I Am the Messenger

by Markus Zusak

So it’s all set up. Everyone’s going. Families. Drunks. Complete bastards. Atheists. Satanists. Local gothics. Everyone. Free beer will do that. You can count on it. It’s safe as houses.

“You know, they say that there are countless saints who have nothing to do with church and almost no knowledge of God. But they say God walks with those people without them ever knowing it.”

Again at 3 a.m. I’m on the main street of town, this time scrubbing the paint off the road. “Why me?” I ask God. God says nothing. I laugh and the stars watch. It’s good to be alive.

I want to tell them, but I realize that all I do is deliver the message. I don’t decipher it or make sense of it for them. They need to do that themselves.

I didn’t know words could be so heavy.

Sometimes Audrey’s friendship is enough. Sometimes she knows exactly what to do. Her timing can be perfect.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him now as I get up to leave. “I’m so sorry, Dad.” I walk away, afraid. Afraid because I don’t want my own funeral to be that forlorn and empty. I want words at my funeral. But I guess that means you need life in your life.