Staying Afloat

Abel’s fists shake from the grip he has on the handle of his backpack, and he hurls it over his head, “It isn’t fair!” The tattered thing smacks against the ice then slides towards the middle. A couple of pencils and some loose change manage to slip out of an existing hole in the bottom. He looks up to the sky. “You’re taking away the only thing I’ve ever cared about! Is this how you repay your children? They try their hardest to pray and follow your stupid commandments, but then you go ahead and abandon them!”

He jumps at the sound of a wheezing cough.

No more than twenty feet away stands a gentleman with prominent wrinkles and graying roots. The red plaid coat is a stark contrast to the snow surrounding them, but it looks heavy enough that it would withstand the weather if it weren’t for it being left open.

“You,” Abel growls and points a finger, “Where have you been?”

God flips open his lighter and brings it to the cigarette dangling between his lips. He has to cup a hand around the flickering flame before the butt catches fire. A moment later he exhales a cloud of smoke, eyes shut like he’s savoring his last cigarette. Without looking in Abel’s direction, and the hint of a smile on his lips, he speaks, “Ask me anything.”

“My life is falling apart! I’ve called out to you every single night. I’ve cried through every prayer, just begging for something. An answer. A reason. Anything! And all I got was silence.” Abel kicks an exposed tree root poking out of the snow. “Where were you?”

“Here,” God turns his head to look at him, “I’ve always been here. I never left.”

Abel shakes his head. No. There’s no way that God can say that he’s been there for him because he hasn’t. He knows what it feels like to be abandoned and alone. “No, you haven’t! I’m barely getting through each day—”

“—But you’re getting through them.”

Abel scoffs, “No thanks to you.” It’s a low blow, but it’s how he feels.

When Abel had pictured sitting down and having a conversation with God, he never thought it would go like this. Not at all. He has scraps of paper tucked away in his desk with all of the different questions he would ask. Why weren’t dinosaurs mentioned in the Bible? Is it possible to play a fair game of Rock, Paper, Scissors with him, when he knows everything about your life? What the fuck was he thinking when he gave centipedes so many legs? The questions sound almost childlike, looking back on them now. Maybe it’s because they are. There’s no time to ask silly questions about winning hand games when the only thing he can think about is his uncertain future.

That’s the thing about life, Abel supposes. As one grows up and experiences different things, the naivety from childhood almost becomes forgotten. Life isn’t as simple anymore. Abel had a somewhat typical upbringing, there were other children on his street to play with, and he refused to sleep without his baby blanket. The only thing that ever set Abel apart was that he never knew his father, and his mom was working upwards of three jobs at a time. Most of his clothes came from secondhand shops. In the winter, he would share a bed with his mother in an attempt to stay warm. Some people might say that he had it hard growing up, but that was the only life he had ever known.

It’s a different story to know one way of life and then it to drastically change overnight.

Abel drops to the ground, not caring about how uncomfortable the ground is, and puts his head into his hands. Fuck, none of this is fair. Is it ever though? “Why is life so good to the bad people? They’re the ones that get to step on everyone else without any consequences, and then they die peacefully in their sleep. It’s the good ones that end up tortured, raped, and murdered.” Abel chuckles as he drags a hand through his bangs. “It’s like they’re being rewarded for being bad people. Why bother trying to be a good person in the first place?”

“Maybe because being the best person you can be is the right thing to do.”

If God hears him snort at that, he doesn’t say anything.

God flicks the ashes from his cigarette and looks out at the frozen pond in front of them. “Humans are a bit too complex to split into the categories of good or bad, but I understand what you’re saying. The people who do a lot of good don’t deserve the bad that can come their way. It’s unfortunate. On Earth, you can’t have good without bad or bad without good. It may not seem like it, but no one is completely without the other. It’s important to remind yourself about what comes after your life here and those one hundred years or so is minuscule compared to the eternity that follows.”

“It can be hard to think about an eternity if you aren’t sure you believe in it in the first place.”

Faith had never been a question for Abel. It was a Church ministry that stepped in to help his mother, and even till today, she voices how grateful she is for them. She was pregnant at the age of seventeen and disowned by her parents. The women were the ones to help supply her with diapers, formula, and even a crib. It’s because of them that his mother turned to God. Then ultimately raised Abel in such a manner. God is the one who saved his mother. God is the one who makes sure the two of them are taken care of. Why wouldn’t he look up to his creator?

“She’s going to die,” Abel blinks away a warm tear, and it slides down his red cheek, “The doctors said it’s terminal. She’ll be lucky if she lives long enough to see me graduate in the spring.”

God crouches down beside him with his hands clasped together. His lips press together tightly as his eyebrows draw together as if he’s just as pained by the news as Abel is, “I’m aware of your mother’s condition, and I’m truly sorry that the two of you are going through this situation at the moment.”

“That’s it? All you have to say for yourself is that you’re sorry. Why can’t you go and take the cancer away?”

“It doesn’t work that way, and you know it.”

“I wish it did,” Abel sighs, “She’s put so much faith into you even with being sick. Sometimes, when she’s puking into the toilet at night, I’ll hear her praying to you.”

“Then you must know that she’s praying for you, that you will be okay once she’s gone.”

Abel frowns but nods, “Yeah. She’s the only person I have, God, and I have no idea what I’ll do once she’s gone. No one should have to bury their mother until they’ve grown up and started families of their own. It’s too soon. You can’t take her, she’s done too much good to be taken away already.”

“I promise you that she will be looked after,” God says as he rests a hand on Abel’s shoulder, “and I promise to you that I will never abandon you. Even when you can’t see me, I’ll be there for every second of your life.”

With that, he’s gone.

Abel pushes himself to his feet and then blows warm air into his hands, the cold has caused them to turn red and become numb. It’s time that he goes home and spends his winter vacation with his mother. If he hurries, then he might have enough time to make her something small to eat once she’s back from the hospital. At the very least, he can make them some hot chocolate in case she can’t keep anything down.

Near the center of the frozen pond lies Abel’s backpack. He can’t help but wonder how hard he threw it. There are probably thirty feet between the backpack and where he’s standing now. He takes a few steps onto the ice and stumbles, arms shooting to his sides in an attempt to balance himself. The soles of his converse give him zero traction whatsoever.

The pencils that had escaped Abel’s backpack end up being far easier to store away than the loose change. There’s little feeling in his fingertips, and the coins continue to slide over the smooth surface. Eventually, he’s able to shove them away into his pocket. It’s a habit of his to collect any change he has or finds. Then he puts them away into an old jewelry holder by their front door. A lot of the time, the money gets put towards an extra gallon of gas. Or the vending machine at the hospital. Every penny counts.

Abel swings the backpack over his shoulder a bit too forcefully, causing him to stumble sideways a couple of steps. The ice breaks open beneath his feet, swallowing him whole. It’s a shock to his entire body. The only thing he can feel at the moment is how cold everything is. It’s a sensation of tiny needles piercing every inch of his skin. Abel gasps for air when he surfaces and immediately tries to dig his elbows into the ice. It’s hard to move his arms when his sweater is soaked and the added weight of his backpack. He isn’t sure he could manage to wrestle off either due to how frozen his limbs feel.

“Help!” Abel screams as he tries to keep himself afloat.

The piercing sensation morphs into one of constant burning, and Abel’s arms get heavier with each second he holds himself up. This is it. This is how he dies, isn’t it? His body is in too much shock to even start crying. How long would it be until anyone found him?

Both of Abel’s arms slip from the ice, and he grabs hold of it again but with his hands. He’s going to die. Eyes squeezed shut, his mind immediately goes to his mother. In under an hour, she’ll come home to an empty house. Would she come out into the snow to look for him? How would she handle the death of her only child? Would she bother putting up a fight to survive?

God’s words echo in his head, “She will be looked after.”

At the least, Abel can trust that God won’t abandon his mother. He will be the one to look after her when he can’t.

A snowflake spirals in front of Abel before landing on the ice. There’s a flurry of them falling through the trees, and one even lands on his nose, but he doesn’t feel it. His fingertips are too weak to hold him up any longer. Closing his eyes, he’s not so sure he feels anything anymore.