Striking Gold

CONTENT WARNING: This story involves defacement of religious (Christian) statues and architecture, and may make some religious readers uncomfortable. It also contains mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts.

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A crowd burst through the front doors of the church. We hid and watched them tear down statues and deface paintings. I saw a familiar face among them.

I had known Alexander since we were three. We met at preschool, while he was smashing rocks with hammers in the boat. It was a real boat, actually, it just wasn’t in water. Our preschool was one of those that encouraged children to explore and think for themselves, and as a consequence our play yard was filled with odds and ends that one might have found at a junkyard. A universal junkyard where everyone from every state and every country dumped their shit. Heck, maybe even from every planet. I had run up to him, the only kid not frightened by his somewhat insane-sounding yells of triumph every time he cracked one open. He grinned at me, wordlessly handing me the hammer. I remember the excitement in his eyes. I had never seen life like that before. The second I smashed my first rock, Alexander leapt up from his seat on the boat, both fists in the air, and cried out to the sky, “SHE STRIKES GOLD!” Joyous laughter echoed from his lungs, ignorant of the other kids staring eyes. He then performed a little dance, hopping from foot to foot. He grinned at me again, satisfied at having brought me to his world. Alexander was my first introduction to a free life.

Given his love for destruction, I was hardly surprised to see him tearing down the statues, that familiar manic grin spread from cheek to cheek. But I still wondered a little–he had never had a thing against religion, so why was he pillaging this church?

The panicked crowd behind me tore me from my reverie. Decked out in their Sunday clothes (pastels, blue, green, lavender, etc. You know, spring colors) they flocked awkwardly between the pews, changing location constantly, and altogether completely failing at hiding. Their fear looked vaguely soap-opera-ish. Overdramatic, exaggerated. I saw one woman, with an odd pink net over her face that I think was an attempt at a fashionable hat, on her knees behind a large vase, weeping profusely, as though she thought the crowd of rebels had broken into the church specifically to attack her. If they saw her hat, I thought, they might. I laughed a little at that. The flailing herd paid me no notice.

I had remained seated in my pew and turned around when Alexander and his gang busted in, but now I stood, and walked over to lean against one of the six pillars lining the center of the church. The rebels still didn’t notice me, and nor did the churchgoers. I pulled a packet of cigarettes from my jacket pocket, slid one out, and lit it calmly. The sound of the rebels' cheers clashed with the satisfying flicking of my lighter, and I scowled, but looking up I saw that they had managed to throw one egg onto each of Jesus’s eyes. Interestingly, the eggs had been fried, and stuck to the painting well. That’s a strange level of commitment, I thought, observing Alexander remove more fried eggs from a thermos he carried in a tote bag at his side. This was truly the weirdest church raid I could ever have pictured. Not a boring first day, I should come here more often, I figured.

Finally, drawn by the scent of a lit cigarette, Alexander noticed me. I didn’t think his smile could go much wider, but it seemed to double in length as he laid eyes on me. He crossed the room in three strides, his embroidered tote bag swinging wildly as he moved.

“Cassie!” he yelled as he reached me. He seized me by both shoulders (his bizarre version of an embrace). “You made it!”

“Made it to what?” I asked, “You didn’t invite me to this.”

A confused look crossed Alexander’s face, but he kept smiling.

“What, so you just happened to be in the church that I’m defacing? Do you even go to church?”

“It’s my first day.” I tried to sound snarky, but I think it came out as just amused. That would do no favors to his ego. “But given all the excitement, I think I’ll keep coming.”

Alexander threw his head back in laughter, then beckoned one of his fellow defacers over.

“Reggie, would you take my eggs and go smear them across that statue’s crotch?”

Reggie winked and gave Alexander an awkward finger-gun as he took the bag. Alexander turned back to me.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s go outside.”

Outside, we sat on the steps and looked out at the village below. The sounds of screams inside the church mingled with Alex’s buddies’ cheers and proclamations of “fuck yeah! Suck it, Jesus!”

I re-lit my cigarette and took a deep puff. Alex elbowed me.

“You know those things’ll kill you?” he asked me.

“Yup,” I replied, “want one?” I proffered the pack at his shoulder.

“Hell yeah!” he said, grinning again. I lit it for him and returned to looking out over the village. Alexander leaned back on his elbows, sprawled on the steps like some anthropomorphic starfish, and exhaled, long and slow. A single smoke ring floated into the air, up above the tops of the willow trees lining the grounds. Like a halo, I mused, then shook my head. Alexander would laugh at me if he could hear my thoughts. He seemed close to laughing at me regardless.

“So…since when were you a Christian?” he asked me.

“I’m not,” I said, “I told you, this is my first day.”

“Everyone’s gotta find God eventually,” he responded easily, “Is it your time?”

I turned my head to face him, trying my best to look completely perplexed at his statement.

“Have you found God?” I asked him. “Is that why you’re defacing a church?”

“Yeah,” he said, “to the first bit. And no, to the second bit. Yeah, I found God. But he’s not a big old man in the sky like your fucking Christian bullshit says. He’s more like a feeling…nah, that’s not right. But we’re defacing the church because we need to keep the rebellious spirit alive. It’s dying nowadays, gotta keep it going. Churches are good targets, if you don’t hurt anyone. They’ve got enough money that whatever we do, they’ll be fine. Can’t deface schools or movie theaters or something.”

“So you only deface rich establishments?” I asked.

“Pretty much. Rich establishments or fucked-up establishments. Bonus points if they’re rich and fucked up. That’s kind of peak defacing material.”

I took another hit from my cigarette, letting the nicotine sweep itself down my throat. Jesus, I thought, these things probably will kill me.

“But God? What’s God to you then?” I asked.

Alex sighed. He cast his gaze up at the sky. He took another puff.

“You know…you know when you get that feeling once in a while when everything just feels…okay? Fuck, how do I articulate this…it’s like, I went camping by myself a bit ago. Totally alone, just because I was feeling like such shit, my medications weren’t doing anything and I needed to get out of the world. And so I was outside by myself for a few days, and I kinda figured I might as well just die out there. Lot better suicide to die in the woods of hunger than to kill yourself at home, you know? But I stopped eating for a day or two, can’t remember, but all I know is that at the end of it, I suddenly had this feeling, like everything was the same thing. You know?”

“No.”

“It’s hard to explain, unless you’ve experienced it. But it was like…there was suddenly no difference between me and the rock in my hand, and the water in the river, and the clothes on my body. Everything was the same thing. I wasn’t separate from it. And so I started eating again, and I came back out of the woods with this weird spiritual thing, and I think it was God-adjacent. And now I can live again.”

I stared at him. “You know it would’ve taken you like three weeks to die of hunger, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, rolling over and looking back into the church, as though to check on his team’s progress. “I realized that later. I think maybe that’s why I chose that method. I probably knew deep down that it gave me a lot of time to back out. And I’m glad I did.”

Suddenly I had a feeling that I really had no idea who the man in front of me was. He seemed completely different from the rock-smashing kid with the hammer in the boat who I’d met so long ago. But it was still him. I still loved him.

“I came to church today because my car broke down a little way down the road. I got it towed to a repair shop and he said to come by in a few hours. This was the only thing nearby that I could check out.”

Alexander looked at me for a second. Then, he burst out laughing. Sound flowed from his mouth, louder than a rocket ship launch or a not-too-distant earthquake. I figured everyone in the church probably heard him.

“I’ve always loved how you live your life,” he mused, “going where the wind takes you. Like a speck of dust. Or a cloud.”

“Maybe that’s my God,” I joked, “just…rolling with it.”

But Alexander missed my humor. Instead, he smiled at me again.

“She strikes gold.”