Chapter 13: The Burp

They were all looking at me. Even with their backs turned, they were all looking at me.
“Turn your pages to Mark, chapter… ” said the hypnotic voice on a pedestal, as the dozens in front of me shuffled through their books, “… true freedom is in denying oneself and totally committing… we must lose ourselves… control of our lives to Christ… personal freedom...”
Heads nodded. Throats coughed. My eyes blurred and my stomach churned.
The lights were trippy in here. The low lit chain of bulbs from the months-old Christmas decorations were the only enlightening sight in the room. That, and the faces of those pretty girls in the front, which were fair enough to be glowing majestically in the dark.
The speaker kept on talking, but I was barely paying attention. Where did Rakesh and Shubham stumble away to? A gargle from my stomach reminded me of how much it was hurting. A spring of puke busted up my throat, but I had to swallow down to prevent it from volcanoing out. I looked down below the bench to find an attractive, clean spot on the floor. No, no, this is a fucking church, Azad.
The words were coming thick and fast now but I wasn’t sure whether they were being said inside or outside my head. This is the worst shit ever. I’ve walked into the house of God intoxicated. The worst fucking shit ever. If Jesus can make water into wine, can he make whiskey back into water? Worse than the day of the highest high in Sonarpura. Worse than the Monica thing. I am literally testing God’s wrath now.
They were all looking at me. The pastor person. Those fair young girls in the front. That crazy old lady meditating to herself. That broken mosaic of some holy saint. Jesus.
Oh, fuck here it comes. Why the fuck did I have to stay in here? Then I remembered – it was for those girls. Yes, definitely, Azad – they will definitely fall in love with you now, especially since you look like a troglodyte and are about to baptise their holy sanctuary with your fucking unholy puke.
“Let us return to the psalm,” the pastor said and then I heard the sound of the piano. Every single other person in the room put down their Bibles and picked up a piece of paper from their desk.
“When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body,” all the voices said in unison, “All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”
I have to hold it in. Just until I get the fuck out of here. This was the worst idea ever.
I got up and started to shift out from the row of seats. And then, completely unannounced, unexpectedly, and certainly undecorated, I burped. It was loud and it was expressive. It came as a substitute for the vomit, which may have been slightly quieter. The gases in my stomach had decided to revolt. All hell was going to break loose. Their ears were now fully aware of the belching drunkard behind them.
“Aaarayyaaaghh,” came the sound. None of the people turned around to look.
Except for her.
There she was, one of the four pretty girls sitting in the front row. I only had a side view before, but now I saw that she looked even better from the front. I got lost into her sky blue eyes for a moment, and then slowly refocused my vision to her other features. Her hair, her dress, her nose, her skin, and that smile she now flashed back. And I saw that they were good.
I decided that she was definitely the best looking amongst them. Most definitely. And probably the nicest one, too, since she looked back. Rakesh and Shubham were missing out on this.
While the rest of the procession continued to recite the psalm, she excused herself, stood up and came back towards me. I was way too drunk to wonder why she did it. She could have been one of those undercover naughty girls, hidden inside a veil of purity, but who actually had a guilty attraction towards greasy, unshaven, drunken men. Or maybe I looked so pathetic that she had simply decided to tend to me, because she was genuinely that good/pure. I didn’t care. I smiled and sat back down.
She was perfect. Her eyes were bluer than the other girls and her hair was longer. Her skin was probably fairer too. She glided towards me and whispered in the most beautiful voice that my intoxicated memory recalled to have ever heard, “Are you okay?”
And then I completely lost me. I forgot who or where I was. I forgot that I was drunk, smelling of whiskey and roasted peanuts, with my eyes barely opened and my face redder than Satan. I smiled and answered. “I’m fine… fine… just relaxing back here… are you okay?”
She smiled back and oh God she was mine. There was no other way of interpreting it. She sat down next to me till the service finished, listening interestedly to every bit of my explanation for tonight. I told her about Rakesh and about his exam. I told her about the Royal Stag, but couldn’t remember how I got separated from the guys. I even told her that I’d decided to sit in only because I saw pretty girls like her sitting in this church.
Stupid fucking honesty. But somehow, she didn’t mind. When the service finished, she waved goodbye and then rejoined her friends. She told me to come visit her at the school where she teaches.
She told me her name was Anita Lawrence. I walked out the church eternally grateful to the drunken ill-manners of my digestive tract.