Just because I'm starting on a new Teenage Tales, it doesn't mean I've totally finished with the last one. As you'll recall, I was telling you about a guy called Adam Cowie, who was a sad fantasist totally disconnected from reality. In the previous instalment, I recounted the story of the night his mother died, but there's a bizarre incident concerning her death that demands to be told.
Adam's blind parents attended a local Baptist Church, which, among its members, was a contingent of - well, let's be honest - nut-jobs, who were into things like speaking in tongues and modern-day miracles. Some folks - usually highly-strung, socially inadequate oddballs - need to feel closer to God than 'ordinary' churchgoers, and you'll find them in most places of worship, always smiling and praying and hugging and frightening normal people away from attending.
Anyway, one of this group was convinced that God had revealed to him that, though ill, Mrs. Cowie would make a full recovery. He must have misheard, as Mrs. Cowie died and exposed him as the deluded diddy he was, but he wasn't easily deterred. This was clearly a test of faith designed to reveal the 'handiwork of the Lord', so this small group of 'neo-pentecostalists' gathered around the bed of the dead woman, held hands, and prayed to the Almighty for the miracle He'd clearly intended to follow Mrs. Cowie's 'temporary' expiration.
Mr. Cowie wasn't really into all this sort of stuff, but, from what I heard afterwards, he found himself unable to quell the group's determination and enthusiasm to 'glorify God' by restoring life to the inert body of his deceased wife. Also, there was probably a small part of him that hoped against hope that this band of zealots might accomplish what they were all convinced they could do. Sadly, it was not to be, and Mrs. Cowie remained lifeless in her bed.
Quite a horror story, eh? Don't get me wrong, it's really not my intention to mock religious people, but when a group's so-called beliefs inflict such a level of pain on someone at the point of bereavement, then I'd suggest it's well-past time for them to stand back and take a long hard look at themselves. However, that's not the main story I intended to tell, so permit me to get back on track before you all decide to bail out over to 'Steve Does Comics'. (Hey, whaddya mean, too late!?)
Around two years or so later, having moved into a small flat, old Mr. Cowie went to be with his departed wife. I didn't live too far from what was now Adam's flat, and sometimes I'd stay overnight and we'd watch films on TV, read comics, and talk the usual nonsense that all teenagers do. Anyway, one morning, in the small hours, as I dozed in one chair and Adam dozed in another, he suddenly (and loudly) blurted out "Right, dad, I'll make you a cup of tea in a minute."
Neither of us were actually asleep, just dozing, and I could tell that Adam was indulging in a bit of theatre for my benefit, intended to 'set the stage' for some coming denouement. I was correct, as a few hours afterwards when we were both up and about, he enquired (trying far too hard to sound casual), "Gordon, do I talk in my sleep?" "Dunno," I replied, unwilling to be a straight-man to his performance of the grief-stricken son, so devoted to his father that he spoke to him in his sleep. And performance it was, to be sure.
This was confirmed a day or two later, when we were in a pub (I was on Cokes), and he was telling an acquaintance that his father had not long passed away. "Me and my dad were really, really close - isn't that so, Gordon?" he asked, looking for my support in his role as the devastated mourner. Now, truth be told, I didn't have a clue if they were or not, but he obviously believed that the closer his stated relationship between himself and his father, the greater his grief would be assumed to be by people because of it. "Yeah," I said, resignedly and with no great conviction.
Who knows, maybe we all fall into playing the roles that fate seems to expect from us in any given situation, but you'd think we'd be able to put it on hold in the face of bereavement. It seemed to me that Adam was mostly going through the motions of being a bereft son, and that his folks' deaths had provided him with an opportunity to stand centre-stage for a while and bask in a captive audience's attention.
Well, I suppose I'd better call it quits now before you accuse me of being far too cynical. Another Teenage Tales episode coming soon, about a man I knew who claimed that God told him to take a bath. Intrigued? Then don't forget to remember to drop in again.
