Fragments (A Left-Behind's Prayer)

Hey, God...or higher power, or whatever is out there that’s somehow bigger than me. I know it’s been awhile since I gave a crap about religion, in fact, it’s almost been since never because I haven’t set foot in a church for service since my baptism at about five months old, and that was like, fourteen years ago. Maybe you don’t give a crap about me, either, but I could really use some divine intervention.

It’s been exactly one month since Dad left and never came back. He’d just gotten in from a night shift at the station. I was getting ready for school, and he came to the bathroom and unplugged the hair dryer. And he said, “How are you already failing algebra?” And I yelled at him. We were fighting, and then Charlie called in an SOS, and he was gone, and the last thing he said was, “We’ll talk more about this later. I love you.”

I didn’t say I love you back. I started to walk to school, and then a cop came running out and told me to go home, get off the streets! I went home and turned on the news, and there it was. The SOS Charlie called in, and the destruction of two of the tallest buildings on the skyline. The end of peace. The end of me.

Dad never came back.

So now I know that you really don’t give a crap, whoever the hell you are! You don’t care about me, or that Dad was all that I had left! You didn’t care when you let Mom leave, and you don’t care about leaving me alone! I don’t even know why I’m trying to pray like Nan told me to; I don’t know…

I don’t know.

Actually, whoever, I do know. I know that You, whoever YOU are….You don’t exist. Because if you did, I wouldn’t be so alone. I wouldn’t feel so lost, like that one farm-themed puzzle at the doctor’s that is always missing a piece. Suddenly, I sympathize with that foolish looking farmer. He’s got a head and a brain, and legs to move, but he’s missing his heart.

I’m missing my heart. I’m that stupid farmer, and stupid Ms. Moore better be damn grateful that I fully understand metaphor now. I’m missing. Dad’s gone, and I’m missing, and I don’t think You know that I’ll never be whole again, no matter how many times I pray, no matter how many years pass by. Dad won’t be there to pretend not to cry when I walk the stage at graduation, he won’t be able to drop me off at college, he won’t be able to intimidate anyone who wants to date me like he promised to always do, even if I complained.

So bye, You. No matter how many times people, like the President or anyone else, say You are blessing America and everyone in it, I’ll never believe it. You aren’t real.

Goodbye forever!