Left Alone in My Pain

"Hope you find someone," he tosses over his shoulder before he struts out the doors. "You were that someone," I wish to say.

March 31, 2018

10:30 PM

What if I lose EVERYTHING?

I claw through the over-the-moon, oh-happy-day crowd to find someone. Anyone.

Get out of my way! I wish to scream. People step aside. Some push back. Yet I can't stop. Most tables volunteers tear down. Where has everyone gone? Not like a complete stranger will help me. Maybe one of the bands? Each table is void of their presence.

"What's wrong?" a stranger asks.

"My sister..." I explain.

"I'll pray," he responds. Steps aside. I fight my way to the other side. We're at a standstill. Beth and I push our way around the whole width of the arena.

The crowd disperses enough to make out the Newsong table. I don't even like the band if I'm honest. But if they can help, I will do anything they ask me to.

"Can you help?" The words barely get past my constricted throat. She stares. "I'm from Washington state. Have $69 to my name. My sister...she's dying. I need to get home. Do you know anyone who will help? I have no place to stay. I don't know what to do." Earlier, this lady displayed a bracelet which said, "I am a Christian," on the Winterjam stage. A band member dragged her on stage. I never ask for help. Tonight, the exception.

Everyone's leaving.

She pulls me into her arms. Prays. Yet doesn't offer what I really want. Home. A chance to see my sister one more time. Say goodbye. 

"I'll pray for you."

Screw prayer, I think. Tell her as much. "I don't want your prayers. I want my sister." It comes off harsher than I mean it. Yet it's true.

I feel a nudge. Turn back. Drag Beth along. Push through the crowd. Find the end of the line for Building 429. Know what I have to do. Pastor Bobby's long gone. He can't help me.

They're my last hope.They're CHRISTIANS. Surely...

A lady towers above me from the radio station. I ask her too. Get the same spiel.

I don't want your dang prayers. I want my sister. Please help me. I scream inside. HELP ME. Yet not one reaches out. Can't they see my red eyes? My choked sobs? My body wracked with grief? Don't they care?

Beth tries to draw me back. "You need a VIP pass," she reminds me. Tries to convince me to leave the line. Steps off to the side. Expects me to follow her lead. 

I'm well aware. "They're my last chance. I'm going up there. You can either come with me. Or don't. I don't care. I have to try."

She follows my lead.

My turn comes.

"I don't have a VIP pass," I start. Hesitate. Fumble for words.

"Speak up," Jason says. "What is it?" 

I start. Words don't come. He goes to shoo me away. "Spit it out. I don't have all day."

Can't-miss his annoyance.

Don't you know this is hard for me? I wish to say. Force the retort back. I force words out. They rip me apart. "My sister's dying," I repeat. "She's dying. I don't have money for a ticket home. Have no place to stay. I don't fly out of Chicago until April 3. Will you help? I don't know where else to turn."

He points to a deserted corner. "Go stand there. Wait. Michael will come talk to you when we're done."

Relief floods my heart.

When the last person makes it through the line. Smiles for the camera. Building 429's drummer comes over. "I'll call the bus tour office, see if they can help."

I wait.

His impending words crush me. "They're closed. We can't help you. We can't buy you a plane ticket. I can pray with you..."

I. HATE. PRAYER. I cry. Yet I let him pray. Most Christians hide behind that word. Prayer. It's a scapegoat. I hate them for it. It's why I hate prayer.

The lead singer, Jason, shoes me away too. "We have to go. Hope you find someone," he tosses over his shoulder before he struts out the doors.

I stumble away in shock.

"You were that someone," I wish to say. "There ain't anyone else. I came alone."

Their dismissal hurts. I nearly collapse in my grief. Throat raw from screaming. My eyes heavy with tears. They don't stop falling. My body doubles over, knees buckle from the pain. I clutch my stomach. Hold my purse. Almost everyone's gone. Security guards clear stragglers. Beyond those clear doors is a whole new hell. A bush will be my bed. A rain poncho my shelter. There's nothing left. I promised mom and dad I'd buy groceries when I get home.

Leaves me $19. My plane doesn't take off until April 3. I have no one.

Another storm's expected to roll through.

"That's love? You can give away 46 brand-new guitars yet you can't wait with me till I find someone? I never asked you to buy me a ticket. But to help...I NEED SOMEONE. Won't you stay?"

Their answer: three retreating backs. Not one turns back.

Will someone hold me?

Definitely won't forget tonight.

No love here.

Maybe you'll find it easier than I did.

Find it outside. In the real world.

Will the real church stand up?

I'm tired of fakes.