From the Past

Write a scene illustrating a brief, but frightening, encounter with someone from the past.

Some days Rachel wondered if it would really be so bad if she just quit.

Then, of course, she would remember her rent and bills and addiction to purses of any kind, and all hopes of being gainfully unemployed dissipated.

Reaching into her bag, she searched for her keys as she made her way across the dark parking lot. The Christmas season was steadily approaching, and that meant that she was forced to work longer hours, dealing with insane customers spurred on my holiday consumerism. She almost preferred the ridiculous Valentine's Day shoppers.

Almost.

"Hey, Rach."

She jerked at the voice, her keys clattering to the pavement as her heart lodged itself in her throat. Looking up, she saw Brad standing in front of her, hands in his pockets, a thoughtful expression on his face. She pressed a hand to her chest as she tried to calm her breathing, bending down to pick up her keys.

"You scared the shit out of me," she hissed.

"Sorry." He gave her a small smile as she stood back up. "You look great. It's been…what? Three years?"

"I guess," she said, not really listening. "What are you doing here, anyway? The mall closed twenty minutes ago."

"Friend of mine works at Sears, needed a ride."

Rachel started to nod, until she noticed the parking lot around her.

There were no other cars.

And Brad was standing between her and her Jeep.

She tried to sidestep around him. "Well, have a good night."

He stepped with her, effectively blocking her path. "Come on, Rach. Get a drink with us. We could catch up…" He nodded. "You really look great."

"Thanks, but…" She glanced around, her stomach sinking as she realized that the only weapon she had with her was the set of keys in her hand. "I'm really tired, Brad. Maybe some other time?"

He smiled, hands still in his pockets. "C'mon…it's just one drink."

"You okay, Rachel?"

They both turned to see a security guard moving towards them. She could have cried with relief when she recognized Gary – she would definitely have to buy him a coffee tomorrow.

"Hey," she said, failing to keep her voice completely steady. "Just trying to get to my car."

He got the hint. Gary stepped between her and Brad, giving her a chance to step around them both and make it to her car.

"Something I can help you with, son?" Gary asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Rachel didn't stay to hear the answer.

A conversation with Alanis Morisette

"Did being a Catholic screw you up?"

She almost spit out her drink, and for a second, I was worried that I had offended her. But the coughing faded into laughter – a warm and genuine sound.

"I think being a cookie cutter Catholic – or trying to be one – is what screwed me up."

I frowned, but tried to keep some of the wariness out of my expression. "You're not gonna tell me you're more spiritual than religious now, are you?"

"Would that bother you?"

I shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "It just seems like that's usually a way for people to believe in God without it having any actual impact on who they are."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. I can see that. But God shouldn't be all about religion and rules, though."

"True." I took another sip of my drink. "God shouldn't be all about making people feel better either."

She watched me carefully, lights from the bar dancing in her eyes. "So what's it about, then?"

I smirked. "You're the older and wiser one here."

"Oh come on. You're avoiding the question."

I shrugged, thinking it over. It wasn't that I didn't have an answer…I just hated sounding young and naïve. I was tired of feeling like the only one without a valid opinion. But she was being honest with me, and I owed her the same.

"Two things," I finally said, my voice quiet. "People, and knowing yourself."

"That's…" she paused. "…vague. And sounds like you're trying to win points at a pageant."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You didn't let me finish!"

She waved a hand at me. "Then please…continue."

"Thank you." I stirred my drink a couple of times, still trying to gather my thoughts. "I never really realized how easy it is to judge people. I always considered myself to be pretty tolerant, until I started putting some thought into my devotions and started really examining myself and my motives."

"And what did you find?"

I laughed ruefully. "That I do nothing but judge people. And it's because I'm afraid."

She frowned deeply. "Afraid of what?"

"People." I sighed, leaning back in my chair, and looking her in the eye. Mostly, I think I'm afraid that I'm doing things wrong. It makes me defensive, and overly critical of other people and the way they live their lives. I'm afraid of them looking down on me for my life decisions, so I don't socialize. I'm afraid of having to defend my faith, so I keep non-believers and new people at arm's length. I'm afraid of people walking away from me, so I don't let them get close. But at the same time, I'm afraid that they don't find me interesting enough, so I do what I can to make myself stand out from others with exaggerated stories and boasting. I think I'm just…I'm afraid of being left behind."

"What does that do to your faith?"

I frowned, thinking about it. "It makes me legalistic. Instead of focusing on my faith, and getting to know God, and serving him…I focus on other people's imperfections, and why we would never be able to connect. I get hung up on rules to follow, to make my OCD happy, and it's like a checklist for a good Christian. I spend so much time thinking about that, that I don't get to know people. I don't give them a chance. Just because of one or two "rules." When really, I need to be focusing on my own walk with God, and on loving people. I need to spend more effort trying to believe, rather than trying to regulate."

She nodded, and I knew that she actually understood. And instead of the judgment or confusion I was fearing, she gave me a warm smile. "That's what religion does to you. It makes you a Pharisee. I'm not saying you should break your rules, or leave your church. I'm not saying that organized religion is the problem. But it's like you said…people and their checklists are a problem. We have this insatiable need to fit people into little boxes, whether or not that's where they really belong."

"But that doesn't mean that there isn't black and white, right and wrong. It doesn't make everything about making people feel better with hugs and kisses and a pat on the head."

"Exactly." She took a drink and pointed at me. "And that is a line you will struggle with your entire life."

I nodded, fingering my glass. "Working out my salvation, huh?"

She nodded as well. "We all have to at some point."