I was not sent by God to help you.
It was like this: The first time we met, you became convinced that I was sent by God to help you. This was your idea, and not my fault. I just happened to accidentally say the exact things you needed to hear, at a time when you were quite receptive to earnestness. What can I say? I’m a relatively nice person with a handy repertoire of earnestness. Our numbers just came up that night.
We parted. Inspired, you wrote me a letter explaining how much our chance meeting meant to you. You explained your theory that I was sent by God to help you. I was not prepared for such a letter, and I fled like a pheasant from the jaws of the hound. This came as no surprise to God. I don’t really know how to describe what you went through as a result of my actions, but the phrase “high and dry” does suggest itself. Forget your own humiliation for a moment and savor the rotting-meat flavor of mine.
Where was your knight in shining earnestness? You sent me a post-card asking, and received no response save for the beating of wings and a speck disappearing behind some trees. I can’t really apologize with any expectation of forgiveness. I can’t really apologize because it doesn’t seem fair to make the gesture.
In his cloud, God chuckles.
We met a year later, in the same place. You were still heart-pressingly beautiful, and sad like a concrete goose. We got a chance to talk, and I said the most horrible things imaginable. What can I say? I’m a relatively nice person with a handy repertoire of earnestness. It just happened to be the exactly wrong kind of earnestness that night. I could smell your let-down like ozone, and the laughter of God buzzed around us like the mosquitoes.
Make no mistake: The mosquitoes were fucking annoying.
We disappeared to our respective haunts, never to cross paths again. I sometimes wonder what became of you, with your mass of curly, dark-brown hair and liquid midnight eyes. I did not save you. Were you ever saved? Or did you retreat and disappear? Or did you simply cease to be a teenager, and things got better as a natural consequence? God knows. As for me, the squishy aspects of my life turned into a sort of train wreck, and my failures in your case are something I’ve only recently started to get over.
Recovery began with the realization that God was never there.
Ethan Abides 