Fiction

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Knock. A knock at the door.

Who’s at my door this late at night? It has to be, what, twelve o’clock? One, maybe? I roll over to check the softly glowing blue number on the clock. Three-thirty two? It’s later than I thought. Still too early for company.

Knock. Knock.

This is ridiculous. I sit up and yell for them to go away. That I’m trying to sleep.

Knock. Knock….knock.

Crap. Now they know that I’m up. Still it’s not too late to ignore them. I flop back down. That’s when I hear the moan. What? Where did that come from? Oh. Oh man. It came from right next to me. I turn over to see a sleeping beauty, lying to the left of me.

Knock.

I have no idea who this woman is. I remember Max’s party, though.

Every year, Max from work throws this New Years’ Eve party that is known to be one of the best in the city. Nobody from the office misses it. Except me, of course. But that was because I was a Christian. Everybody knew it. They knew I was a Christian and they knew what went on at these parties, so I never really got invited.

Until this year.

Knock. Knock.

This year was the year that I decided that I was done. Done with church, done with faith, done with Jesus, done with God. It was over. Why? Because I’m twenty-five and I’d never had sex. Because miracles only happen in the Bible. Because there are two hundred and seventy-five other religions and each claims to have the only truth. And because I wanted to be the captain of my life, like the people I see at work. They owned themselves. They seemed so free. I felt trapped, isolated from normal people. I wanted to be normal. Like everyone else. My first step as a non-believer: I invited myself to Max’s party.

Now I guess I can cross sex off the list.

Knock, knock.

“Go away!” I scream. I don’t want to be bothered. The guilt rushes over me like a wave. I don’t know this woman and I’ve just giving her something that I’ve been holding onto for my entire life. I feel sick. I’m suddenly aware of the pounding headache that had been dulled by the tiredness. I’m awake now and it feels like my brain is screaming. The woman next to me is smiling in her sleep. She’s smiling and I’m pretty sure that my head is going to explode.

Is this freedom? Is this what I’ve been missing? Guilt, shame and sickness?

Knock, knock, knock.

Then there’s the knocking! It feels as if every knock is making my head inflate. At this point I’m sure that I could participate in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade as a float. The woman rolls over and opens her mouth. The smell of alcohol is so strong that it makes my eyes water. At this point, though, I’m not sure if it’s the smell or the sadness that brings the tears.

Knock.

That’s it. I can’t take it. Who ever is at the door obviously won’t leave me alone until someone answers. I put on my underwear and walk across the room. I’ve just realized that I’m not in my apartment. Is this her place? Dang. Is this her boyfriend at the door? What will he think when I answer in my underwear while his girl is asleep, naked? Maybe I should get fully dressed. If I’m going to die, I’d don’t want to die dress only in my boxers.

I throw on my pants and a t-shirt and head back to the door and all I can think is how I wish I had studied my Bible more or prayed more or fasted more or actually took the time to know Jesus instead of feeling sorry for myself.

Knock.

I grit my teeth and open the door.

There he stands, arms open wide. He doesn’t look like I imagined that would. He doesn’t look like much of anything. But it’s him nonetheless.

Jesus.

He tells me that He didn’t come to beat me up. He was beaten. He says that He didn’t come to condemn me. He was condemned. He did come to correct me. To turn me away from the mess that was behind me. But also to forgive me. Then He asks me if I’m hungry. I suddenly feel like I hadn’t eaten in days. “Yes,” I say. He says that He’s come to take me to breakfast.

All I had to do was open the door.

THE END

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