The Phone Call

    I have a small medallion hanging on the visor of my car.  It’s not there to be pretty or cool.  It’s not there because it’s clipping something in place.  It’s not there because I am too lazy to remove it.  It’s there because my mother asked me to put it there.  I don’t know what the emblem on it really means, except that it has something to do with the motorists prayer and some saint (possibly Christopher?).  I’ve had it in everyone of my cars, and I’ve never been hurt in an accident, even though I’ve had several.  I’m not one to be all excited about this coincidence.  Most people know my skeptimism about everything is through the roof.  I believe in some sort of higher power, but I dont’ know what this creature’s purpose is, or why this power has brought my life into exsistence.  A part of me doesn’t think I deserve to know.   It says, “You’re here, be happy, don’t get caught up in asking why!”  And a part of me says, “Why?”. 


    I grew up in a world where you went to church on Sunday.  You went to a place where good people smiled and shook your hand and sang songs and loved each other.  As I got older I realized that even in church, even in the one place where you thought everything was sacred, there is evil.  Church politics, the meaningless battles between rival choir singers, the Minister who smuggled money from chruch; all these things and more caused me to doubt what the congregation I had been so impressed with really stood for.  I know that they were all people and that all of them have flaws, commit sin.  We aren’t perfect and were never meant to be.  In fact, if we were, we’d be God.  I also realized that it wasn’t necessary to be around those people, to be in that building, to know God.  And that sort of scared me.  Maybe it was because of the simplicity of individuality.  Maybe it was because I became closer to God.  I don’t know.  Maybe I was wandering away and I was being warned.  Whatever it may be, I accepted that I didn’t need church to know God and that I could still be a good person without all that.


    I received a phone call the other day about how I am sinful and evil.  About how I am on a bad path.  About how I have made mistakes in my life.  I didn’t believe of a word of it.  I thought about it, considered the possibility that maybe I was wrong.  Maybe I was on a path of destruction.  After all, if one doesn’t at least stop to consider another’s ideas, judgements, then one would be iggnorant.  I know I’m not a bad person.  I know I have addictions and sins in my life, but I battle them the best I can.  I try to make up for what I feel are my short comings.  I would never tell someone they were wrong about religion.  I would never tell someone they were going to hell.  I may be extremely judgemental when it comes to superficial things, but when it comes to the soul, I know it’s not my right to say anything, because that’s something personal.  It’s something people have on there own.  It’s faith.  It’s something you believe in.  It’s not something you KNOW.  If you knew, it wouldn’t mean anything because it’d be a fact and you wouldn’t fight so hard to make someone else understand.


   I recieved a phone call while sitting in Big Daddies Bar and Grill the other day.  I twisted my black bar stool around and looked down at my phone to see who was calling.  I said outloud, “This will be a terrible conversation.”  A woman we nicknamed Barfly looked over at me and said “uh-oh, something’s going on”.  I stood up and walked to the door, exited for better reception, and pressed the green answer key.  “You have to stop.  You can’t call me anymore.  You aren’t ever going to see me again.  Your evil and sinful and I am not a homosexual.  I am a Christian.  I have a girlfriend.  You are on a wrong path.  I am not a homosexual.  I do not believe in homosexuality.  The texting and phone calls need to end Adam.”  I don’t know what else he wanted to say.  I don’t know if I could have responded with something better, if he would have listened to anything.  It was a reaction, much like pulling back when you touch something hot.  I pressed the red “end call” button.  I put the phone in my pocket, I walked into the bar.  I smiled at the bartender.  “I’ll have another one please.”

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2 thoughts on “The Phone Call

  1. You know what? Nothing that has happened in your life before this very moment is a mistake. Always look up, forward; never back and down. This is called survival. sounds like that guy might be insecure.and the postal service are amazing.

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  2. Don’t even get me started on that punk kid and what he had the nerver to say to you.  ….Thats like a whole Xanga in itself… What I wanted to tell you is that I am slowly sucking Missi into using an Xanga.  Check her site out MissiP42… she is on my subscription list.  Maybe if she has some Xanga friends she’ll stay. 🙂  …Now to only get Schuyler

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