somebody that I used to know, for misha

[Amak Jones]

There is nothing worse than waking up in the feeling of one’s own vomit. To be honest, Amak couldn’t even remember what it consisted of. He couldn’t even remember the night before, or how he had wound up on the stranger’s floor. As he sat up and glanced around at the menagerie of people passed out on the floor, table, and garbage can around him he began to come around. It had been days since he last thought clearly. Days since he had shaved, or even showered (well there may have been a few incidents of getting wet – but we’ll leave that out of this pg-13 story). Running his hands over his face and clearing his throat he rose from the floor like a wobbly-legged fawn and staggered outside.

His wallet contained only a few things, but nothing to really get him by. A small amount of weed, some girl’s number, an ID, and a gift card to McDonald’s that barely covered the coffee he ordered to bring himself out of his stupor. How haggard he must look wandering the streets even before the sun rose, carrying his coffee close to his body as if it were the only thing he had in the world. Through the fog that his mind created he mulled over the past few weeks and began to wonder if this was what everyone meant when they said ‘rock bottem’. Every bone in his body ached, if not only for a high but for some sort of nutrient or perhaps rest (though he wasn’t sure which). His hands shook, and his appearance was far from respectable. The young Alaskan blended in with the homeless crowd that stirred in the early hours, ready to dig through the garbage of the city before the trucks came to pick it up.

As he delved more and more into his self conscience and began to wade in self loathing, a bell rang and shook every cell in his brain like a bashing, painful wakeup call. Memories of his mother preaching to him about salvation guided him to the church’s doors. Was it even open? Did churches really ever close? Unable to really comprehend what he was doing, Amak soon found himself wandering between the pews and admiring the stained glass as the sun touched every fleck of color. Soon he sat, the empty Styrofoam cup empty next to him, and his hands ran over his face to try and pull away the look of self-loathing. Where could he go from here? There was no one that wanted him. No one to call, or no one to care that he had been missing and didn’t even know what fucking day it was. Was it Sunday? Would mothers and fathers soon gather around him and keep their children from sitting too close to the wreck of a man? The thoughts tore at him, mangled and abrupt as they may have been. So the young walker did the only thing he could think of, and he bowed his head and began to pray.

[Michelle Karvan]

She then stayed knelt before Jesus and bowed her head

Life was how she wanted it and she couldn’t have been happier. Eight months ago she had officially entered the convent on her path to become a nun. She had been in postulancy for six months, and then had taken her temporary vows now for two. She had been given the habit, though it was white instead of black to show she had not yet taken her permanent vows or been committed as a nun entirely. But she felt God in her mind, heart and soul and felt this was her path. She was happy here, living in the convent with the Church just outside her window. It was a beauty and grace she got to wake up to every morning. Even though she had grown up here seeing it was a whole new meaning to her now. Her life was devoted to God and would be she knew for the rest of her life. This made her feel fulfilled and feel a peace she had never felt before.

She was in the church that morning, lighting candles before the cross of Jesus that stood proud and beautiful behind the pulpit, the savior’s gaze looking out at the whole room. It was quiet and empty, the other Sister’s elsewhere performing their tasks and duties. Misha loved lighting the candles, for it gave her time to reflect alone before the cross and speak to God alone. She knew she could speak to him anytime but, for some reason this time of day before Jesus made it extra special. She heard movement however as someone entered the church and she glanced back curiously, watching a man come in and sit down. She didn’t wish to disturb him, but something about him seemed…so sad. She frowned to herself and turned back, finishing lighting the candles. She then stayed knelt before Jesus and bowed her head, saying her morning prayer to herself before raising the cross that hung on its chain and kissed it then let it hang gently once more around her neck.

She rose and turned back to look at the man, quietly moving closer to him. She didn’t want to bother him since he was praying, but he did not seem like the normal…God forgive her…clean people who came into the church with their crisp shirts and Sunday shoes. She stopped about a foot away from him and watched him, her brows furrowed lightly. She had gone to church all her life and had learned much from her aunt, she knew the look of a person who had fallen to the bottom and this man looked exactly that.

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[Amak Jones]

If Amak had been more of a true believer, he would have wondered if he would burst into flames for walking in such a holy place. Or perhaps if he wasn’t in such a daze he would have been more respectful and left the Church alone. He would have walked past it and down two more blocks to the left where he knew the sheedy dealers roamed even on the most beautiful mornings. They didn’t care whether the day was perfect to start fresh, they only cared about passing along their own habits onto others for a clump of sweat soaked cash. The thought of them made his body ache a little more, like it wanted to move in their direction on it’s own. Yet he stayed anchored, unaware that he was not the only person in the serene church.

This was most definitely a man on his last ounce of luck. He hardly recognized where he was, let alone noticed the woman in white greeting the statue of her savior. It wasn’t Amak’s savior. He believed that nothing now could save him. Over and over he told himself that he was trapped in the life he had chosen, that there was no more hope for him to turn back and lead a normal life; yet the smallest of voices argued with his doubt. Maybe there was hope after all, but then again maybe that was the lingering effect of cocaine in him.

Finally the man lifted his head, his young features troubled before he even saw the woman. Most would have gasped or jumped from the startle, but the drug addict sat still as a deer in headlights. Fuck, fuck… What do I say? He wondered, contemplating the idea that she was there to kick him out. Homeless people weren’t allowed in churches when they were closed – right?

“Uh, yeah I--,” His voice came out soft, so he cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “You don’t have to kick me out. I’m on my way.” With that he rose from the pew and ran his hand nervously over his face, smoothing his hair and with the nervous tick showed how young he really was. No fully grown man would have showed such weakness, especially not a fully grown Walker. Stepping closer to the nun to get out of the pew, he stopped just long enough for his dark chocolate eyes to fixate on her face and found the same innocence in her eyes that had brought him to the church. “You look too young to be a nun.”

[Michelle Karvan]

She smiled when he looked at her, though there was pity in her eyes. Yes, he was a troubled soul, she could see it all over his face. Was he homeless? She wondered, there had been a few homeless people who seeked sanctuary at the church but he was so, so young, he had to be around her age at least. What was a young man like him doing looking so lost and helpless? “Good morning” She greeted gently as he stared at her and wondered if he was mentally stable, he was staring at her almost confused. She gave him a curious look as he spoke, her head tilting slightly. She wanted to ask if he was alright but she wanted to give him a moment to speak, but didn’t expect him to say what he did.

She looked surprised and blinked before putting her hands up to motion for him to sit “Oh! No! No, no, I wasn’t going to kick you out, of course not.” She told him quickly “A church is a place of God, a place of sanctuary. We never turn anyone away, you are fine. Please, sit, I didn’t mean to disturb you” She felt awful that he thought she was going to make him leave. Quite the contrary, she wanted him to be here, he looked like he needed somewhere to gather himself and where else was better than a house of God? She took a step back as he got closer, not because of him per say, but just to give him room. She smiled again when he looked at her and laughed softly “I am not officially a nun yet. I have not taken my permanent vows” Her eyes searched his face for a few moments “My name is Michelle. Not yet a Sister, but if you feel more comfortable addressing me Sister Michelle then you may”

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[Amak Jones]

Obviously the walker hadn’t been paying attention to his mother all those years ago. Some of what she said engrained into his mind, but not all. So it was understandable that he expected to be kicked out of a church of all places. Not to mention the fact that he had been kicked out of plenty of places in the past few years. Plenty of bars knew him by first name, and there were a select bouncers that would punch him on sight. Yes, it was safe to say that Amak was a troubled soul. If it were possible the souls in the church would have whispered in gossip the moment he set sight on the statue of the savior.

Good morning? That’s what she wanted to say to him? Far from what he was expecting, it took Amak a few moments in his stupor to realize what she said. Fingers snapped inside his mind and brought him back to reality just enough to be coherent for conversation. “Oh.” Really? Is that the best he could come up with? Clearing his throat, he pushed his shoulder length curling hair back behind his ears to make himself the smallest amount more presentable. “Thanks.” Fuck it. These days Amak was not a man of many words, and it wasn’t going to change for the nun that was too young to be vowed for the rest of her life. (You try making polite conversation when you’re coming down from God knows what and a three-day booze binge.)

With that he sat back down on the pew. His hands flat on his lap, and a curious look in his kind but sorrow stained eyes. “When do you take your vows?” By then his voice had settled and was deeper, smoother, though he spoke slowly. The question was strange for a man who hadn’t even introduced himself. So after a few moments he shook his head and brought some focus to his train of thought. “Sorry. I’m tired.” He started in, wiping the corner of one eye. “My name’s Amak. Did I interrupt you from opening up shop?” A light smile creased the corner of his mouth but faded quicker than it came. Maybe there was hope for sanity after all.

[Michelle Karvan]

Yes, something was…off about him. Not as in he was mentally challenged sort of way like Autistic, but something was strange about him. The longer she stood there, the easier it was to smell the liquor from his body, it seemed to seep from his pores and roll from his mouth when he spoke. So he was either drunk or getting over being drunk and who knew what else. So sad, she never understood that kind of partying when she had been in high school not so long ago. The staying out till morning, getting drunk, smoking wild things…what was so enchanting about throwing up in a toilet and hallucinating? She didn’t get it. She had never had even a sip of alcohol in her whole life and wouldn’t even stand near people who smoked. But she didn’t judge people who did do those things, it was there life and some people just got led astray.

When he sat back down she smiled brightly, but then quickly felt unsure. Maybe he had wanted to leave? And now she had made him feel forced to stay…oh goodness. She just wasn’t very good with people all the time, she tried to do the right thing and messed up but her aunt said it was all about trial and error and one day with God’s guidance she would be much better. She wasn’t offended or thought him rude when he asked a question first instead of saying his name, she just continued to smile at him, her hands held primly in front of her. He was curious to know about the church, and she was told always to encourage that “It depends. In a year or two, whenever the Mother Superior feels I am ready”

She shook her head “It’s alright” She reassured him, keeping her own voice gentle for him. “It is nice to meet you Amak” When he said about shop she looked confused for a moment. The other older nuns perhaps would have been offended for him to refer to church in that matter but she simply giggled once she realized what he meant “Oh! No, no, you didn’t, not at all” She gave him a gentle look “Would you like some water? Something to eat?”

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[Amak Jones]

From what the drugged walker could remember about church nuns had always been very strict. Strict, mean, and in need of a good lay (as his father would tell him). Yet Sister Michelle (it felt strange calling someone his age that) seemed much more compassionate than most. Even hungover and in a stupor Amak was a quick judge of character, and he already felt… well, comfortable was the right word, but he wasn’t going to run screaming from her. Enough about how nice she seemed. His mind could only focus on one thing at a time. What was she saying?

Oh, about the church. At the word ‘Mother Superior’ Amak crinkled his nose in confusion, but quickly wiped the look off his face in the last show of respect he could muster. “Have you been doin’ this long?” He felt he was quizzing her, but couldn’t seem to help the words from coming out of his tired mouth. So many more questions would have come out of him if he had a little more sleep and a lot less ache in his bones.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Michelle.” The words nearly stumbled out of his mouth but he managed to keep some sort of dignity in the way he spoke. If he had been out on the street wandering as he had so many other mornings he would have lost his wallet and gained a black eye, or maybe even a knew scar on his abdomen or chest. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be bruised and cut, and he had a few scars to show kids why they shouldn’t turn to drugs. He should have become a motivational speaker, but at the same time would have wanted to tell them how snorting cocaine brought them closer to God.

Fuck, shouldn’t be thinking things like that in a church. Creasing his brows, he pinched the bridge of his nose then raised a brow to look at Michelle. It took every ounce of strength to not look at her with some dopey, distraught expression. Instead he offered a smile on only one corner of his mouth. “There’s food in a church?” Was it obvious he had missed a few Sunday masses?

[sorry if it's ind of bleh.. I just woke up ]

[Michelle Karvan]

She caught the look when she said Mother Superior “Mother Superior is head of all the nuns” She explained, already seeing he was obviously not a religious person or had ever been a part of the church. But as she had always been taught it is never too late to go into the arms of God, for he was always open to his children. He must have believed though even in a little to have come into a church and pray, he wasn’t completely lost into darkness. His question surprised her but that bright smile of hers never left “I exited my postulant period two months ago. That is rather like, step one to being a nun. I am now in my temporary vows. I have lived in the convent practically all my life however, but it wasn’t until after I finished school that I have begun my journey” Most people didn’t ask her those kinds of questions, she was rather impressed he did.

She could tell he needed much ,he needed care like a poor dog walking the streets. He probably needed a nice bed to sleep in, a shower, clothes, food and just someone to help him with whatever he was going through. Well, he had found the perfect place. She laughed and nodded when he smiled and asked his question. Oh yes, someone needed a little church in his life. “Yes. Well, not really here, except bread and wine. But in the convent we have food and drink. Not anything fancy of course but, food none the less if you need it”

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[Amak Jones]

The way he imagined ‘Mother Superior’ was a nun floating in mid air, meditating and saying the word of God. His mind ran with the funny idea and it brought life to his eyes rather than the dead and stupid look they held before. None of the things she told him made much sense. Yes, his mother had been Catholic, but it was something she didn’t grow up with. She grew up in the tribe that trained him, and only turned to Catholicism after moving to Alaska. He didn’t know why she chose that religion, but the idea of it comforted him like a peaceful memory.

“All your life?” It must have been nice to have something to stick to. She wasn’t a wanderer or a nomad. She was rooted and home, exactly where she should be. “Was your moth—“ The walker stopped himself before he could ask a stupid question and smiled sheepishly. “Nevermind.” Normally he was a smart man. He would have to prove that he wasn’t mentally challenged to her another day.

The idea of wine made Amak’s stomach churn, but his mouth dried up. Alcoholism was already engrained into the young nomad, and though the thought of the drink made him nauseous it also called out to him. Instead of begging her for the wine he clenched his jaw, then ran a slightly trembling hand over his face. “You don’t have to feed me. I just needed somewhere to clear my head.” His stomach growling said otherwise. Placing his hands on his lap he bounced his knees a little to keep anxiety from breaking him down. “And pray for forgiveness.” With that he laughed and glanced to the statue of her savior. Was it too late for him? The dealers a few blocks down would still be out, and the simplicity of buying from them made him want to push her out of the way and hurry to their neck of the woods. Instead he anchored himself and stared at the familiar looking statue.

[Parker Hathaway]

When some spark came into her eyes she felt a little twinge of hope rise in her. Whether it was something she said or not that brought in that spark she didn’t care really, as long as it was there. She nodded “All my life” To many that was unfathomable, but to her it was a sense of peace. Devoting one’s entire life to God wasn’t tragic, it was beautiful but not many saw it that way when nun’s led such a simple and strict life. She glanced down with a smile when she could guess what question he had been about to ask. She giggled a bit but not in a cruel way, not laughing at him, she thought he was rather endearing “My mother passed away, along with my father, when I was six. To a drunk driver” Her aunt had told her it was important to share one’s hardships to others, to let them see that nuns were people who had gone through difficult times as well. It was good to relate to people if you wanted to help them.

She sensed a shift in him and instantly grew worried again. It was rude to just go out and ask someone what was troubling them, a priest could easier do this but she was taught not too for it wasn’t her place unless someone wanted to truly reach out to her “Well, if you’re sure. It wouldn’t be an inconvenience for us” She didn’t want to push him, but he really looked like he needed something to eat. She glanced to the form of Jesus at the front of the church when he did then looked back to him “If you need to speak to the Father of our church, you can in confession. Whatever you say to him is private and is only heard between you and God, and he can help further your forgiveness. Only if you wish”

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[Amak Jones]

The way each person handled grief was so strange. One Joe on the street may pick up and move on, hardly phased by the ordeal. Another may turn to drinking and drugs like the downtrodden hero of our story, Amak. Yet there were the good souls who turned their lives into helping others, like Michelle. It only made Amak more sour with himself to see that she could rise from such smut and become a good person, then there he was shaking and needing help. He had only lost one parent. Yes, the circumstances were a bit different, but at the end of the day they hatched from familiar eggs.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Michelle.” How many times had he gotten into a car while drunk or high? The thought made him feel guilty now, but he had been such a stupid young man. It was time to change.

Was it in her nature or her training to be so kind? “Do you take in strays often?” He quizzed, tilting his head just a little. After a moment he offered a kind look, but not quite a smile. Any ounce of a smile diminished when she mentioned confessing to the Father and he shook his head slowly. “No, no. I couldn’t do that. I can’t confess.” If there was anything the walker hated it was talking about how he felt. “Especially to a stranger. You’re much less of a stranger.” Could he confess to her? Maybe if she offered him a solid meal again.

[Michelle Karvan]

She shook her head “It’s fine, no need to feel sorry. I was old enough to feel sorrow for their passing, but young enough that I don’t really remember them anymore. I know they live in my heart though” Yes, she was one of those people that had risen from her grief. Her best friend had been far more like Amak, he too had lost his parents young like her but still lived his life bitter and angry about it. She had to thank her aunt for her upbringing, her aunt Marie had given her strength and taught her to forgive the man who killed her parents and not feel resentment towards him. People made mistakes and it had been her parent’s time to go, that was all it was.

She shrugged a shoulder lightly “Not often, but at times. Though they are hardly strays, they are simply people who seek guidance and help.” She understood when he refused to see the priest, many people were like that. Even though the priest couldn’t see who they were in confession people still felt uncomfortable doing it. She had been like that as a child, but now it was a natural part of her life. She just nodded in understanding “That is fine” She watched him for a few more moments before moving to sit in the pew in front of him and looked back at him “Amak” She began quietly “Do you have anywhere to go? A home? Any family?”

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[Amak Jones]

Even in his self-destructive stupor the nun didn’t cease to fascinate him. How she could forgive the person that killed her parents was beyond him, but then again so was the way she lived. He couldn’t imagine devoting himself entirely to God or one sole purpose, no matter how strongly he believed. Even the things he thought he believed in were able to be shaken and swayed. So how could she not be swayed from believing in God? His mind ran too easily on one subject, so he decided to focus back on her. He looked over her white outfit, curious as to how it was put together. He wondered what sort of material it was made from, or if it ever became daunting to wear it every day.

Then it was time to go back to reality and snap out of his high aftershock. “What type of people? Felons? Hookers?” The question was serious, but there was a playful look teasing to show on his features. It couldn’t have been completely uncommon for the church to gather strays in this neck of the woods. It was so close to the slums and bad neighborhood that a few living thee must have slithered free like himself.

Conversation of the priest was just as easily dropped as it began. How the men stayed in business was something Amak couldn’t quite comprehend. What sort of man was comfortable confessing his worst qualities to a man behind a veil? It would be more comforting to confess to a woman, but he wasn’t running the show. Instead of being bothered with thoughts of a priest, he focused on the nun at hand and watched her sit so daintily in front of him.

“I’m not homeless if that’s what you’re asking.” Though the words themselves seemed rude, the tone in his voice was not. It was more matter-of-factly, and his expression was calm. “I mean I’m between places if you want to get specific. I just moved here.” By moved he meant packed his shit in his truck and traveled until he found a cheap motel to park it at. “And no, I’ve got no family. I haven’t seen them in a while.” He seemed unphased by that as someone would go undisturbed for forgetting to set the correct time on their watch. It didn’t seem to bother him.

[Michelle Karvan]

“We do not look at people and judge them by labels. All people are equal, some make different mistakes then others, but it is not our right to give them any sort of title. When they come to us they are simply a person, that is all” They had helped people with drinking problems, prostitution, homeless, elderly, mentally disabled…all people of all walks of life. The nuns either helped those people themselves, or if they felt they needed more special care they found them the proper help. Misha remembered growing up and her aunt telling her to stay away from the people they were sheltering, just in case. But Amak didn’t seem any sort of threat, not dangerous in the least.

She frowned “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I simply want to make sure you have somewhere safe to go home too.” She was wary though if he was telling the truth, she knew she wasn’t supposed to judge by appearances but he didn’t look like he had a proper home set-up or if he did it wasn’t a very healthy and stable one. When he explained further her previous thoughts were further confirmed “I see” In between places? That didn’t sound like he had a home at all. Either you had a home or didn’t. She gave him a sympathetic look “I’m so sorry” Family was very important to her and she couldn’t fathom not seeing the last family members she had over a long period of time. Family was what kept you strong, and maybe that was why he was in whatever spot he was in now.

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[Amak Jones]

It would be hard to look at people and not judge them. It would be even harder to look at a man like Amak and not feel sorry for the pitiful mess that he looked, especially standing from the point that Michelle did. Never one to care much what other’s thought he didn’t let it phase him. “You must be a very patient woman, Michelle.” He wanted to ask her more questions, but his mind was swimming and struggling to stay sane. The longer he went without any sort of high the more he felt uneasy. It should be running out of his system, not making him feel worse. Though the young Walker didn’t know what to expect - he hadn’t been sober in too long to remember and couldn’t remember what it took to get there.

Somewhere safe? The thought perplexed him and he looked at her with kind eyes. If he could have stepped outside his body, clean and clear in thought, he would have wanted to swat himself for being such a mess. “I just don’t know this city that well.” Well enough to find cocaine and booze. “I guess this felt like a safe place to go.” He looked down when saying the words, the most honest and open expression that had come out of his mouth. Running his hands over his face again he rubbed his eyes then smoothed his beard over. Fuck, when was the last time he shaved? He probably looked more like Jesus than he realized.

“Don’t be.” He didn’t want pity for his lack of family. “What kind of food did you say you had?” With that he hoped she would get the hint. Words were getting harder to form, and he just wanted something, anything, for his system to soak up. Even if it was bland church food. Maybe after he ate some of her food he would have a clear enough head to get to the nearest motel and sleep this awful hangover off.