Exits

Inspired by an elderly man I met while travelling through New Brunswick, Canada in 2015.

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‘We were once small cells, glistening in a niche somewhere. We rode the tide and crawled from the ocean on stumpy legs, which grew and grew until we stood tall under the sun and had to duck to avoid tree branches.’

I listened, cupping my cold hand around my coffee mug. I studied my chipped nails, while the old man took a breath. He was talking to nobody and everybody. He sat with his legs splayed, a can of non-alcoholic beer popped open on the table in front of him. His pale eyes wandered but I avoided them studiously. I wanted to listen, not participate.

‘That’s what they’ll have us believe,’ continued the man, raising hands in helpless incredulity. I had my pen moving on my page although my concentration was faked and I merely drew patterns in the margins. My ears were all his. “No one likes the religious question. No one wants to be saved but I always try, I always try to because I want everybody to go to the happy place.’

‘John?’ A young woman who worked at the café came up to him, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘John, we’ve called you a cab. Here, sweetie, take this.’ She put some folded money on the table. He looked at the money blankly, then up at her. His lips moved slyly, old charm lighting in his rheumy eyes, a tremor in his hand as he patted her arm.

‘Geraldine, looking as beautiful as ever. Tell me, have you quit smoking? I hate seeing a woman smoke.’ Geraldine’s shoulders moved infinitesimally in a hidden sigh. With practiced patience she pushed the money a little closer.

‘John, I quit smoking when my Maria was born, do you remember?’

‘Ah yes.’ He paused to crease his empty beer can into a bundle. ‘Well, my dear, I best be on my way.’ John scooped the money deftly into his coat pocket. ‘Is that taxi I called here yet?’ And he laughed grotesquely, gap-toothed, face folding up in a hundred places. ‘Only messing with you, only messing. Here, girly!’ I raised my head to see him fixing me with a searing stare. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

I slowly put my pen down. ‘John…’ warned Geraldine.

‘You may,’ I said and took a sip of coffee, the steam curling gleefully in the light with the dust motes and glare.

‘Do you believe in God?’ he asked. I’d expected this and yet I still felt an initial blank space where there should have been some sort of opinion. I pushed my sleeves up and turned my arms over to reveal the jagged lines of scars rutting the flesh there, pale scores and pinkish folds.

‘I most certainly do not believe in God. But I’m glad you do.’

There was a moment where I saw something genuine wink in John’s eyes but then it was gone and the façade returned. But I saw it there, brilliant as daylight, as real as the feel of the wooden chair beneath my thighs. A look of bewildered, questioning compassion. The look of a man who did not believe what he was preaching for that compassion was earthy and Godless. It did not credit God with a thing. But now he shook his head.

‘Oh, girly, you shouldn’t try such things or you won’t reach the happy place and I want everybody to go to the happy place, you know.’

Geraldine looked at an utter loss. A horn blared outside; John’s cab.

‘It’s here,’ she said, feebly, wanting to run away from me. I pulled my sleeves down.

‘Maybe I’ll see you in the happy place, maybe I won’t.’ I smiled. ‘We won’t really know until we die, will we?’

‘Oh no,’ said John, very seriously. ‘The big guy won’t be letting me in. Of that I’m sure. I’m just his spokesperson until the devil should choose to take me.’ He grinned again and then his eyes slid away from me, withdrawing into himself.

It took a few tries for Geraldine to persuade him to his feet and she led him to the door. I could hear him talking and flirting once more and I felt very sad. My fingers played with the handle of my mug and then I picked up my pen again.

The café door opened and Sarah came in, snapping her phone shut.

‘I’m so sorry about that,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t avoid that call.’ She sat down. My hand holding the pen was shaking. Sarah’s eyes creased with professional concern but her real concern gleamed not far below. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Can I still call you if I want to?’

She looked surprised. ‘Yes, of course.’ A pause. ‘You know, you’re not obliged to check yourself out if you don’t feel ready yet. I could speak to your mother…’

‘No.’ The pen flashed and I wrote down an address. I tore out the page and shoved it across the table. ‘I’ll be staying here for a bit, while I get my shit together.’ John’s cab was peeling away. Geraldine was eying me discreetly from behind the counter. I stood up and drained my mug. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

‘No problem. Do you need a ride anywhere?’

I shook my head. ‘No, I’ll be okay now.’ I slung my big bag over my shoulder. ‘Bye, Sarah.’

Beads of condensation gleamed on the huge windows. Car windscreens glittered with melting frost. I pushed my hair into my scarf and headed for the exit. The sun blinded me as I let the door swing closed. I heaved a big breath and I directed my feet home.