Cure for a Lost Cause

They were lying shirtless on his double bed, Ruth’s head awkwardly resting on his chest and his arm tucked in the space between them, decidedly not wrapped around her shoulder. Their pants were still on, so she was feeling really proud of herself. Mom always said that men wouldn’t care about you anymore if you put out on the first date. Ruth didn’t believe her, but recent experience had her doubting herself.

“You seem like a burdened person, you know?” he asked.

“I don’t really know how to respond to that.”

He pushed himself up. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing. I mean, it’s probably bad for you, like emotionally, but it’s probably also why you’re intriguing.”

Ruth hopped off the bed, making no effort to cover herself, and walked to the university-provided desk across his room.

She had left her phone there on the table an hour before, right after he got up the nerve to kiss her at the end of Fargo, and guided her, mid-make-out, into his bedroom. She pulled away just long enough to observe the photos on the wall (no Pulp Fiction poster, thank God), but then she ran out of witty things to say and went right back to kissing him.

She looked down at my phone. It was 2 AM.

Ana: You good?

“I should probably have my roommate come get me now, it’s kinda late,” she said. Ana had driven her to his house before, because she was nervous and needed a glass of wine before coming over. Maybe two.

He shrugged. “I don’t mind driving you.”

“You sure?” This felt promising.

“Yeah, I don’t want you to have to wake her up.”

Ruth: He’s driving me home… thanks for waiting up

He pulled his Lake Valley Retreat 2017 t-shirt on, and suddenly she was aware, and even a little embarrassed, of her nakedness. She didn’t have a problem with her body, but sometimes she wondered if she should.

She struggled with her bra (red and padded, for special occasions), hating how he must have seen her nervously fumbling with the hooks. She didn’t know if men got grossed out by those things, the little awkward moments when you’re struggling to get your feet into your shoes. She spent a lot of time worrying about what it is that she did that grossed out men enough not to call her back. She used to be the person to not call back. Then she started getting with the type of guys she was actually attracted to, and stopped getting with the ones who might love her. Sometimes she wondered if there was a negative causal relationship between these two things. There was certainly a correlation.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She nodded, and they walked to the door. She slipped into her shoes. The laces were loose so she didn’t have to squirm, and she thanked God for this.

She hadn’t brought a coat. she shivered as they walked to the parking garage, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re taller than I realized,” he said. She couldn’t tell if he meant this to be good, bad, or neutral. She decided to take it as neutral until proven otherwise.

“My legs are a lot longer than my torso, so I look shorter sitting down. That’s where you’re mostly seeing me. In group, I mean.”

“Makes sense.”

~

Ruth met Jude in Catholic campus ministry. She had never been religious, but she was lonely after Mom died, so she decided to go. She had friends, but she didn’t know how to talk about it with them. She could also tell they weren’t going to bring it up unless she did first. Ruth’s friendships were not very deep, at least not in college.

She always felt like religion offers a built-in friend group, a society of better-than-you’s for believers. She wanted to be better than someone, anyone.

Mom would have liked that Ruth was in the Church. Mom always came up with excuses not to go, but she sent Ruth to Catholic school to keep the faith. Or maybe so Ruth would feel guilty about everything, without Mom having to be the one telling her that if she showed her collarbones she was going to hell. Ruth thought that this was a clever parenting move. Kind of like confession. Put your sins onto a priest, who puts them onto God.

Youth ministry met every Wednesday evening in a house a few blocks from campus. Ruth got the address from their website, and it was lucky she looked it up because she never would have found the building otherwise. You wouldn’t know it was any different from the other old buildings where professors and doctors lived except for the little crucifix over the front door. There aren’t many Catholics in Druid Hills, and certainly not ones religious enough to put religious symbols outside their door. Religion, especially Christianity, is embarrassingly non-intellectual.

There was a priest in corduroys and clear frame glasses at the foyer. She wouldn’t have known he was in the clergy aside from his collar. He smiled at Ruth, and it looked genuine.

“The students are meeting in the basement,” he said, pointing to a downstairs staircase to the left.

She quickly scanned the ground floor before heading down. She could see a kitchen through an open door, where two women in lay clothes were laughing as they did the dishes. The parlor area, visible from the front, was covered in couches and colorful pillows. Unlike the gothic Catholic imagery Ruth expected, still ripe in my mind from the terrifying chapel of Our Lady of Mercy, it seemed homey.

“Thanks,” she nodded.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he said.

She headed downstairs, not knowing what to expect, but slightly more at ease than she had felt on the walk over. The priest seemed friendly, so college kids couldn’t be that bad.

The basement looked like the one in Emily McCarthy’s house in high school, where she’d host parties when her parents were out of town. No one would dance, but everyone would drink, and sometimes they would go into her brother’s bedroom to hook up with each other, whatever that meant at sixteen.

No one was dancing or drinking or hooking up in this basement. There were snacks laid out on the mini-bar in the corner, probably left from the previous owner. Ruth wondered if the priests would drink together in the basement late at night when the students were all gone, if maybe there was liquor locked underneath its cabinets. She thought a priest bartending might be funny to see, like a nun rollerskating.

Eight or nine kids were awkwardly milling about the basement, some making conversation with each other, others trying to look occupied. They mostly looked like real straight-shooters to Ruth, the types to offer to pray that you stop being such a little slut. She half-expected one of the girls to offer her a cardigan to cover my bare shoulders. No one did such a thing, or really indicated any judgment at all, but she could still feel them looking at her. She was obviously a newcomer. Or maybe she was just painfully insecure. Or maybe both.

Jude led the group. He was the type of religious guy who has tattoos of bible verses but just the numbers, and wears chelsea boots and pauses dramatically after referring to God as They or She. He had an acoustic guitar strapped around his back.

“Welcome, friend,” he smiled, when Ruth walked in. Even without an ugly cardigan on, he dared to speak to her. Maybe this was a safe space. “What’s your name?”

“Ruth.” She reached out her hand to shake. He didn’t acknowledge this, or maybe didn’t even notice it. She slowly pulled it back, trying to minimize any awkwardness from this botched interaction. Inside, she was screaming.

“Strong name. I’m Jude. He/Him.” He extended his hands out to the circle of plastic chairs, the navy and mustard yellow type they give you in elementary school. “Take a seat, we’ll get going soon.”

“She/her,” She mumbled.

She took the seat closest to the bar-top, and watched as Jude struggled to lean over his notes for the day’s study with the guitar still strapped to his back, wanting desperately to fall to his side. Seeing him like this repulsed her, more than she knew it should. Ruth despised awkwardness, most of all when she had just seen it in herself.

After Ruth sat down, the others followed suit.

A girl with noticeably flat hair sat down to her right. Ruth watched the girl watching her out of her peripheral for a moment, the girl clearly tormented as to whether or not she should introduce herself. Ruth put her out of her misery, and turned to her with the warmest smile she could muster. Starting the interaction meant that she was in charge of it. She felt like herself again.

“Hi, I’m Ruth,” she said. “I’m new here, I’m a bit nervous.” This was no longer true.

She returned the smile. “I’m Enid. Don’t be nervous, everyone’s really nice here. I’ve been coming here since my first week of school.” She laughed, pivoting her neck to the side in a way that was both endearing and homely.

“You must like it a lot then.”

Enid nodded. “It’s nice to have a place to talk about Jesus. People get weird when you do it outside of this.”

Ruth smiled, not really knowing what to say. She knew it would be odd to tell this girl that talking about Jesus made Ruth uncomfortable, when the point of the meeting was to do exactly that. It was the only thought in her head, though.

“Alright everyone,” Jude smiled, flashing bright white teeth that took up too much of his face. He was on the opposite side of the circle, so Ruth didn’t need to move at all to face him. “Let’s start, as always with a prayer.”

Everyone made the sign of the cross, then joined hands without needing to be told. Most of them closed their eyes too, but Ruth kept hers open. She needed to see how this thing ran.

“Heavenly Being,” Jude began, swaying a bit as he spoke, “We ask you to bless us, gathered here today, with your infinite love and care, and to help us to speak your divine truth through ourselves. In Jesus’s name, we pray. Any intentions?”

“My mom.”

“The children in Syria.”

“Patience.”

Jude paused for a moment. “Amen.” They all crossed themselves again.

Everyone opened their eyes, and let out a collective breath. Ruth wondered why this always happens after public prayer, like being in communion with God requires one to almost die for a little bit. Like God would be offended by our breathing.

“Alright,” Jude said with a smile. He was sitting down now, the guitar squarely on his lap. Ruth was yet to see its use, if it even had one. “We have the pleasure of welcoming someone new today. Ruth, would you like to introduce yourself to the group?”
 “Sure,” she said. She tried to make my voice sound full and strong, because these people seemed scared to her. That could her feel brave, and she wanted that more than anything. “I’m Ruth, I’m from Montana, I’m a junior in the college.”

There were mumbles of “Hi, Ruth,” from her compatriots.

“Is there a reason you chose to come here? Or, rather I should say, why now?” Jude asked.

She prevented herself from mumbling before she responded, which resulted in an uncomfortably long silence which Jude attempted to pivot.

“If that was to personal, it’s fine for now—“

“It’s my mom,” she said, finally. “She died this year.” Enid put a hand on her shoulder. Ruth tensed, but Enid didn’t move it.

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Ruth,” Jude said, almost with an air of relief. Ruth wondered if this made his curriculum for the meeting easier. “But why did that push you to seek refuge in the faith?”

There was no way to respond to this in a way that is both honest and sounds good. Now Ruth decided to pivot. “Well, you guys really made this whole religion about a guy dying, so I figured you might have some advice on dealing with this stuff pre-made.”

Ruth thought this was pretty funny, but no one laughed.

A boy seated next to Jude, his chin still dripping with acne, half-raised his hand like he didn’t know whether or not he’s allowed to speak. Jude nodded to him. Ruth couldn’t help but feel a growing respect for Jude; where he led, his flock followed.

The boy turned his half-up hand into a waive to me. “Hi, I’m Jack,” he began. His voice was deeper than she expected, reminding Ruth that as young and as meek as these people seemed, they were all about her age.

“I just wanted to say, that I also joined the Church after a devastating event happened in my family. My father lost his job a few years ago, and we had to sell our house. But we found our stability in God, and eventually, with faith, he was able to find a new position.”

“Thanks for that, Jack,” Jude said. “Ruth, after hearing more about Jack’s faith journey, would you like to share about yours?”

“I don’t think prayer can do much about my mom being dead,” Ruth said. She could feel the room tense, and she felt a burning sensation come over her, like she did when she tripped over her words. Only Jude smiled. He looked right into her eyes. It felt like jumping into a pool.

“No, it can’t. But it can help you, who’s still here.” He no longer seemed repulsive.

She got up to leave quickly after group finished. On her way to the stairs leading out of the basement, she felt a hand on my shoulder. Not squeezing, but firm.

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot today,” Jude said. Ruth turned back to him, acutely aware of his choice to approach her in such a vulnerable way. Men are easy to read like that.

“Oh. It’s cool, it’s why I came to this anyway. It’s all just hard to put into words.”

He nodded. “Well if you ever need someone to talk to one on one…”

She held up her finger, and reached for her phone in her back pocket. “Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll reach out some time?”

He smiled, and took the phone. “I’m always available for the group.”

~

The drive to Ruth’s apartment was short. Jude played “Jane Says” by Jane’s Addiction. It had been one of Ruth’s favorite songs in high school, but given its story — the overly romanticized tale of a troubled prostitute — she couldn’t help but wonder if Jude had played it because that was what he thought of her. Where she would normally sing along, she was silent.

Trying to turn her mind away from what she could feel was bubbling into an unsurmountable wall of awkwardness, the very awkwardness she spent most of her time watching and avoiding, Ruth looked out the window. She focused on the trees lining the street, wanting to look up, until, at the one stoplight where they caught a red, she noticed white center of a face in a tree, the two black dots in the middle. Something in her, some tension she was holding, finally released. She laughed, and pointed to the form.

“I think that’s a barn owl! They were all over the place at night back home, but I haven’t seen one since I got here. What the fuck is it doing in residential Atlanta?”

Jude didn’t turn. “I’ve seen them a few times here.”

Ruth tensed back up again, right at the turn for her apartment.

“Go left here, and it’s the first door on the right.” Jude swerved at the last second, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. “Sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

He stopped the car right in front of her door. “I had a good time tonight. I feel like we really got at the heart of how you’re doing.” She wondered what he meant by this. They hadn’t talked about anything real at all, until he told her just how troubled she was. But maybe that’s all he meant: the “heart” of the matter was her burden. She was the sum of what she carried with her. But not the good things. The owls did not matter.

With Jude, she started and ended with her pain. There was no Ruth before loss, and there would be no Ruth after it. Perhaps this was true, that she was defined by the stones upon her back. Perhaps she could keep holding men who held her, only because they liked women with visible pain. Men who informed her of her burden, and ran in the opposite direction, light and free and raving about the benefits of writing in their dust-covered gratitude journals.

Maybe, just maybe, this one would stick around to see if she needed a hand. She couldn’t stand the person beside her. But everything was just so heavy.

“Me too,” she said.

Jude went in for a hug from the driver’s seat, which Ruth, in her optimism, mistook for a kiss. She missed his mouth, and ended up on his cheek. She started to laugh, willing herself to find humor in her missteps, in the imperfections she so despised, but he was silent. This was his version of watching her struggle into her shoes, or fix a guitar strap. She knew that she repulsed him, and that he too was going to run the other way.

He did not wait until she had gotten inside the door to drive off. She knew that he would act like they had never hit the “heart of how she was doing” if she went to another meeting, that he would not be there for one of his flock if she got the courage to call him. She also knew that she would do neither of these things. She was burdened, and no son of God, or room full of His sheep, was going to lighten her load.