From Genesis to Revelation:
One Man's Journey Into Light

... And Gawd's life was good. He became editor of the school newspaper, which, for some unascertained reason, was called "Thistlebush." He had Janet. Even Aunt Rose was more than tolerable, had perhaps grown almost fond of him. Good fortune continued to smile on him, and he landed a job at Bolander's Groceteria working on Saturdays as a box boy, so he even had some cash. This was good because he was planning to go to university. Even though Aunt Rose agreed with his plan, he didn't think it was fair for her to have to foot too much of the bill -- something she told him she'd be more than happy to do, if he got good grades and was serious about it. So he'd been squirreling money away almost since the beginning of high school, hoping to pay for as much of it as possible.

Even though they were only in Grade 12, he and Janet had already visited the university campus in the city where they both hoped to go right after they graduated the following year. Gawd had been in awe at the university campus. He had stood in the gigantic library, surrounded by much of society's knowledge, overwhelmed by the simple hugeness of it -- the sheer magnificence of it all. He watched the grey-bearded philosophers -- for that was what they must have been -- as they walked to and fro through the book stacks, pausing every so often to look sage and thoughtful, as philosophers must surely do.

He and Janet had stopped for lunch in the campus coffee shop, Brewster Hall, and it was the most gloriously, deliciously intellectual sort of place on the planet. It just had an atmosphere about it: that you had to be a smart person just to be part of it. Gawd couldn't help but feel that they were surrounded on all sides by extremely smart people, possibly involved in anti-government plotting as most university students invariably are. He found himself wondering if he could ever hope to achieve so much in his life.

"Isn't this great?" he whispered to Janet, not wanting anyone else in the place to overhear, lest they be exposed as mere high school students, and embarrassed beyond belief.

Janet didn't answer. She looked less sure, an uncertain expression on her face.

He didn't say anything else right away, but returned to his lunch, a piping hot Danish, dripping with cheap margarine, leaving a trail of grease down the cleft in his chin.

"It sure is big," Janet finally remarked a couple of minutes later.

"Of course it's big," Gawd answered. "It has to be big just to hold this much knowledge."

"I mean I just feel so small," she said, a pained look on her face. "Like I don't really matter."

"At first, you wouldn't matter," he answered. "That's because right now we don't really know anything. We don't know the answers to the deep questions. We can't really see the big picture the way we should."

"I don't know," she replied. "I'm not really sure you have to go to university to experience life. I think you can do that in a lot of ways -- like reading -- and travelling." She paused. "And it costs so much money." Another pause. "And it's so far away from my parents."

He felt for a moment that she had finally let the truth slip...but he didn't say so, not wanting to get into an argument on this so perfect of days, when he had finally gotten his chance to see this esteemed institution. She had surprised him. They'd talked about university, and she'd seemed just as enthusiastic as he was about the prospect of escaping the old home-town for a taste of the real life in the big, wide world.

"What's the matter?" he said quietly, reaching over across the table and taking her hand.

"I don't know," she answered, pulling away from him, looking away.

"Jan," he said, concern in his voice.

"I really don't know," she said, looking back toward him, a trace of a tear in her eye. "It's weird. I've always wanted to get away from small towns and small minds -- you know that -- but it's like I'm here facing it, and I'm feeling like a part of my life is coming to an end. It's kind of scary in a way."

"Sure it is," he said sympathetically, reaching again for her hand, this time securing it and holding it gently but firmly. "But we've got to get out of that time capsule we're trapped in. Just look around. This place will give us a chance to grow -- to be anything we want to be. Sure, it's a little scary, but we've got to give it a go." There was almost a pleading to his voice.

"I know," she said, smiling. "I'm just having a case of nerves. I want this thing, too."

He smiled back at her. He loved her.

Gawd worked hard at the school newspaper, always trying to come up with new ideas for stories, always looking for causes -- because that's what his idea of a journalist was -- looking for wrongs to right, seeking out injustices, making sure the little guy had a chance. In fact, Gawd thought he'd found his calling in life. He was constantly calling editorial meetings to discuss issues the paper could delve into -- like why there wasn't a late bus so kids from the country could more easily take part in after-school activities. But the really big issue that came along was the one about attending the big football game over at the fairgrounds.

It so happened that the Halybury High football team was a winner. With all those chunky farm boys for a line, the tiny rural high school had built a virtual dynasty even though it competed against far larger schools. Because everybody likes a winner, every student in the school was a football fan. And every year, there was the big game against arch-rival Walkerville, preceded by a giant pep rally the night before, where it was the job of the entire student body to whip the team into such a frenzied state of aggression that they would go out the next day and kill the Walkerville team.

The year Gawd was in Grade 12 and busily editing "Thistlebush," with an issue almost ready to go to press, just waiting for a story on the pep rally and the big game, there was a calamity. A couple of students decided there was a need for alcohol-induced enthusiasm at the pep rally and smuggled in several bottles of vodka, the stuff with no smell, and set up a bar in the boys' change-room. Of course, it didn't take long for people to start throwing up all over the place, and the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. The authorities closed down the bar and incarcerated the bartenders, Gawd was there to get the story, which he did, and he thought that was the end of that.

But neither Gawd nor his schoolmates had counted on what happened the next day. The principal came on the PA after the regular morning announcements.

"If I could have your attention, please," he said in a deep monotone. "The incident which occurred at the pep rally last night was a very serious one. The perpetrators have been apprehended and will be dealt with appropriately, but there is deep concern that other students were also involved. I have decided that you all need to learn something about getting involved in a situation like last night." He paused dramatically. The school was completely quiet. You could have heard the proverbial pin drop. "It has therefore been decided that you will not be permitted to attend this afternoon's football game. All students, except those directly associated with the team, will remain in class until the normal dismissal time. The next time something like this happens, maybe you'll think about what you're doing and what the consequences might be. That is all."

The PA clicked off, but stunned silence remained. Gawd could feel tension rising in his classmates. Normally, everyone would have burst into conversation and motion at the end of the announcements. On this morning, after the decree that had been issued, nobody moved. It was strange. Really strange.

Then, it started. "He can't do that," said the angry voice of one student. "How could he do something like that?" asked another. "The old bastard," muttered a third.

"Are you people going to be getting to your first class at some point?" home room teachers throughout the school inquired. It was a rhetorical question. There was motion as the student body got to its collective feet to start the day. As Gawd stood up, he heard the grumbling and cursing, all focussed on the principal's decision not to let the school out for the big game that afternoon. Just as he passed through the doorway out of home-room, one of the school toughs charged across the hall and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.

"Hey, man," he snarled. "You're always lookin' to stir up shit with that rag of yours, thinkin' you're a for-real newspaper guy or something. Well, here's a real chance for you. This is bullshit that we can't go to the game. I mean, what is this goddamned place? A prison camp?"

"Don't start any trouble," said Gawd's home-room teacher, who was following Gawd out of the room.

The tough pulled away, shot a menacing glare in Gawd's direction, and disappeared into the crowds of disgruntled adolescents.

"You better get to class," Gawd's teacher said, but Gawd was already underway.

His first class was library, not his favourite, because Mr. Smedges still hadn't forgiven him for the uproar he'd caused over the book selection process, but off he went.

Janet also had a spare first period, and they had agreed to meet at the back corner cubicles in the library, where they could sort of work together, but actually just be together. But they hadn't counted on Glenn. He was involved in the newspaper with them and was also in Gawd's library class. He chanced by the back corner cubicles on his way out for a smoke.

"Doesn't that just suck about the football game?" he said, when he came upon Gawd and Janet.

"Yeah, it's really too bad," Janet said.

"What did we do to deserve this?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "Christ, I brought my own booze to the rally. I wasn't even patronizing the bar that got busted. And I can't get out because of that."

"It sure doesn't seem right," Gawd answered.

"Yeah, it surely doesn't," answered Glenn.

"It's really too bad there's not something we could do about it," Janet said. "I mean, it's going to be a big story for the next issue of the paper, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Gawd answered thoughtfully, his brow furrowing as he reflected on the situation.

"It's too bad there's not something we could do now," Glenn mused.

"Yeah," agreed Janet.

There was a pause, a pensive pause, as the three young people seemed to consider their options.

"What about a special edition?" Gawd suggested.

There was no immediate answer.

"How?" asked Glenn.

"Just one page, one side -- an editorial -- telling the school that this ban on the game is unjust and we shouldn't stand for it," Gawd answered.

"Well, that'd be great," said Glenn, but his voice was flat and even and there was a trace of sarcasm in it. "And so what?" he asked. "What will it accomplish? Except to piss off the principal."

"We'll call for a strike," Gawd said.

"A strike?" Janet asked.

"Yea, a strike?" Glenn echoed with a certain enthusiasm replacing the earlier sarcasm.

"It's a matter of principle," Gawd said. "This is unfair. You said so yourself, Glenn."

"Yea, it is unfair," Glenn answered. "Oh, this could be great," he said, grinning broadly.

"So, you'll support me on this?" Gawd asked, looking first to Glenn, who nodded vigorously in the affirmative, then to Janet.

"Gee, I don't know," she said quietly, glancing furtively about, as if someone might discover them while they plotted and conspired.

"Come on," Glenn urged. "It's a matter of principle. We've got to take a stand. We've got to stand up to the dictators of the world. It's up to our generation."

"What if we get into trouble?" she asked nervously. "My parents'd kill me."

"Look, Janet, this is not about parents," Glenn said. "The world's in such a mess right now because our parents, and their parents before them, just sat back and let people tell them what to do. But we're a new generation. We're going to set the record straight. It's our responsibility to our children and the generations after them." He sounded quite fervent.

"It's only a football game," she said.

"You have to start somewhere," Glenn answered.

Janet looked to Gawd, knitting her eyebrows, looking uncertain.

"Glenn's sort of right," Gawd said.

"You think we should call for a strike?" she asked

Gawd shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah," he answered.

They set about rounding up a typewriter, and a place to copy the one-page, one-sided editorial that got the whole thing rolling. Or, actually, the one that was supposed to get the whole thing rolling, because it didn't quite work out the way it was planned.

They hit the hallways with the special edition of the newspaper just after noon, completely bypassing their staff advisor. It called for a full-scale, immediate walk-out; all students to assemble at the football field at the fairgrounds and to stand firm no matter what the administration did to dissuade them from their purpose -- which was to represent a bastion of democracy in a troubled world by watching a football game.

The problem was that although over half of the student body did, in fact, walk out of school, only about thirty showed up at the football field - Gawd, Janet, and about twenty-eight other lonely souls. The rest dispersed for parts unknown, including Glenn, who was last seen heading out of town with a few buddies and a case of beer, apparently ready to hoist a few in the name of democracy.

Gawd took the fall for the whole sorry incident, getting a three-day suspension, and almost losing the editorship of the paper in the bargain. Janet only got four detentions, and her parents didn't kill her. Glenn woke up the next morning with a terrific hangover and got a few laughs out of it. But he did march down to the principal's office and offer himself up as a co-conspirator in the plot, being rewarded with a suspension similar to Gawd's, for which he was eternally grateful.

Gawd went fishing for the three days. He camped out at the bottom of the cemetery hill, where he and his grandfather had fished before the old man had died.

Janet came down and visited him one night. She was so proud of him for his part in the strike, and how he had stood by his principles, that she got extremely affectionate, and they made love for the first time. Even though they had become physically close since the ski trip, they had not consummated their relationship before this. She had resisted, mildly, and Gawd had been too shy to force the issue, respecting her every wish.

Even on this night, he had not pressed her, seemingly content to neck and pet, as they did almost constantly when they were in private and together. He loved the feel of her, had often fondled her breasts, and had once even touched her private area. But he had felt her pull away ever so slightly, had withdrawn the advance, and never chanced in that direction again.

This night, she was different. She forced the issue, reaching into his pants, taking him in her hands. Standing by the campfire, undressing, showing herself to him, so that he felt embarrassed and wanted to look away. But she came to him, stood over him, and he couldn't help but reach out and touch her, and feel her, and hold her, and reach deep within her. He was clumsy -- it was his first time. It was her first as well, but they managed through it, until they lay together at the end, exhausted.

"I love you," she said softly.

"I love you," he replied, and he knew he felt something for her, and he knew he felt better with her than without her. Still, he had to hide uncertainty. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the breast. Her hand moved between his legs.

"I love you," she said.

"And I you," he answered.

When he came back to school after the unsuccessful strike and the suspension, he found he was somewhat of a hero. Kids he didn't even know came up to him and congratulated him for his part in the failed revolution. He had never before been in the position of being exalted on any level and found his newfound star status awkward and uncomfortable, and was quite happy when time passed and the fuss was over.

He and Glenn had to report to the principal's office on their return to school, to be officially re-instated, and they were lectured sternly and warned to be on their best behaviour for the remainder of their days at Halybury High. The principal said they were all in the same boat and should pull together in the same direction -- whatever that had to do with the circumstances at hand.

Soon, however, it was back to normal. Back to the books and the pursuit of higher learning. Gawd paid considerable attention to the books, continuing to work toward his goal of attending university, wanting so badly to escape the confines of this small world for a much larger one. It wasn't that he minded Halybury -- it had been a great place to get his head together after the tumult of his earlier years. And he had actually grown as fond of Aunt Rose as she had of him. But it was like he felt a need to go beyond Halybury, to seek out something that lay beyond, even though he couldn't exactly explain what that something was. He just knew there had to be more to life than all that existed in Halybury.

But Janet troubled him. She seemed to neglect her books, which was not in her character; she had always been an A student. When she got a D on an English (her best subject) paper, he finally said something.

"You must have been having a bad day when you wrote that," he commented, after coming upon her in the cafeteria, where she was sitting, drinking a chocolate milk, the English paper in question on the table in front of her.

"I guess you could say that," she answered flatly.

He sat across from her, looked at her, searched for her eyes as he always did, but she avoided him.

"What's up, Jan?" he finally asked.

"What do you mean?" she asked back.

"You seem kind of bummed out," he answered. "You just don't seem like yourself."

"I'm all right," she said, but she still didn't look at him, her eyes casting about.

"Then, what's with the D?" he asked sharply. "You're blowing your average."

"I'm doing all right," she answered. "I just had a bad day when I wrote this," she said, gesturing to the offending paper.

"I just hope you are," he said. "We've got to have good grades. What if we applied to university and one of us didn't get accepted?" Once, he wouldn't have considered such a question.

For the first time since he'd sat opposite her, she looked back at him, right into him, and he could see into her, and there was hurt in her-- he could see it clearly, but didn't understand it.

"Is that all you think about? The university?" The words shot out of her -- angry, hostile words.

He recoiled, taken aback, not sure how to respond.

"Maybe there's more to life than university," she said, again with anger. "Maybe you should think about that."

"I don't understand," he stammered uncertainly. "I thought you wanted to go."

"You don't know me at all," she said, and he could see her eyes go watery. She got to her feet. "You don't listen to me." She turned to go.

"Janet," he said after her. "Don't go." But she had gone.

It was like she dropped out of his life. She didn't come to school the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. And she wouldn't come to the phone -- her mother said she wasn't feeling well and was sleeping. Gawd tried to go about his normal affairs, but he was rattled and shaken, couldn't concentrate with her always on his mind. By day, he went about his tasks in a zombie-like condition where he could see and hear, but felt nothing except a longing for her. By night, he slept in short fits, tormented by the terror that he had somehow lost her. It was a hard time for him -- a time of quiet desperation.

A few days after the incident with Janet, he was getting cleaned up after gym class, standing half-naked in front of a change-room locker, just showered, going through the motions of preening for a return to regular school.

"I heard they had a fight in the cafeteria," said a voice from elsewhere in the change room.

"Have you seen the poor bastard moping around the school?" asked a second voice.

"They were like joined at the hip," the first voice said.

"Since the ski trip," remarked the second. "Remember? He hitch-hiked all the goddamned way up there."

Gawd was suddenly aware the conversation was about Janet and him -- that they were talking, unaware that he just a row of lockers away.

"Well, you know what I heard?" asked the first voice.

"What did you hear?" asked the second voice.

"She's pregnant," responded the first voice.

But the words were loud and heavy, and hung in the air, reverberating slowly out from their point of origin and crashing in waves down over Gawd, who had frozen, underarm deodorant poised for application, not able to believe what he had heard.

"No shit," said the second voice.

"No, no shit," came the reply.

"Poor sucker," was the comment.

"Hey, you can't take the golden goose and not expect to deal with the giant," was the somewhat philosophical response.

The others must have finished their business; there was a bit of rustle and bustle and the room went quiet. Gawd collapsed onto the bench in front of him. He sat in a pose reminiscent of the Thinker -- in his underwear. Pregnant. He wondered if that could be true. How could it be, he wondered, but knew how it could be, and in that instant he felt an odd sense of pride at his supposed accomplishment -- if it could indeed be referred to as an accomplishment.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and he had another class to go, but he bolted from school and headed for Janet's. He must seek her out. He must know -- and he must know now.

Her mother answered the door and he asked for her.

"She's sleeping," the mother answered.

"I've got to see her," Gawd insisted.

Just as the words were leaving his mouth, he caught a glimpse of her, standing back behind her mother. "It's all right, Mom," he heard her say.

Her mother stepped aside, and Gawd entered the house. He could see her better now and wanted more than anything to rush to her and hold her close. He thought she looked small and vulnerable and alone as she stood unkempt and in her housecoat.

"Are you all right?" he asked, filling his voice with obvious concern.

"Yeah," she said quietly, offering him a faint smile, perhaps as proof.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked.

She didn't answer right away. There was a pause.

"I'd like to talk to you," he said.

"Sure," she answered. "We'll go out on the porch."

"I'll bring you a cold drink," her mother said.

Janet led the way to the screened-in porch. Nothing was said. Gawd could feel an awkward tension surrounding them. He kept quiet, delaying the inevitable. He'd wait for the porch.

"I was worried about you," he said, after they had sat opposite each other in the big, comfortable deck chairs on the porch.

"I'm sorry," she answered. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Well, it's just that I thought we were getting to be close," he said, putting a hushed tone on his voice as if the fact should for some reason be kept secret. "I feel strongly about you."

At that moment, her mother came with the cold drinks. He waited and said nothing for a couple of minutes after she had deposited the drinks and exited the porch.

"I feel strongly about you, too," Janet said after the moment of quiet.

"Then, why are you treating me like this?" he asked.

There was another silence -- it remained tense and awkward.

"Are you pregnant?" he asked bluntly.

He could see tears welling up in her eyes.

"Janet. Are you pregnant?" he repeated.

"Yes," she answered, burying her head in her hands.

It was quiet, except for her sobbing. He considered his options.

"I love you," he said.

"I didn't want it to be this way," she said, looking up, red-eyed from her weeping.

He shrugged his shoulders. "You can't always plan these things," he said.

"You're not angry?" she asked, seeming somewhat surprised.

"Why should I be angry?" he asked. "I'm going to be a father." He got up and walked around to her, knelt beside the deck chair and took her in his arms. "I love you," he said.

"You're wonderful," she answered. And they kissed.

They were married that summer, after Grade 12, and there was no consideration of going on to Grade 13 or anything beyond, because there was a family to provide for. Gawd took a job as Assistant Produce Manager at Bolander's Groceteria, and they rented a little apartment in a not-too-bad section of town, and settled in to wait for the baby.

... And Gawd really was a wonderful guy. At least that's what everybody thought.