I Am The Local Atheist by Warwick Stubbs Read Free Book Online Page A

intention of grabbing a beer.
After I was done packing my groceries into what small storage space
I had been allocated in one of the cupboards, I sat down with them
for a while, but got bored. I wasn’t in any mood to be playing
racing games, especially with Tinsdale drinking and driving – he
often got arrogant and pushy, and would hog the console for long
periods claiming that he had to win this or that race otherwise his
manhood was at stake. The only thing that was ever at stake with
Tinsdale was his head exploding from being too full of
himself.
    I got up and
went to my room opening the old wooden slide-top pencil case beside
my bed. It was empty. I went to my closet and uncovered the loose
piece of floorboard in the corner, pulling out what was left of my
ounce packet. I didn’t know when I’d be able to afford another
ounce, or even half an ounce, so was trying to get through this one
a bit slower than usual. I lay down on my bed and began rolling a
joint as I looked up at the poster of Ecclesiastic Seal on my
ceiling. An ex-girlfriend had put it up but forgotten to take it
with her when she left the room bawling her eyes out. I didn’t
really like the band that much, but I had no better posters up on
my walls and she had never come back for it anyway.
    When I
finished rolling I put the rest of the bag in the pencil case, lit
up the joint and blew smoke towards the ceiling. The high came
pretty fast and I lay there for quite a while just staring into a
nowhere space, enjoying the shapes in the room as they moved around
before my eyes, different parts of the room making their presence
known over other parts and then swapping their roles as though even
inanimate objects had roles. Well of course they did. Their role
was to be a presence, to be a wall, to be a shelf, to be anything,
to be one thing. It all made sense and I was at ease, at peace… I
closed my eyes.
     
    I woke up
hours later and it was night outside. I felt so refreshed, but
hungry. Definitely hungry. It was eight o’clock. I cooked some
dinner – chops and baked beans on toast – then sat down with
Tinsdale and Martin as they raced each other off for the rest of
the night.
     
    * * *
     
    Christie was a
much younger woman than Alice, approximately early twenties with
shoulder length blonde hair. Her smile was mischievous.
    We didn’t say much more than “hi’s” but she maintained her
mischievous grin throughout her explanation of what I had to do.
She even gave me keys to The Salvation Army car but made me promise
not to tell anyone. Her nose wrinkled up when I promised. And I
couldn’t help smiling back at her: Can we
have sex now?
    “ Awesome” she said, and then spun around and took
off.
    I’ll take that
as a ‘no’.
    I was left in
a room filled with old boxes and lots of rubbish.
    Christie had
given me pretty clear directions on where to start and how to
tackle the problem of moving everything to the new location but the
information had stayed in my head for about five seconds before
more came in and replaced it. I was left knowing where to end but
had completely forgotten where to start. So I started where I was
standing.
    I got the car
loaded up with boxes and then drove it around the corner to the
shed which was a bare factory floor with an alcove room built into
the upper right hand side. Shifting the boxes turned out to be
pretty decent exercise as I jogged up and down the stairs trying my
best to keep a consistent pace. Some of the boxes were quite heavy,
being filled with old clothes, kitchenware, and the likes that
people in need (students included) would end up sifting through to
find a bargain. I had to walk up the stairs and place them down
carefully in the room above but I kept up the pace by jogging down
the stairs again. It didn’t take long before I was sweating and
wiping my brow with my sweatshirt sleeve. The only exercise I had
subjected myself to for a year was either walking to Work &
Income to explain how my