The Underground: Part 2

“The walk wasn't worth listening to this tripe,” Otto muttered under his breath, just soft enough that the others at the table didn’t hear. He was tempted to say it louder.

“You notice that there's something interesting being said here,” The speaker, a local writer named Elaine Madison, continued. “Some people consider the body to be discarded at the resurrection, and human beings become pure spirit. The truth is nothing of the sort in the afterlife. The human person consists of both body and spirit, even in death, which is why there must be a resurrection. But it's not your old body, all too capable of decay, but a perfected, glorified body, that is...”

Otto contemplated what she meant by a glorified body. She was a heavy-set woman in her forties with short curly hair and a whimsical personality. She was a good enough speaker, and unlike many people who speak at these informal gatherings, she actually had a good grasp of the official teachings of her faith. A pleasant woman, but lofty-sounding words couldn’t persuade Otto she was speaking anything other than nonsense.

Being an agnostic, he couldn't help but wonder whether there was something more underneath the obtuse theological language he wasn't grasping. His fire-and-brimstone Catholic friend Thomas, who invited him, sat by his side. Otto was Thomas' 'project' for quite some time, sometimes to the extent of straining their friendship.

His friend never seemed to have had a doubt in his life, and his intense and self-assured attitude showed it. A hobbyist triathlete when not working ungodly hours trying to get his start-up business running, as well as trying to convert people, his military-cut brown hair and fierce, penetrating concentration intimidated those who didn't know him. His voice, however, rang deeper than would be expected, and he would stutter when someone got him riled up, which Otto was wont to do. The confidence came at the price of his ideology not being nearly as bulletproof as he always assumed it was. Otto found himself constantly frustrated when he found holes in Thomas' arguments that he refused to acknowledge.

In contrast, Otto saw himself as a bookish intellectual type, graduating from Grand Valley the same semester as Thomas two years ago. He looked the part with a mildly chubby face and receding hairline, even in his young age. Being the sedentary type, his stomach sported a little bit of a gut, though not too prominent. His clothing consisted of drab khakis with an untucked button-down shirt, the attire of someone who neglected his appearance. The Comparative Religion major with Philosophy minor wasn't boding well for a job, as he found himself being an administrative assistant in a downtown accounting firm in Grand Rapids Michigan, just a couple miles from his current location. Given his lack of success so far in his life, he admitted to feeling jealous of Thomas' self-assurance.

“I'm getting another drink. Want one?” Otto asked, nudging Thomas who was busy absorbing every word of the lecture. It took him a moment to react to Otto’s gesture.

”Oh, I'm good,” Thomas said. Then added, “no, actually, a stout. Whatever they have, thanks.”

“Sure.”

Otto got up and stepped out of the lecture area to the main bar. He could have waited for the waitress but wanted the excuse to move. All the people at the lecture seemed to know each other, making Otto feel like an outsider to the clique. No one seemed to take note of his exit.

The Cambridge House was an unusually dim bar with a medieval feel about it. To his right was an eight-foot-tall gigantic suit of armor holding a broadsword that was five feet long by itself. The main bar area showcased well-polished wood and classic paintings that gave an air of class to a place that otherwise would be all too capable of crass pickups, raucous yelling, and toilet seats covered in piss.

Otto leaned against the bar, gesturing to the frantic bartender who was too busy swiping credit cards and servicing people more aggressive in getting his attention. Behind him a multitude of microbrewery beers were being displayed. He rarely drank outside the standard brews found in any gas station, making the selection overwhelming.

There were several tables pushed together in the middle of the bar, filled by a group of young people celebrating with balloons and gifts. The gal who was the center of attention sat on a massive wooden chair at the end of the table. From the distance she looked like a redheaded, freckled woman in her late twenties. She was short but muscular, her dark eyes analyzing her friends with a mix of appreciation and depressed boredom. Unlike most women, she lacked the knack to pretend she was having a good time, it being obvious whatever they were celebrating, she wasn’t happy about it. There was another energetic woman leaning next to her, a pint-sized girl with short, thick hair to match and a wide, muscular frame like herself. She was flailing her arms, seemingly trying to convince her of something. The difference in personalities was already clear as night and day, introvert and extrovert.

The energetic girl darted her eyes at Otto, pointed directly at him and whispered something in the other girl's ear.

“What do you need sir?” The bartender asked, annoyed that he had to waste a few seconds to ask directly. Otto snapped out of his shameless spectating.

“Oh, um, a stout?” Otto responded.

“What kind?”

“Whatever you recommend.”

The bartender sighed. “Okay, five dollars. On tab?”

“No thanks, here you go.” Otto handed him a five.

“Coming right up,” he said as he grabbed a glass, and started pouring. Otto's eyes veered up to the flat screen television above him. A news station was on, volume off, with two talking heads that could convey no real information. The ticker across the bottom scrolled along news that was all too familiar. The program reported a bombing in Sweden followed by the latest celebrity sex scandal. The two talking heads were going back and forth, their suits and serene posture giving the air of the respectable demeanor expected of a ‘serious’ news outlet.

The bartender handed him a glass of dark beer. Otto turned to return to the lecture but the frantic short-haired girl from the table directly behind him immediately blocked his passage. He couldn't help but be startled, not so much because she was right by him, but because the right side of her face, hidden from Otto when she was talking to the other girl, was brutally deformed. Her cheek on that side was partially flapping, as if her skin melted from a vat of boiling oil. Her eye on that side was pure white. Still, her cheery face seemed to convey nothing was wrong.

“Mind coming over for a second?” She asked.

“Sorry, I have to get back to my group,” Otto responded.

“Oh come on, it’ll just be a sec,” she responded. “You have to answer a simple question to the birthday girl over there.”

The mild guilt trip mixed with curiosity over the girl worked. “All right. Just a quick one,” Otto replied as he grabbed his beer.

“Great! I'm Constance by the way.”

“Otto. Pleasure.”

They strode over to the celebratory table and he got a better look at the birthday girl. She was a redhead with a mildly round face and thin lips. Her face kept a strict air that clashed with Constance's exuberant energy. She raised her eyebrows at Otto as Constance introduced him.

“Anna, this is Otto. Otto, tell her how old you think she is.”

Otto analyzed her embarrassed face for a few seconds. The few wrinkles on her face that the makeup didn't mask showed her to be older. There was a small piercing on her nose as well as a rose tattoo on her wrist. While not a punk look, they didn't seem to match her personality. Not his personal taste, but a cute girl.

“I don't know. I really wouldn’t venture to guess.”

“Just go by your gut.”

“I guess... 29?” There were chuckles around the table and Anna gave a bemused grin, all enough to know he had given a very wrong answer. Constance frowned at him with a 'don't you know anything?' look that chilled him. “But that's just a guess,” He quickly added.

“27,” Anna responded.

“Well, Happy Birthday,” Otto responded and scurried away. He tried to shrug it off that at least he didn't blow it with a girl he had a chance with. She was four years older than he was and certainly not his type. It didn't stop him from feeling stupid and agitated. He wondered why he always seemed to fall into those sorts of situations.

“What took you?” Thomas whispered.

“Some gal had me guess the age of her friend.”

“Oh?”

“She was 27. I guessed 29.”

“Oops!”

“Here,” Otto handed Thomas the beer.

“You didn’t get anything?”

“Forgot.”

“Just take mine, seems you’re a little out of it.” He snickered, ”Dude! 29? What the heck?”

Otto ignored him.

The speaker wrapped up. She summarized the main points of the lecture with the enthusiasm of a pep talk, raising her voice and overemphasizing her body language. It felt out of place in a very academic discussion.

“And I personally want to be in heaven in paradise as a fully glorified human being, unstained by the taint of original sin, and to be able to see my Savior face to face. We will be what a person was meant to be from the beginning…eternally. I'll conclude with a few famous lines from Alfred Lord Tennyson that sums it up well. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man, he knows not why; He thinks he was not made to die. God bless.”

There was polite clapping and some hands went up for questions. One question involved the use of the digestive system when human beings didn’t need food, the same with the reproductive system. She referenced Aquinas, in that they are still there, as there are parts of the human form, but do not operate any more from the earthly sense. He didn’t follow what she was saying. Otto had another avenue to inquire about, and raised his hand. The speaker called on him.

“Um, I admit I'm not religious, so maybe I'm not the type you want questions from, but I don't understand how a body can live eternally. I mean, doesn’t having a body imply you are still subject to time, because you can't be everywhere at once? Just from a practical standpoint, as eternity moves on so to speak, wouldn't you lose your identity, who you were in your earthly life as you are overloaded with what happens after your death?”

She lowered her eyebrows and squinted, “I don't know if I follow you.”

“What I'm saying is time is how a mind and body operate to make sense of experiences and create a sequential narrative of events. If you still feel, taste, and bond like you do as a human, won't whatever happened in the short span that was your life just be a blip as you continue on for eternity?”

“I'm sorry, I still don't follow you.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Thomas added.

“I just don't see how a human form can exist and be eternal.”

“Well, you're not going to like the answer, but the closest I can say is it's a mystery, and there's no way for us to really conceive of its reality, we can only point to it. Heaven operates on very different rules than Earth.”

“Fair enough,” Otto responded. A mystery was a way to save face when one did not have a sufficient answer. “I have another too.”

“Okay,” she said. Thomas started to squirm.

“So this glorified body. In what plane is this located? Is there an eternal disconnect between the heavenly and earthly?”

“Oh no. We have intercessory prayer. You see, regardless of where someone is, Heaven, Purgatory, or somewhere else, there is no eternal disconnect.”

“Hell too?”

“Yes, even Hell, though at the end of time there will be an eternal chasm between the saved and the sinners.”

“Interesting. So in what way do they intercede? I certainly don’t witness angels, deceased souls and all that in my day-to-day life.” Otto said.

“You sure about that?” Tom responded, making the speaker nod in agreement.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” Otto said.

The question and answer dispersed, and Tom rose. “Thanks for coming Otto. Sorry I have to skip out early, need to get some sleep for an important client tomorrow. Need a ride or anything?”

Otto parked in the middle of downtown around where he worked, about a mile from the bar. He contemplated whether he wanted to make the trudge back to his car on the dreary October day.

“That's fine. I could use the walk.”

“No prob. Hope you found it informative.”

“It was interesting,” Otto responded.

“Yeah, that's the best I was expecting to get out of you. Just pray over it a little, God Bless,” Thomas said as he shook Otto's hand and departed.

There were already several social cliques forming. Otto couldn't find an immediate opening into any of the conversations and didn’t feel confident enough to jump in anywhere. A few people peered over at Otto sitting by himself drinking the remnants of Tom's beer, contemplating whether to try starting a conversation with him. Feeling the potential for a pity conversation he wanted to avoid than any genuine interest, he got up and gave a meek smile to the others in the room as he left.

The other party crew was starting to disperse; a small group shot pool while a few of the women sat chatting at the party table. Otto glanced in their direction for an extended time in the hopes that one of them would acknowledge him. He got a coy glance from Constance, which he couldn’t tell was out of annoyance or mockery. In any case, she didn’t think highly of him. She leaned over and made a motion of hitting a cue ball. Otto nodded and strode over to the pool table.

“You any good?” Constance asked.

“I can hold my own I guess. Sorry I kind of screwed up your plan back there.”

“Whatever,” she replied. “Just don’t make me look bad again, ‘kay?”

The two playing 8-ball the moment showed their inexperience, leaning way too tall and neglecting to position the pool stick correctly for a decent shot. Otto took special amusement out of watching one player trying altogether too hard to impress the girl he was playing against, failing miserably at trick shots.

“Anna and you are jumping in against the winner. Sound good?”

“Sure,” Otto responded, fidgeting and keeping his gaze away from her face.

“So how do you know this group?” Otto asked.

“I have a knack for meeting people. The Birthday girl got a flat tire on her way here. I happened to be by the sidewalk as she was kicking her tire. I’m a pretty thrifty girl, and helped her through putting the spare on. Afterwards she invited me to come along, though I don’t really think she was expecting me to accept! Now I gave you the opportunity to meet some new people.”

“That’s pretty impressive. Can always use the help. Can’t say I’m that social.”

“Why not?”

Otto shrugged. “I don’t know, just not my personality I guess.”

“You’re hanging out with strangers here.”

“True.”

Anna finished saying goodbye to some of her friends and came over. She had a sullen expression of both depression and exhaustion, sticking around more out of courtesy when she would have preferred sitting on the couch crying. Otto meekly waved and Anna in turn gave a nod to Otto.

“Constance told me about the flat tire. Rough deal,” Otto told Anna.

“Probably the high point of my day up to this point,” Anna murmured. “It sucked. I was bawling out there for a while. She stood by the side and gave me the step by step to put on the spare. Wish I knew stuff like that. I don’t know, can’t complain. It turned out well. I made a new friend and all. Makes life a little more interesting. Still, not my idea of a good day.”

“That bad? Come on, cheer up.”

“Well, there are a few other things going on.”

“She just found out that one of her old friends left the state mental institution and isn’t talking to anybody.” Constance interceded.

Anna sighed and gave Constance an annoyed glance. “It’s too early to know whether it’s that yet. I think she got a little spaz over some things in her life and ran away with this, well, I won’t get started on him. Who knows what goes on that you don't see, you know? I wish she'd call or something, tell me she's okay."

"So she just packed up and left?"

"She got sick again after her engagement fell through. I admit I haven't talked to her in a long time, a mutual friend clued me in. I don't think she'd talk to me even if there was a way to contact her. It's all pretty messed up, I'm not going into more detail. I don't know why I'm still talking about it."

Constance shook her head. “There's no need to.”

"I don't see what's worse, being so messed up in the head that you don’t know what you’re doing or of your own volition."

"Demonic influence either way,” Constance replied, causing both Otto and Anna to give her their full attention.

"Demonic possession might be a little extreme.” Otto replied.

"I didn't say possession, I said influence. Possession is rare, influence is constant," she said. “Is it so hard to think there are things you can’t directly see?”

"I can't say I've met any demons. So you're blaming these maladies on demons? Not to mock you or anything, but I might need to substantiate something like that,” Otto said.

"What's your background, Otto?"

"Comparative religion. To answer your next question, yes, it makes me completely unemployable, “Otto said, then added, “but at least I can be an equal opportunity agnostic."

"Well then, I’m sure you’ve considered that your eyes aren't showing you everything. I guarantee the mystic sees a different world than you. The scientist sees matter in motion. The poet sees the sublime in the posture of a willow tree while a physicist sees the force of gravity. Neither is wrong, but you could say they're seeing different worlds."

"So you're telling me…"

"That you create your own reality? Heavens no! Reality is much too intricate to be created, it can only be deformed by willful exclusion. You don't see demons because you have made your mind see through filtered glasses that excludes its possibility! Do either of you believe in demons?"

"I prefer not to think about it,” Anna replied.

"That's a good answer. You shouldn't unless you have to."

"Listen, this is weird. Can we talk about something else?” Anna asked.

"I'm just trying to bring to light that people need to take off their obfuscating glasses. They’re always the same type and always make poor company,” Constance said.

"Alright, I'll try to be more open-minded, but you have to admit your theories make you sound really goofy, not to mention a little offensive,” Otto said.

"I know, wish I could tell you more about the world. We could have quite an adventure. Anyways, I gotta get going. I'm sure Anna can take my place at the pool table. Sure, you may think me strange, but we'll have another chance to meet up more one-on-one."

"Okay, thanks again for your help. Yeah, we'll catch up again sometime."

"Seriously?"

"Sure, of course,” Anna replied, avoiding eye contact.

"I had fun, thanks for the invite!” She responded and hugged Anna.

"What's your email address?” Otto asked.

"I have a tendency of running into people,” Constance replied and waved goodbye to Otto.

Otto and Anna looked at each other for a few moments. Otto said, "Weird."

"Seriously," she murmured.

Anna grabbed a cue stick. Otto did the same and inspected it. Finding the tip too worn down he took another. The winning team finished setting up the table and Anna deferred to Otto the honor of breaking. Otto knew his limitations, and while competent, was still no shark. In this company, he might as well have been a pro. His break hit hard enough to disperse the game balls thoroughly and drained a stripe. There were a few easy shots to drop, another stripe being only a foot from the back corner pocket. Otto drained it and trudged ahead.

Seems something my old man tried to teach me stuck.

"Somebody knows how to play," one of his opponents said. "Who invited him?"

"Glad you're on my team buddy,” she said and tapped him on the shoulder.

Otto sunk another stripe. This time he didn't manage to open up any more shots, and the only option required a precise ricochet off the side, which he missed by an inch.

"Ah, good start. It's all you guys,” Otto said.

“Do anything exciting Otto?” Anna asked.

“Not really. You?”

"I'm a graphic designer, make company logos and stuff. Nothing too complicated. I've made some paintings on the side, but never really get many takers."

"What kind?"

"More abstract things. It's kinda hard to explain, you know how some images just randomly come to you? I try to paint them. Problem is I don’t think I’m very good. Given how many customers I have, the general public seems to agree with me."

"I'm sure you're great.” Otto replied.

The other team sunk a solid.

"Well thanks,” She said. “So, again, what do you do?"

"Think too much mostly."

"Oh come on, I told you what I did! Can’t be any worse."

"I work in an accounting firm a couple miles away. It has nothing to do with my degree."

"Oh, you see, that's kind of interesting. So you do tax audits and stuff?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, you're still young, so at least you got to study what you thought was important!"

"I guess because I wanted to go into something intellectual, you know. My mom recommended it to me."

"And your dad encouraged something more practical. That's usually the way things go."

“Exactly.”

Otto shuddered at what his dad would think of him right now. He would probably slap the back of his head and tell him to stop being such a timid dumbass.

Well, better than being an arrogant meathead.

"Ah, cheer up. That makes two of us at the dead end of life. You've only been out of school what, three years? "

“Two.”

“Ahhhh still makes me a better guesser than you.”

The other team missed their next shot, the solid rolling an inch short of the corner pocket.

“You're up,” Otto said.