Providence
“You think the end of the world is coming?” I asked the man on the bus bench beside me; he was holding a sign that read “THE END IS HERE”, so my question wasn’t entirely presumptuous. He looked like the usual curbside apocryphal soothsayer, an old, worn out jacket, gloves filled with holes, a beard run rampant; his eyes were what bothered me. There was no crazed look in his eyes, no wild fanaticism, they looked sullen and reserved, like a great weight sat upon his soul, a weight whose burden had never seemed to ease throughout his life.
“The preacher man says it’s the end
of time, says that
“But, do you think the end of the world is coming?” I found it strange that he hadn’t answered my question directly, figured he’d jump at the chance.
“No,” he answered quickly, “so says the preacher man, but…I don’t go by what he says.”
“So the end of the world isn’t coming soon?” I asked.
“Soon,” he laughed, “soon…look at all the misery in the world, look at the children born to families that don’t want them, look at the politicians and companies that prey on the weak and the ignorant, look at the violence our culture glorifies, look at all the other nations of the world violating every facet of human rights and dignity while we sit intentionally oblivious to the pain and feign compassion, look at all the horror existence is home to. Pain and suffering is entertainment, it’s profitable, humankind perpetuates and gorges itself on its shared misery,” he looked away for a moment to cough and scratch his neck.
“The end of the world isn’t coming,” he continued, “the end of the world came a long time ago. The world ended as soon as the first man crawled out of the primordial slime,” he turned his head to cough again, dry, pained hacks. He looked up when he was finished and asked if I had any cigarettes. I gave him a few crumpled bills and pointed him towards the drug store at the end of the block. He flipped through the money for a second and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his shirt, he didn’t get up. I clung to my backpack in my lap a bit tighter and looked over at Paula, she looked as uncomfortable as I was.
Jeff cleared his throat to break the silence.
“So…when’s this bus supposed to show up?” Jeff asked. I silently wished it would hurry up, I really didn’t feel like staying there any longer.
“Busses stopped running soon as things got weird in this town,” the old man sighed.
“Well, if that’s the case, I have to pee,” Jeff announced as he stood up, he wasn’t sticking around any longer.
“That’s a good idea,” I said, standing up, I just wanted to be away from the man.
“What day do you think it was?” the old man asked. Paula went rigid, her eyes locked on mine, begging to be anywhere else.
“What day do you think the end of the world ended on? People never think about that. Think it was a Friday, the end of a hard week? Maybe a Sunday, for a touch of holy irony,” the man continued.
“What day do you think it was?” I asked.
“Me? I’d say it was a Wednesday, yeah, late Wednesday evening.”
“Why a Wednesday?” Jeff asked.
“Because there’s nothing special about a Wednesday,” the old man said as he stood up. He stretched for a long time and coughed into his fist. “Does it matter what day you were born? What day the sky went dark for this town? Not a bit, all that matters is that it happened,” he started walking towards the drug store, “that’s why the world ended on a Wednesday.”
We watched him shuffle off with his sign stuck under his arm. Nobody moved until he turned and entered the drug store. Time seemed to unfreeze as soon as the door had shut.
“I say we start running,” Paula said as she climbed to her feet.
“I wasn’t joking when I said I had to pee,” Jeff said as he inched towards the hotel door. Paula and I followed Jeff inside.
“I hate this town,” Paula mumbled as the door shut behind her.