In Continuum.

Toothless Preacher

There were four of us on the crowded bus that evening, just the four of us minding our own businesses, making our way towards town after the games at Settler's. Pao sat next to me in the very last row on the bus, while Naz and MJ sat on the same row just in front of us, on either side of the aisle from each other. It must have been an unconscious force that drove me to where I was sitting that evening, some imaginary power that drew me to that very seat. I mean, there were so many seats available on the bus when we first got on, and I am still unsure why I chose that seat out of the many that were empty. I could have chosen the seat where MJ sat, or perhaps the one Pao occupied right next to me. I should have known from the look in his eyes, that I should have avoided any possible encounters with him. It may sound a little mean to say that I wished that my friends were in that same awkward position as myself, to have hoped that somebody else was in that place rather than me. But whatever happened, happened. I walked onto the bus that evening looking for a seat, and there he was shifting his bag away, offering me the space next to his. The greatest mistake that Friday evening, something I should have known. I should have known.

There was a slight glitter in his eyes when I approached, like the eyes of a hunter waiting for his prey to fall into his trap. Taking refuge in the corner of the bus, he waited for his prey to board the bus, looking desperately from a seat. He must have been waiting there for ever when I came along, putting his torn up bag on the seat next to him as a diversion. Anybody that comes onto a crowded bus looking for a seat is going to stare at his bag, hoping that he'd move the bag onto his laps and offer that seat to him. So there I was, staring at his worn out and tattered bag, wondering if he was going to give in to me unspoken plea. He must have heard it with his giant ears that resembled that of a chimpanzee, because he turned around and immediately shifted his bag away. I thanked him for so doing, and that must have been his cue to go in for the kill. Thanking a person is not only the polite thing to do, but it may also imply a sense of fragility, to show someone that you are a nice person - and of course, nice people are easily pushed around at times.

I sat down next to the man and checked him out with the corner of my eyes to avoid any eye contact. From the brief greetings we had a sort while ago when he gave me his seat, I could tell that he was probably not the kind of person you want to spend a second more looking at. He was in one of those worn out polo t-shirt that has been worn and washed too many times. It had holes near his collar, and the ends of his shirt were torn and tattered, like a flag stuck in the middle of a battlefield. His white shorts reached just a little above his knotted knee, an untidy collection of old and loose skin into an unsightly knot of flesh. His unkempt hair hinted the possibilities of black widow spiders living in them, waiting for head lice to infest the thick undergrowth as a constant source of free food. Beneath those hair was his head, which was probably the worst part about his whole body. It wasn't really because of how bad he looked, but how creepy it was to turn to him only to see him staring back at me with a broken smile. By a broken smile, I meant literally that. With his broken front teeth and the darkness of his mouth reaching down to an unimaginable abyss, I wanted to stab my eyes with my thumbs.

But I remained in where I was, unmoved by the toothless man who was grinning at me without control. I started to revise all the things that did from the moment I got onto the bus, to the moments that led up to the broken smile of his. I must have done something within that short negligible span of time that caused him to seem so friendly towards me in an infinitely eerie way. He stared at me some more, as if he had something to tell me but hadn't the courage to do so. It was the kind of smile that a little girl would have if she has a secret you do not know about, but his brand of smile was probably what a pedophile would show that little girl with the secret, to be honest. It was creepy as hell, and I figured in my head that he was either a homosexual, or a really desperate homosexual. Either way, I didn't want to remain in the same seat for too long. I needed to get out of the bus quick, rush down to the nearest shop with a baseball bat to blow my brain out. That was the only way I could have gotten the image of his face out of my head. But we were not even a quarter of the way to town yet, and my mind was racing at a thousand miles per hour. That was of course, until I found out that he wasn't a homosexual - though that gave way to little relief. He was a religious maniac, which is worse.

With his broken English, he asked if I am a Christian or not. That sentence alone had a combination of English, Chinese and Hokkien, as if my discomfort with his appearance wasn't bad enough. I have a thing about articulation and language, and those were the things that this man lacked completely. He had no coherence in his speech, no sign of having ever stepped into a school to study any language before, and her certainly wasn't making his point clear and precise. He was trying to tell me something after his initial question, but all I was looking out for was my opportunity to shoot back at him. But he was completely sincere, which made him even more creepy than before. He then told me about this church gathering that was coming up last Sunday, and he pleaded me to go with him.

OK, so there I was trying to turn my head away from the odor that was pouring out of his mouth like a thousand dead rats and a river polluted by human waste. The poisonous fume filled my mind then, unable to give a proper rejection other than a stern "No" in the face of this toothless preacher. But apparently - like most men - he did not understand the meaning of "No", and kept asking me to go with him. He offered to take me there to his church, but I was too appalled by the situation to tell him that that was th exact reason why I didn't want to go to his church. His mouth was wide opened, and he started asking me if I am from NYP. I wonder which part of my face had the letters NYP written on, or did any part of my body hinted that I was from that polytechnic. He merely assumed me to be from the same school, and hoped that by being in the same school as me in the past might gain my approval of his religion. I told him where I am from, and he then started telling me about how he was from NYP, and how he used to be this gangster that everybody hated. With his looks and the way he talked, the only threatening thing about this ex-gangster was his bad odor and inarticulate words. He was the epitome of horror, just sitting there next to me at the back of the bus. If there are emergency alarms in front of every seat of the bus to alert the driver, I would have pressed it so, so hard.

He tried to convince me that going to church turned him into a real man. "Look at me!", he said as he positioned himself towards my direction. "Can I not?", I said only in my head, turning my head away to Naz and mouthing "Help me!" in the process. If going to church turns somebody into you, then I'd rather remain where I am right now, praying to a flaming guitar in the sky and in my own prayers that come in the form of song lyrics. After probably saying the word "No" twenty times, he was still determined to get me to his church. He started telling me how his church has two levels - one for English speaking people on the first floor, and the other for Chinese or Hokkien speakers. He told me that he'd take me to the second floor, and I wonder which part of his polluted mind thought that I'd be interested in hearing a full sermon in Hokkien, when I can hardly interested in hearing it in a language that I do understand. Besides, taking me to either floors wouldn't be much of a use, since that man's language belonged to a floor entirely different from this world that I know. It was a cross between everything, and he might have been able to communicate with stray dogs if he tried hard enough, who knows.

The bus number 7 took forever to reach the town, but it sure did as the journey lasted. As the stop drew nearer and nearer, I counted down the seconds to the moment I would spring up from the seat and then leave the maniac behind to prey on some other poor victims. Three more seconds, two more seconds, one more second, and I was standing up and leaving the back of the bus. I was still traumatized, still in fear of him grabbing my arm just as I was able to alight from the bus to give me his last shot. I do appreciate his evangelist efforts, but I do also appreciate others to appreciate the religion that I have - Music. I don't need a toothless preacher to tell me what to believe in this world, and what not to believe.

Even if it comes right down to it, I do not think that that man had any rights to tell me what to do. He just looked like a lost and deceived man to me, and man that took a stroll on the edge of sanity and was taken in by a Christian church. It must have been a very nice act on their part, but I'm sure they did not expect this man to terrorize the public with his preachings on how the religion changed his life. If the church sent him out as an advertisement of sorts, they are either being incredibly stupid in their marketing plans, or they have a church full of blind priests who failed to see just how bad a walking billboard they have elected.