but all he could make out was a pool of blood at the feet of The Virgin where the roses had once been.
“We need to talk, old man,” rasped the voice, its breathing now heavy and laboured. “It’s coming and I know you feel it too which explains that prayer.”
Father Marc couldn’t speak but he knew his thoughts were no longer his own. He also knew these were to be his last moments on Earth, a prospect which now filled him with joy because he was ready to meet his god.
You thought it was me, that’s why you came here.
“Yes, I now know you were only a diversion, a fatal mistake on your part.”
We all have roles to play and I’ve played mine.
“I’m getting closer each time, Father.”
Time is against you. It’s started and you can’t stop it. No one can.
“I can make one night last a thousand years,” the demon reminded the Jesuit, “or have you forgotten that?”
Raging it had wasted time pursuing the wrong quarry, the fiend had nonetheless gleaned vital information in its race to find answers, but it didn’t like being mocked and Father Marc would pay dearly for his defiance. All promises of mercy were now forgotten as the demon snapped the priest’s head back, breaking his neck, before bearing down for the final, frenzied attack upon Mary’s poor servant.
“I’m watching you,” the voice came down the phone. “Where are you?” I asked, pulling into the car park. “Drive straight on until you see a yellow Smart Car. I’m just past it on the right.” “Did you say yellow Smart Car?” “I know, don’t even…” “Who in their right mind drives around in a yellow Smart Car?” “Banana Man.” “Who’s Banana Man?” “I don’t know.” “Maybe Big Bird’s in town.” “Big Bird couldn’t drive a Smart Car with those huge toes. They’re the size of fire extinguishers.” “Maybe it’s an automatic.” “Again, with feet that size, I’d say: still too dangerous.” “Yet it’s perfectly okay for a banana to get behind the wheel?” I queried. “I’m appalled and yet intrigued.” “Ah, well… bananas are good for you.” “I don’t know what’s real anymore.” “Good because I need you to shut up anyway.” “Why?” “Because our little yellow friend has a bumper sticker.” “NO!” “Oh, yes. Would you like to know what it says?” “More than I need toilet paper.” “It’s contains an axiom for all of humanity,” I was baited further, “written in glitter.” I slammed on the brakes. “I’m ready to learn! Give me the knowledge!” “Kittens are angels with whiskers.”
“So are grannies,” I argued, as the vehicle in question came into view. “Jesus, they’re driving a two-door lemon!” “Dog-hating weirdos,” Laverne muttered, watching me park. “Long time, no see. How are you?” “Fine,” I started walking over. “Stop right there or I’ll activate my Social Distancing Alarm!” she stretched out her arm like a traffic cop. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to all that,” I raised my arms and backed away slowly. “Luckily, I’ve been practising social distancing since kindergarten,” she scoffed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
We’d arranged to meet at ASDA because our respective households were running low on essentials, plus, we wanted to catch up with each other in person. Crossing the supermarket car park, we noticed that the queue curled out of the entrance and along the entire storefront before disappearing around a corner. “Good God!” Laverne stopped dead in her tracks. “They’re lining up the infected and shooting them!” “More toilet paper for us then.” “Quite right,” she pressed onward. “Every cloud and all that.”
As we were making our way past countless, evenly-spaced shoppers the Queue Coordinator spotted me. Jean usually worked the cigarette counter but had been commandeered to keep customers orderly outside. We knew one another through her daughter, Tracy, a neighbour. “John, what are you doing in the queue?” she asked. “You’re an essential worker. You can go straight in. Who’s this?” “I’m the help,” Laverne winked. “Not with that ring, you’re not,” Jean laughed. “Go on then, if you’re together.” “These two are essential workers!” she hollered to a colleague guarding the entrance and, as if pre-rehearsed, the queue burst into spontaneous applause. “What the-” “You’re the new Harry & Meghan,” Jean cackled. “Work that red carpet!”
“I was going to be a nurse,” Laverne whispered, before addressing the queue. “Remember, 2m apart! Social distancing means more nurses on the job and fewer ill at home.” “Would you shut the hell up?” I whispered back. “Not a chance,” she smiled and waved to her subjects. “Look at how happy they are. Anyway, it could have been worse: your friend could have said we were the new Donald & Melanoma.” “You mean Melania.” “What’s the difference?” “You’d know if you were a nurse.” “Hey, I’ve got a husband and three teenaged sons which means I’ve been on call since 1978,” Laverne said, blowing a well-wisher a kiss. “Five minutes ago you were passing yourself off as my housekeeper.” “And now look at me. John, my mere presence is filling the great void within these peoples’ lives. If there’s one thing I learned in school it’s that nature abhors a vacuum.” True, indeed, just not as much as my housekeeper.
We sent the students home today And then wrote off the year Agreeing we would all downplay The panic and the fear. The younger ones all whooped and cheered As soon as they were told Then out the door they disappeared To watch events unfold. The seniors nervously dispersed First, shell-shocked, then resigned This endgame they had not rehearsed Would leave some friends behind. Worse still, I had no lesson plan No academic text No clever quote from some wise man To say what might come next.
I struggled with this year’s goodbyes But didn’t let it show Instead I joked and signed their ties And let them call me Bro! Throughout the revelry we knew The world was not the same Our balanced lives were now askew And we were not to blame. But you can’t keep a good kid down When they’re up for the fight And as I watched them rally round I knew they’d be alright. The proof came when I reached my car That’s when my vision blurred In foam they’d written Au revoir! Then What’s the French for NERD???
Mr Ormsby At Large 