God and Guns

“What if,” my friend Michael says as much to himself as to me, “This is as good as it’s going to get? What if this is the future and we just don’t know it?”

The same questions have crossed my mind and I have no answers.

“I hate my life. I hate how I live. I hate where I live. I hate this vile house and this low rent poverty town. I hate that I can’t get out. I hate I don’t see it getting any better.” Each sentence is punctuated by a furious jab at his phone. His tone makes the dogs restless, they sense his misery and hopelessness. “One fucking foot in front of the other,” he growls, “For how fucking long? How much are we expected to stand? How are we supposed to survive? What is the fucking point? There isn’t going to be anything left to get back to!”

I could point out that he has a roof over his head. It’s not much of one, but it is there. I could point out that most of our students are still trying to make their payments, that the two or three we’ve lost weren’t that committed to start with. I could remind him his dogs aren’t going hungry, that the lights are still on, that the emergency loans could still come through, that he’s drawing a very respectable unemployment benefit. He can still afford his Coke and cigarettes and cell phone and cable. It’s all more than hundreds, maybe thousands, have. He can still afford his health insurance, his car still runs, and the man who tends the lawn still comes every couple of weeks. I could say all that and a lot more but I don’t. I don’t have the will or energy to argue with him and besides by tomorrow he’ll think differently. Life with Michael is a series of ups and downs, highs and lows, peaks and valleys. He can go from suicidal despair to violent optimism in 60 seconds flat and it can be exhausting for us both. Today he is ready to take all the dogs to the shelter, set fire to the house and drive his Mercedes into a brick wall. Tomorrow, when the unemployment benefit comes, he will remember that he’s been through hard times before and he’ll persevere. It’s not the life he once had – certainly not the one he imagined or planned for – but hope is a tricky thing. It dances just beyond our reach, disappears without a trace, then returns with sly smile. Personally, I am not persuaded that we deserve it. Personally, I think there is no hope for healing and recovery while the current president maintains his power. His determination to keep the country divided is relentless and his corruption and cruelty know no bounds. He is a petty, jealous and vindictive little man with a pathological need to be center stage. Personally, I believe if he were to contract the coronavirus and die, the entire world would be a better, safer place. I say so to Michael and he gives me a resigned smile.

“Remember who would be in charge then,” he says grimly, “You really think we’d be better off?”

The prospect of a country made up of God and Guns gives me the chills but it wouldn’t be for very long, I remind him, and then maybe we could get back to sanity. He looks doubtful and I suspect if I had a mirror, so would I.