Chaper #3.1 Morning routine.

                  

The morning routine: Alarm woke him up but it went off two more times by hitting the snooze button before he actually got out of bed. His feet hit the floor and he stretched and yawned. He shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the light, blinding him.

He jumped in the shower and washed himself letting the cold water slowly wake up his cinnamon skin. He stepped out, puts on his robe and brushed his teeth. Watched the news while he dressed; boxers, jeans, a shirt that has no apparent stains and didn’t smell bad, socks and shoes. He brushed out his half-inch long hair and matching black beard.

Whether you’re a lawyer, doctor, serial killer, bus driver or a produce salesman, you have a morning routine, and it was the axiom of Marcus' existence to get up early and cook breakfast for Portland State University’s future America which paid shit. Sometimes it paid the rent, sometimes it didn’t. He curbed his lack of income playing poker, usually winning a few hundred a week, but not always, and some weeks he found himself in the red. It wasn’t always like this but the recession landed plenty of people in positions they didn’t expect even a few months prior.

Marcus made his way out on the street while pulling on a maroon hooded sweatshirt. It wasn't raining but it looked like it should be. Overcast whether made up a majority off Portland's days and it never hurt to keep an umbrella handy. These kind of days caused instant un-exuberance and gloom in most people’s and he was no exception, this just happened to add to the fact that he received a text stating that the opening bar tender called out sick meaning he had to open and work both the kitchen and the bar, which was no biggie since things stayed pretty slow till mid-morning when the manager come in, but it meant he had to deal with people and not just their food. 

There really was no danger in getting wet when it rained. It's more about the discomfort of raindrops falling on one's body and clothes. It’s why he kept coarse hair short. Somehow, the webbed footed people that lived in the city of roses made due.

After 8 blocks, he approached the back door of the Cheerful Tortuous and opened it while mumbling "time to make the fucking donuts."

The morning progressed as he expected, folks slowly rolled in, an with each interaction, Marcus' bleak opinion of the human race was renewed. It was one thing to get a ticket with a special order on it for an egg-white gluten-free bird in the nest, but to hear it from some "International Studies 250 Terrorism and Art: The Spectacle of Destruction" sophomore was enough to want to smack them back to a fresh-faced scared as shit, ramen noodle eating freshmen.

Did they have gluten-free bread? Of course they did! But only because it catered to folks who asked for it. This was a college bar, not a hipster bistro. They served Pabst, not because it was in a tallboy and was preferred by dirty cyclist with flipped up brimmed, but because it was cheap as shit and local used bookstores and corner coffee shops only paid so much for part-time work.

This is why Marcus preferred the kitchen, no customer interaction, and if one more person ordered a bagel with dairy-free cream cheese, he would turn into the brunch Nazi and tell them they had to leave. He chuckled at the thought of a black man dress in an SS uniform telling people to leave because of their ridiculous culinary request. 

Waffles, pancakes, biscuits and gravy, toast, OJ, hash browns and coffee, so much coffee. Knowledge required brains and brains required sustenance and he was the conduit. For better or worse he was fueling the future one plate at a time.

The manager rolled in, pissed that the opening tender called out, but offered much needed relief taking at least the table service off Marcus’ hands leaving him the kitchen and the counter, he wiped down the spot in the middle of the bar when some young buck just sat down and gave him the universal sign for “ID please”. Kid looked to be in his mid-twenties, but the OLCC was sneaky. Sure enough, it stated DOB: 3/18/85. Name: Donald…

He winced when he read the rest “this your real last name dude?”

“Why change it, right?” the guy responded. Marcus smirked, shook his head and handed the ID back. 

“Here’s the menu, you want something to drink Donald?” he asked.

“Just Don. I’ll have a red beer and a short stack,” he said. Red beer was nasty: pilsner with tomato juice. But it was an acceptable breakfast drink. 

As Marcus poured and flipped the requested pancakes, he caught this Don character, fawning over what appeared to be an envelope while he drank his poor-mans version of a bloody marry. Marcus didn’t see to many euphoric faces before noon in that joint and this cat looked like he just found a golden ticket. 

He started getting irritated with the kids' attitude, which deep down was probably just jealousy, what’s this jack-ass got to be so happy about? Must be good news, maybe a letter from a loved one, maybe a girl, this didn’t help the situation as Marcus was having issues in that department as of late.

He brought the plate of grub out and placed it in front of Don “what you got there, good news?”

“I hope so,” Don responded and pulled out a transportation ticket and not a letter “I won’t know till I find what I’m looking for,” Marcus made out that the ticket had AMTRAK printed on the top.

“You looking for a train?” Marcus asked as he grabbed from under the bar a set of silver wear and napkins.

“You could say that,” Don took a long drink of his red beer as he placed the ticket on the bar for Marcus’ inspection. ARRIVING AT UNION STATION SEATTLE, WA.

“You go biz in the Emerald City?”

“More like biz on the way to the Emerald City. There’s this girl, right?” Here it is Marcus though “She’s heading up that way and I need to find her,”

“You can’t call or text her when she gets up there?” Marcus asked disinterestedly. Don took in a fork full of pancakes and gave a muffled response. 

“Can’t,” he chewed a bit and continued with less of a muffle “don’t have a number.”

“E-mail, social media?”

Don finally swallowed “nope, just met her last night.” That piqued Marcus’ interest with raised eyebrows.f

“You’re going on a trip with a girl you met last night and you forgot to get her number? Is that some kinky online chat thing? She have a screen name like KittyVixen325? She friends with Chris Hansen or you guys where masks when you first met?” He couldn’t help but chuckle.

Don smiled but shook his head “nah man,” he proceeded to tell his tale of the night before between bites of food and Marcus serving others as more arrived at the bar: there was a parking lot, a ride, some pizza and a rejection.

“So this chick blew you off and now you’re stalking her on a train?” Marcus asked.

“Not stalking, woo.. wooing her? That’s a thing, right? I mean she’s going up there to see sick family. She probably, you know, needs a friend. I can be that guy.” Marcus raised a judging eyebrow.

“That sounds sketchy as shit, man. You might want to rethink your plan. What if she’s not down with you tagging along? That’s a long bitter trip up there for nothing if she blows you off again,” he put a lot of emphasis on the last word. But Don, the simple optimist wasn’t going to be swayed. He already bought the ticket so why not go all in on with his little plan.

“I’m catching that train Bob,” Don said reading the name on Marcus’ name tag. 

“Names Marcus, we all wear fake names here,” he took a light sigh and cleared Don’s plate and glass “you know you’re supposed to listen to the advice of your bar tender,” though he wasn’t actually a bar tender, he was trying to give the guy a sound recommendation to an obvious situation. 

Fools rush in and this guy was on full tilt. But what the fuck did he care, no need to rain on this man’s parade “man, I’m full of shit, do what you want. Find that girl and have your own romantic comedy, and it is a comedy, by the way.

He placed two pint glasses on the bar. Inside he placed a cracked egg, a chasers worth of pils and a shot of tomato juice. Don eyed it awkwardly. "One for the road on me,"

"Liquid omelet?"

"Something like that," Don stood up from the bar and clutched the glass. In a mirrored gesture, they raised their glasses in salute. "To falling in love with mysterious women," and he knocked back his concoction. 

After a second of thought, Don did the same declaring "to nurse Mandy," he cleared the glass and slammed it down smiling while pointing approvingly at Marcus. With that he swiftly exited the bar, bag slung on his shoulder.

A look of shock struck Marcus' face "the fuck you just say?!?" But the headstrong vagabond had already departed. Of all the love-struck lonely hearts, of all the fish in the fucking sea and chance meetings, did he really say nurse MANDY? As in 'Amanda Callahan RN currently driving around in his shitty car' Mandy? Marcus jumped over the bar, ran out the door and looked up and down the adjacent streets, but Don was nowhere to be seen. 

"Damn," he said under his breath. Did he just send that dude off to pursue his woman? Looks like the Tourists would also be down a cook that day as well.

Suggested listening:  If you Only Knew by Jurrasic 5  
                                    Idiot by Atmosphere

Chapter#2.4 Washing Out Regret

           

Amanda woke up to darkness and a horrible feeling in her stomach. The clock next to her bed glowed 3 a.m. as she rushed to the bathroom where she proceeded to empty her entire stomach into a porcelain bowl. She strained to do so leaving her eyes red and watered, her face covered with tiny red spots from busted blood vessels.

 Some of what came up go in her hair. She should have seen this coming. Why did she have the last something-with-cream? She usually stuck to the rule to stop drinking when you’re drunk. It was her way of not following in her father’s footsteps. His side of the family was riddled with boozers but her mother’s wasn't, so she assumed she had a 50/50 shot of inheriting the gene.

Amanda flushed and filled a glass of water. While drinking it down, she realized that she had some remains on her shirt as well and figured a shower was the best thing for her.

She turned the water on, found the right temperature, and stepped into a hot rain that blanketed her body. She felt some of the tension slip away.

What had she done earlier? She should have known going to her brother’s was a bad idea. She should have had him drop off the keys at her work so it would be a shorter meeting and they would have no time to dwell on family issues. She didn't even want to go to the bar, but after that conversation, she knew she needed a drink. And she never planned on having several of them with people she hadn't seen in ages, but here she was washing out regret the night before her trip to Seattle.

After cleaning her hair, she lay down in the tub and turned up the water temperature with her foot. The tub began to steam as the water gently splashed down on her stomach.

She needed to get out of Portland and this trip was just the thing. She felt terrible; about her stomach, her head and her life. After another minute she wiped snot from her nostrils and leaned forward with her hands on her head and, while sitting, let the hot rain wash down over her back.

She cried a lifetime worth of tears and it was hard to tell where the shower water ended and they began as she tasted the human salt on her lips. Amanda wanted to shed her skin and let it slip away down the drain. Through the pipes and sewers with the rest of the crud. Eaten whole and digested by the city. Then filtered, washed, disinfected, and released to the river where she will float away to the ocean. She was good at slipping away from her problems, like some sort of escape artist. She never really ran from her problems as much as she just chose to ignore them and had been doing so all her life.

She ran her hands up and down a week’s worth of stubble on her legs. Fall and winter months allowed for this kind of growth. She hadn't planned on shaving, but right then, she felt the need to make herself feel beautiful. So she grabbed the shaving cream and razor from the caddy and proceeded to shave her legs as smooth as the day she was born. Each stroke of the razor against her lower legs and thighs was making her feel better. It wasn't shedding her skin, but it was the next best thing. She even shaved the part of her body that she had no reason to shave since she was with her ex. Most days she was busy, tired and had no time to feel like a woman, but now she was feeling more feminine than she had in a long time, it was technically the start of her vacation after all.

Amanda rinsed, stepped out, dried off and rubbed lotion on the now bare skin of her legs. She crawled into bed and felt her silky thighs, it had also been a while since she had felt sexy about herself and she let her fingers wander. Ten minutes later she fell asleep with a smile on her face, though she wished she had someone to share the moment with. Her last thought was of the bartender with her messy hair.

Suggested listening: Wet Sand by Red Hot Chili Peppers.
                                

Chapter#2.3 He Would Order a Double

Amanda thought of her brother as the therapist she never wanted. He meant well, but at times, didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Like a parent who wants to touch a sensitive subject but had no tact. She couldn’t understand why Sam defended a train wreck like their father.

She was fired up and pissed off so she jumped in her car and headed back to her place. But when she got there, she didn’t go inside. She walked three blocks down to the closest bar she has ever known.

Small, purple and triangular in shape, the Sandy Hut was a notable hub along the cityscape of Sandy Blvd. which ran like a rouge arrow through a majority of east Portland. This sort of city planning left several opportunities for three-sided buildings.

Also known as the Handy Slut, or as Amanda called it, the Smokey Hut, the bar catered to people who just came from another bar. No one ever strove to start their evening there, but it wasn’t uncommon to end up in its clutches.

As always, there was a faint cloud of smoke hanging in the air due to low ceilings and lack of ventilation. It was a second-hand smoker’s wet dream.

The door opened to a small area occupied by an old pool table and a large round table that sat six where a stage had been known to be erected for performances. Booths lined two walls leading to the bar where all sorts of colorful characters sat. One wall was a mural of a fancier bar filled with caricatures of celebrities from the ’40s ’50s and ’60s. It was reminiscent of artwork usually used to portray jazz musicians; Smokey colors including bard blue, grey and shades of brown. It was a stark contrast to what was going on in the real world surrounding it.

Across from the bar were the kitchen and bathroom, each as clean as each other, and just outside of the kitchen was a jukebox filled with local favorites and music staples. CCR's Suzy Q was currently playing. 

Regulars at the bar nodded their hellos and Amanda found a seat between a salty old man and a college student with a cigarette in one hand and an open book in the other.

The old man to her right looked over at her with his one good eye and winked with a smile, the returned to his love affair with his drink.

The bartender approached while at the same time putting her dirty mess of hair up into a ponytail "what can I get you, sweetheart?"

"Anything brown," Amanda said with a sigh. She turned to her side to riffle through her bag for some cash and saw her aunt’s keys with a what-would-Jesus-do key chain 'he would order a double' she thought.  She noticed that it was from Sam's church and she knew he attached it, most likely recently.

And just as if her former though was said aloud, she found a glass with a double of something light brown in front of her. She looked up at the bartender "don't worry, I charged you for a rum and coke," she said with a more than friendly smile. Amanda smiled back and took a sip and watched as the bartender moved on to the next patron.

She wasn't entirely sure about the look but she had a pretty good idea. She leaned a certain way but never shied away from the other, especially when it came to cute and generous bartenders.

She took a large gulp and felt it burn all the way down. There was a time, long ago, when it was considered inappropriate for a woman to go into a restaurant, let alone a bar, by herself without the company of a gentleman. Even a female bartender wearing tight worn blue jeans with a large hole on the thigh showing part of a seemingly large tattoo and one in the ass showing bare cheek would be unheard of. But in the 21st-century northwest, it was just fine.

Amanda hadn’t been to the Hut in a while and was glad to see that Abe the animal was still the cook. He was a bit of a dick, but he made bar food taste gourmet.

She took a second gulp that burned just as much as the first and she thought of her dad. The insignificant prick who blamed her for all of his problems. She made it a point to not think of him all last summer while she finished up her residency in Hood River, and now her all too caring brother had to twist a simple visit into a quagmire of bullshit.  He was less of a father and more of the bane of her existence, literally. He was a nuisance, barely getting by on early retirement while pickling his liver and resenting his children; Amanda for their mother and Sam for defending that fact.

Her third sip didn’t hurt as much as the second, but when she set the glass down, a little bit of the something light brown sloshed out the side. She felt the alcohol on her hand. It felt like someone was blowing on it. It reminded her of how her lips felt when she kissed her ex when he was obnoxiously drunk. She realized that she managed to go a few hours without thinking about him as well. She was thoroughly distracted by drug-store-Don and her brother to think about all the other mixed feelings she had been wrapping around her brain about another man who caused her so much grief.

She didn’t even get to her fourth drink when a girl recognized her from the back of the bar “can you believe this skank?!? How many months have gone by and she can’t even stop by to say hi?!?” the voice was that of an inebriated woman. Amanda turned with a smirk. It was someone she knew but couldn’t remember. A friendly face and voice she used to share a bar with.

“Hey… you,” she didn’t want to sound rude for not remembering the girl’s name. They hugged and the girl ordered around of beers for herself and friends sitting in the far corner of the bar. The bartender addressed the familiar face as Carrie and the profile came rushing back.

Carrie was a regular who hung out with Amanda on a weekly basis, back when going out to bars was exciting and new. They knew a lot of the same people and because of this became proxy friends. It was a friendship that never left the confines of the Hut. She convinced Amanda to join the people she was with and they both walked back to the corner table where three other people sat. Two of them she recognized right away. Griff and James she had known since high school

Griff used to be a sweet guy, but after an incident at his house a few years back, he was arrested and hadn’t been the same since. The details were fuzzy as to why. All she knew was that he threw a party, there was an attempted rape by an uninvited guest on a close friend of his, Griff took matters into his own hands, and was found standing outside his house at dawn the following morning in his boxers with a gun in his hands. The newspapers said that when police arrived on the scene that he was stoic, staring at the ground with blood on his forehead and was refusing to drop the gun.

She heard that he was later committed for psychiatric evaluation for suicidal tendencies. Amanda had thought of him often after hearing that as she dealt with those issues herself and found herself now thinking of a girl she once knew. This made her look back at the bartender again before she finally sat down.

The other familiar face was James. James was Griff’s best friend. Probably one of the only close friends he had. If Griff was Rain Man, James was his Charlie Babbitt. He was the social and positive side of Griff’s recovery since being released “a ray of sunshine in a dark hole,” James said to her with a smile and a wave.

They got caught up and before long, others arrived who Amanda knew and they pushed some tables together. This second wave was quite the eclectic bunch. There was old Packsmith Jones, Rio “Runner” Salvatore, and Toni King. Rio and Toni were in a jazz band and Packsmith was their manager. They had endless stories about the Portland music scene and the way things used to be. After an hour they made up a majority of the noise in the bar. Toni carried on about how music was in his blood and how he claimed to be the great-nephew of Miles Davis. And Packsmith went on about women in power who pissed him off: Barbara Walters, Barbara Bush, and Barbara Streisand. He claimed it had nothing to do with his ex-wife Barbara. He spouted off several un-circumstantial misogynistic comments about them as he knocked back another beer.

Drinks kept coming as the night carried on. Something yellow, something red, something with cream in it. This was followed by fried bar food and lots of it. The jukebox was cycling through song after song; The Stones, The Beatles, The Strokes, The Ramones, and one of Amanda’s picks “Mr. Ambulance driver” by The Flaming Lips.

She used to listen to that song on her late-night shifts on her drive home “this is a great song! It’s about this guy who rides with his love to the hospital in an ambulance after an accident and he wished he could take her place. It’s like Romeo and Juliet,” Amanda said with dreamy eyes.

“No, no, no, no, no that’s not right. The girl would have… I mean, the guy was talking to the driver,” James tried to complete his thought without spilling his halfway filled pint “the guy would need… would have to, um, drink poison because he’s so over-incumbent with grief, and then,” this was followed by a belch and a swallow and he stared at his beer for a second “um… I lost my train of thought.”

The finer points of the lyrics and the works of William Shakespeare continued well after the song ended. Eventually plays turned into poetry, poetry turned to philosophy which turned to religion and brought Amanda back to her brother and that’s when the bars front door opened.

The place she was sitting was the farthest point in the triangular building from the door. Amanda thought she had brought her brother into existence just by thinking of him when she saw that the entering figure was wearing all black. This figure stood in the doorway. It was tall and very slender. It wore a tall black top hat. One that was Abraham Lincoln than Mr. Peanut. It also wore a long black coat and scarf. She couldn’t see the figure's eyes because they were so sunken in its skull. The cheekbones were very pronounced and the face appeared to be made of stone. The figure appeared to be male but she couldn’t be sure. It leaned forward and began to move to a nearby table. But it didn’t walk, it seemed, to her astonishment, to float. 
Amanda strained her eyes to see the figure's feet, but her view was blocked by people standing at the pool table near the entrance. There was no bobbing of the head or shoulders, so swinging of the arms. The figure just moved in the direction it was facing. She looked from face to face at the far end of the building to see if anyone else noticed what she was witnessing, but no one even seemed to notice the figure's existence.

Just before the figure sat down at a booth she got a look at the bottom of the legs and saw that the feet were hovering just a few inches off the ground and Amanda’s eyes went wide. She gave the figure her full attention as she became increasingly uncomfortable with what she was seeing. She couldn’t see the figure anymore because more people were pilling in from the cold weather outside.

She thought of asking if any of the people she was sitting with noticed, but she knew they didn’t, no one did. She thought about telling someone what she saw but they were all too inebriated to pay attention. With this, she realized that she was too inebriated to pay attention to anything herself and calmed down. If it wasn’t bad enough that she is getting hammered tonight, now she was also hallucinating. What was the something-red she drank earlier anyway? She knew that she needed to do, she needed another drink.

Amanda walked over to the bar where the flirty bartender met her “you’re lit up like a Christmas tree baby girl.”

“Well I need one more drink and I would like…” she paused with her eyes on the ceiling and her finger to her pursed lips as if in deep thought “un café español por favor.”

“Whoa señorita, let’s try a café négro,” Amanda didn’t get it at first.

“But I’m fine and I want coffee with liquor in it with nutmeg on top and I want to watch the 151 burn.”

“Darling, you’re cute, but you’re done for the night. I already ran your card so all you have to do is sign and if you want I’ll call you a cab,” Amanda frowned as she reluctantly signed her ridiculously cheap tab and left and eighty percent tip.

“I want to watch it burn!” She yelled obnoxiously at the ceiling as she took her copy of the receipt and with a mug of coffee, she walked back to her seat, but not before she swung by the table where the dark figure sat down only to discover no one was there. She took a sip of the steaming cup. Maybe she imagined the whole thing.

She returned to the group announcing “the hot bartender cut me off,” a resounding 'awe' of empathy came from the group followed by pats on the back.

Amanda stayed for another half hour to finish the contents of her mug and walked home.

When she arrived at her lonely home, she felt more clear-headed than when she left the bar, but not by much. She took off her clothes and went to bed where she fell asleep instantly. Never noticing the dark figure with the top hat and scarf floating outside of her second-story bedroom window.

Suggested listening: Somebody That I Used To Know by Elliott Smith
                                 Suzy Q by CCR

Chapter#2.2: Father and the Devil

Sam always referred to any vice as the devil. As in “he caught someone snorting the devil off the bathroom counter or he saw some kid rolling dice for the devil in the ally way. And one of Amanda’s all-time favorites: he woke up to someone outside the church nailing the devil. Which for all he knew could have been a lovely married couple. But the point is it woke him with a sound unholy. In any case, where he could have used the term “personal demons” he used “the devil” instead. Amanda remembered once, as a teenager, that she caught Sam with his pants off playing with the devil in the laundry room.

In their father’s case, the devil was the bottle. It didn’t matter what it was as long as it got the job done “he hasn't been coming to the church meetings lately. I know you don’t talk to him much, but I was wondering if you've seen him around.”

            She hadn’t talked to him in months, nor had she wanted to “last time I saw him was here for Easter.”

 “You haven’t seen him out and about? You know, like in any bars or whatever?” This upset Amanda. What an assuming question. She despised how he compared her to their father. He assumed that since he went out looking for trouble night after night that she would randomly run into him. When the truth was she hadn’t been out in a while, especially since her ex. “A church member said they saw him place called the Holy Saints.”

 “That sounds promising.” Amanda chimed.

 “It’s not a church. The place is spelled H-O-L-E space ‘E’ and Saints ends with a bra shaped ‘Z,’” Portland was reported to have the most strip clubs per capita than any other city. Sam joked in the past that if AA meetings were held at these location, that more men would probably go. But that would be like sending a kid into a candy store and saying he wasn’t allowed to sample.

 “Whoa, what church member saw him at a titty bar?” She asked.

 “Lord’s business, not yours. Anyways, he’s a sick man Amanda and I want to continue to encourage him to keep coming.”

“To what end Sam? You can’t leave it up to him to decide when he’s going to change his life. He’s in his late fifties, lives off disability, has no motivation and doesn’t contribute anything to anyone. He needs to be put in a center for assholes that can’t help themselves. And if not for his sake, then for all the people who have to deal with him,” she exclaimed.

“He will commit to getting better when he’s ready, until then, all we can do is leave that door open and pray.”

“You pray, I’ve got better things to do with my time than worry about him,” she turned her head to the side and briefly stared at the mahogany paneled wall while betting her lower lip. She turned back to Sam and said in a raised voice “he’s never going to choose to stop. He’s like a dog with tunnel vision. Like Nick Cage in Leaving Las Vegas. Even if he didn’t have an addiction, he would still need a way to drown out all the shit he didn’t want to deal with whether it’s his unemployment, his kids or…” she trailed off and started shaking her head in frustration. She had no empathy for someone who not only was just waiting for a sweet release but treated her like crap in the interim. She closed her eyes rubbed her temples.

*****

Sam couldn’t hold back anymore. Heaven willing, he had to say what was boiling to the surface in both their minds. The topic that tore the only family she ever knew apart. The fulcrum that started it all “…or mom, ‘Manda…?” And there it was, he took a long pause and lowered his voice “it wasn’t your fault.” She had been told that so many times through her life that he wondered if it no longer had any meaning for her.

Their dear mother, God rest her soul, had passed during childbirth. Unavoidable and tragic, Mary Callahan’s life ended where Amanda’s began. It was at that point that Sam and their father started attending church weekly with little Manda, which seemed to help ease the pain of their loss and allowed his sister to understand that her mother was in a better place, that she was the miracle that sprung for the tragedy.

This continued up till Amanda’s teenage years when the stress of being a single parent of  two kids came to a breaking point and their father stopped hiding a deep secret he wasn’t sure he could forever hide: that he directly blamed  his daughter for the death of her mother and that given the chance, he would have them trade places. Upon sharing this secret, which Sam came to realize was eating him from the inside out, he became reclusive and spiteful, changing from a weekend drinker to a full-blown alcoholic.

No child should ever be told that their responsible for their own mother’s death and she may have grown up to be a very different person if it wasn’t for her supportive and reassuring older brother.

After that, their father stopped going to church with them. Sam still brought his sister but from them on, she despised going There were some good memories from when she and Sam would go together when Sam thought it important that he bring her along for her own salvation. In time, she stopped going altogether and Sam started studying to join the clergy. He had thought if the church couldn't save his little sister, perhaps he could. He ended up replacing Pastor Virgil Matthews after he passed a few years back and now stayed in close contact with her since he was no longer seeing her on a weekly basis.

Mary was a wonderful woman and a terrific mother, but God had a plan that involved taking her away and leaving Amanda to struggle a little harder so she could learn to be a little stronger. It was a test that Sam wasn’t sure she could overcome; no matter how many times she said it didn’t bother her.

After a moment of indiscernible thought, Amanda quickly stood up, walked out the door and started down the hall to the exit. As she did so, Sam opened a desk drawer, grabbed a set of keys and tossed them on the desktop and put his hands in his pocket as he stood up himself.

Amanda heard this and stopped. She walked back into the office to the desk and put her fingers on the key and quietly said “I know,”

He lowered  his face pursed his lips and nodded as if to say ‘glad to hear it, but I don’t believe you.’ The truth was, he knew she was on fire inside, but that she wouldn’t lash out at him for trying to help. He knew she was more frustrated than angry and that this was a conversation for another time, though it seemed like there was never time, a right time, to bring up the subject.

She grabbed the keys and walked out, back to the dark real world.
Sam put his fingers on the desk and said a silent prayer for her. Their father may have been beyond help, but Amanda still had a chance. He turned off the desk lamp and retired for the evening with more stress on his mind than one parishioner should have.

Suggested listening: Angel of Small Death by Hozier

Chapter #2.1: Pastor Sam

            Amanda started laughing out loud to in the car. What a fucking idiot! She couldn't believe he fell for all the crap she was feeding him. All of Amanda’s grandparents were deceased, the tampons were her’s and there was no medical condition called a misanthropic rhizome. These two words had nothing to do with each other. Together, they would describe a human-hating plant root system. It didn't even make sense. They were just two big words that happened to sound good together.

The dinner was so boring, she had to find an entertaining way to end it. It worked as a great excuse to blow Don off too. At another point in her life, she might have given him more than the time of day, but not that day and probably not anytime soon after. She may have felt bad about her rouse, but she knew he'd never know the truth.

Amanda had one more chore to finish anyway before making her way home. The keys to her aunt’s home in Seattle were with her brother Sam. Known to most as Pastor Sam, he was the head of congregation at the First United Methodist Church of Portland. 

He and Amanda had always been close, but in the past few years, they had slowly been separated by their division of faith. Sam was trying to save a soul that refused to let him do so.

It was her opinion that if they hadn't known each other their whole lives, she never would have. But he was family, and while a sense of family had always been broken, he was the closest thing she had. The truth of the matter was that he raised her; and without him, she didn't know where she would be.

After arriving and parking her car, she headed up the stairs and through the front doors. She felt, as usual, like she didn’t belong; like she should burst into flames at any minute. There were a few evening worshipers around but the place, for her, was empty;  hollow instead of hallowed dismissed instead of divine.

She walked down the aisle between pews up to the alter. Behind it, a larger than life stained wooden Jesus was mounted on the back wall looking sad yet forgiving at the same time. She used to think he was actually looking down at her categorically when she was younger as if to say “you’re worried about going back to school on Monday? That’s cute. I have to worry about nails in my arms and feet. This hurts you know, it’s cool though, because it’s all for you,” and now the voice in her head just asked “are you lost? Seriously, did you think this was an O.R.? You save your way and I’ll save mine, ok?” the last part may have actually been a quote from her brother.

Past the crucifix and to the right was a doorway that led down a hall where she could see a light coming from Sam's office. As she walked, she could see through the window of the office door that he was talking to a younger man inside.

Usually, at this time of night, he would not be seeing anyone. She honestly didn’t know much about what he did in his free time. He never needed to leave the building to go home since the basement floor was his two bedroom living space. Sam mostly came to see her and would have dropped off the keys at her place but she decided this time to save him the trip. She did, however, know that he didn’t take meetings past 8 pm and it was half past so whoever he was talking too must have had a lot to say.

It wasn’t long before the young man stood up, shook Sam’s hand and exited through the office door “excuse me,” he said to Amanda in the 10 feet between her and the door as he passed her and made his way down the hall with a reassuring look about him. She watched him walk down the hall and could tell that whatever happened in that conversation left the man filled with hope and confidence about whatever step his life was about to take.

When Amanda turned back around, she saw Sam standing in the doorway with a closed smile and raised eyebrows. He was wearing his usual clerical collar black button up shirt with matching pants and shoes with a v-neck grey hooded sweatshirt and fleece hap with a golden cross-stitched into the front.

He ordered the caps for himself and the choir so they could stay warm last year during Christmas caroling. Sam thought they were something hip that the kids could wear and promote the church. Amanda gave him points for trying but thought they looked a little cultish.

He had similar features to hers; blue eyes and dark hair, just like their mother’s. He was a little taller and his 35 years looked more like 40, where Amanda was 25 and still got carded. Sam’s smile finally bared teeth and he called to her “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show this evening.”

“You seemed to be keeping yourself busy in the meat time,” she said nodding down the hall where his visitor just walked away.

“Responsibility is a messy business when it comes to teenage pregnancy. That member is understandably nervous about becoming a young father and needed to be aware that with great challenge comes great reward. A new revelation I shined a light on for him.”

“Should you be telling me this? Thought office visits were confidential?” She replied.

“His situation is no big secret; many know, yet few offer kind words or assistance when they judge the choices he’s made and the situation he is in. He’ll be fine as long as he stays on the right path and is a supportive partner. That and he stays clear of his girlfriend’s father,” they both took a deep chuckle.

“Sorry I’m late; I got caught up doing my good deed for the day.”

“I hope it was the lord's work.”

She hated when he said stuff like that “just helping someone get from point A to point B,” she took a seat in the comfy chair in front of his desk “then they bought me dinner and I couldn't refuse.”

“Do unto others,” he replied. Amanda rolled her eyes.

“I call it karma,” eastern philosophy was her weapon of choice when he talked scripture. She decided long ago that most religions had many common goals and ideas that followed a lot of the same thread. She, therefore, didn’t have to disagree with Sam about his believes, she could just look at things from her own point of view.

He ceded the point grabbed both her shoulders and said “to karma then,” and gave her a warm hug. She hugged back then came into his office. For all of the views she differed with her brother, he was the only strong male figure she had ever felt comfortable with and a little affection made all the difference. “Take a seat, I have something to speak with you about,” he said circling his desk.

“Actually I was hoping to grab the keys and split. I still have a lot of packing to do,” she replied.

          “Oh, it won’t take up too much of your evening. I’ll have you on your way in no time,” Amanda knew that wouldn't be the case and she started to tense up a little “it’s about dad. Well, more specifically, you and dad and the devil.”

Suggested listening:   Drop the Game by Flume ft. Chet Faker
                                            The Weight by The Band ft. The Staple Singers
                                            Church by Macklemore