On The Couch With God
Frank sighed as he gave the apartment door a kick to swing it shut behind him. He loosened the black tie, kicked off the leather shoes, and unbuttoned his suit jacket.
By the time he reached the bedroom, he had already opened the dark grey shirt enough that he could just shrug it off his shoulders. The wardrobe door let out a soft squeak as he opened it to take out the garment bag.
First the trousers on the hanger, then the shirt, the jacket, and finally the tie. So they would hang there now. Waiting. Lying in wait. Until they were needed again. Until another sad message reached him.
Frank sighed.
His gaze fell on the double bed. One pillow that clearly showed the imprint of a head, and a half-thrown-back duvet. That was all. The other half had been unused for two years. He wiped the back of his hand across his cheek after looking at the wedding photo a moment too long.
Then his face hardened. His brow furrowed. His eyebrows drew together and his jaw cracked as it began to grind. He took a step toward the picture. Reached for it. With one motion he tore the chain from the frame. His thumb stroked the dusty glass behind which his late wife smiled at him. Carefully he set it back.
Frank sighed.
He walked the ten steps that took him into the kitchen. His fingers ran over each bead of the chain in his hand. His lips did not move. Without hesitating he opened the cupboard under the sink, stepped on the pedal of the trash can, and let the rosary fall.
His gaze turned upward. He tensed his muscles.
“What are you going to do about it?”
His breath quickened. Fingernails dug into his palms.
“That’s what I thought.”
Frank sighed.
A little later Frank sat in his armchair. The remote lay on the table. The TV was off. His breathing slowed. Eyes closed, hands folded across his chest.
“So you have something to settle with me, Frank?”
Frank opened his eyes. He turned his head toward the couch and considered the man sitting there. His eyebrows lifted.
“Are you here to take me?”
The stranger smiled. “I’m only here to talk.”
“Maybe that’s exactly the problem. You talk, but you don’t do anything. Not for me. They call you almighty. Omnipresent. But I don’t see you anymore. And I don’t feel you anymore.”
The smile on the stranger’s face faded. He leaned forward, took the remote, and switched it on.
After two channel changes, children’s laughter filled the room. Frank turned his attention to the television. It showed a large playground. Countless children running, playing, laughing.
“Do you see me, Frank? I made that.”
And Frank saw that it was good.
The stranger changed the channel again. Water rushed, birds chirped. Frank looked closely. He recognized the Amazon, all its variety of life.
“Do you see me? I made that.”
And Frank saw that it was good.
Another change, and the shrill cry of a newborn poured from the television. It wasn’t the first time Frank had seen a birth. The newborn screamed before being placed at the mother’s breast.
“Do you see me, Frank? I made that.”
And Frank saw that it was good.
The stranger set down the remote.
“I am omnipresent. I am almighty. You have only forgotten how to look closely.”
Frank sighed.
Then he stood up, took the remote, and chose another channel. The shriek of a short-range missile made the glasses on the table vibrate. The blast that followed, as a residential building disappeared in a fireball, was deafening.
“Do you see that? You made that.”
Frank switched to another program. People so thin you could have counted their ribs were searching a garbage dump for anything edible. The land around them was dried out. Withered. Dead.
“Do you see that? You made that.”
Frank pressed another button. Screams came from the device. Screams of mothers, but above all of their babies. Babies connected to machines through tubes. Newborns, pale, weak, fighting to survive. A doctor was just leaving the HIV ward.
“Do you see that, oh almighty God?”
God saw it.
And he saw that it was good.
Frank sighed.