The Exit
by Deborah Josway
Evie sat on the aisle of the third row facing the altar, on the left side of the A-frame church, where she always sat. She had chosen that place for every Mass since the age of nine when she had heard Father Mario say in a sermon, that those people who were on the Lord’s right hand at the end of the world would be the ones allowed into heaven. She figured if the world ended while she was in the church, the Lord would be facing her and if, when that happened, she was sitting in this spot, she would be on His right-hand side. Even though, when she grew older, she recognized the flaws in this logic, it was a difficult habit to break. In the back of her mind she still held the nagging notion as a “covering all bets” kind of action. What if she sat somewhere else and found out, too late, that she had been right all along?
Now she was thirty-two and still sitting alone in the designated seat during this Saturday evening Mass. Evie liked settling in the pew without people around her for most of the Mass. She only felt self-conscious when everyone offered handshakes to each other during the “sign of peace,” or when the church became crowded as it usually was for Easter services and she was hemmed in.
Her dark auburn hair was styled in a pageboy, she wore rimless glasses, a bit too much rouge and dark red lipstick. Her black and red horizontal striped sweater over black slacks flattered her diminutive size, assuring an appropriate style of dress for Mass—not jeans, yet nothing too flashy. She shifted her weight uncomfortably in the hard oak pew, turned gently to her right and watched a blue September sunbeam, filtered through a stained glass rendition of Eden, shimmer on the large white mums sitting in a brass pot. These flowers were most likely donated by the couple married there that morning. She wondered why with all the possible color choices, brides so often chose white for their wedding flowers. If they were wearing white, wouldn’t a contrasting bright orange or even red make more sense? She had never had occasion to plan her own wedding, but was sure she would make a better selection, given the chance.
By modern standards, Evie was looked upon as a religious woman. She attended some weekday morning Masses when her work schedule at the Hessville branch of the Hammond, Indiana, Post Office allowed. She said the rosary every night before she went to bed, and she had even served a term as a parish council member. Today, however, rote won out over reverence as she recited the Nicene Creed. She began to look up at the pine ceiling planks and play dot-to-dot with the knots in the wood. She found herself surveying the pews, turning her head only slightly. These distractions caused her to respond to the priest’s “The Lord be with you,” with the old answer, “And also with you,” while everyone else chanted correctly, “And with your spirit.”
The church was more than half-filled, mostly with white-haired parishioners, but there were a few clusters of young families battling toddlers into civilized behavior. Her pastor, Father Steven, close to sixty now, a large sagging man with a physique benefiting from the robes he wore, was getting ready to preach his sermon. He cleared his throat and coughed from his chest into a white cotton handkerchief which he tucked mysteriously deep into his left sleeve. Evie prepared to focus on his words. He began by walking down off the altar steps and into the congregation, using the microphone clipped to his collar and looking at a small slip of paper in his hand. He spoke,
“In the 13th chapter of Isaiah, there is a reference to the fall of Babylon six centuries before Christ. It reads: ‘The stars and constellations of the heavens send forth no light; the sun is dark when it rises and the light of the moon does not shine...the heavens tremble and the earth shall be shaken from its place.’”
Then Evie’s gaze moved up to the stationary fans hanging from the ceiling. They looked like lost boat propellers waiting for an engine to rev, which might at any moment send them spinning on some adventurous course.
She looked back to the priest standing with his arms folded in front of him, leaning down toward the only teen in the room, and waiting for an answer to some theological query she had missed. Father Steven, who evidently felt the need to repeat the question, said, “Really, give me your best answer. Do you think that is what it will be like at the end of the world?”
She saw the youth tuck his head down in embarrassment, bangs reaching his nose, the silence in the room approaching communal discomfort. Then from some unknown core of resolve he shook off the intimidation by raising his head and shrugging his shoulders with a non-answer, answer. The priest backed up and acted as if that was exactly what he wanted to hear and turned it into a different question to the whole crowd, “That’s right. You don’t know. None of us here really knows the answer. Isn’t that where faith comes from?” Heads began nodding and some people released nervous laughs.
As the priest continued to make his point, she watched the teen look away from the priest, and followed the boy’s gaze to the far right wall of the church, past the organist, to the door with the metal arm-bar at its middle which no one ever used. She realized the boy was watching the door. Above the door the neon letters read EXIT.
Then Evie found herself staring at the word, EXIT. It was surprising to her that she had never really noticed that sign there before. Suddenly, she decided that the priest had picked the wrong topic. Why didn’t he use the Exit as a metaphor for God? Just like the Exit, wasn’t God looked upon by people everywhere as a way out, especially for use in case of emergencies. He had the prop available right there. She couldn’t believe that Father Steven hadn’t ever used that idea for a sermon. She guessed some people just missed the obvious.
Evie could see Father Steven had completed his homily and was headed back up the three steps to the altar to continue the Mass, when he stumbled and caught himself with a hand on the top step. Simultaneously, she felt her vision go blurry for a moment but thought she felt the pew tremble. Before she could catch up to what was going on, the chalice and cups began to rattle fiercely on the table behind the altar. Above her head the ceiling fans swayed. Some of the worshipers began to gasp and shriek and others headed for the door. The priest stood back up and steadied himself on the podium telling the people to remain calm.
“Look, I don’t know what is going on here. It is scary. If any of you feel like you need to leave, please follow your own instincts.” He paused and took a breath. An elderly woman cried out, “It’s the end of the world!”
Father Steven looked at the woman and extended his arm out to her as he said, “I am as concerned as you. Try to calm down. We’re okay right now. Let’s pray God will see us through this, but if this is the way it ends, there is no better way to leave this world than remaining close to the Lord in Holy Communion. I’m going to keep saying Mass as long as I can.” Then he continued with the Mass.
Punctuating his speech, there was more shaking, sirens, squealing tires and crashing noises outside, The lights flickered and finally went out.
Still, waning sunlight trickled through stained glass windows. Many of the people stayed, although some were huddled together on the floor in the aisles. Evie felt conflicted. Every five minutes or so, she looked at the Exit sign, and questioned the sanity of staying. But a little voice inside kept reminding her of her end of the world plan. Except for the short walk up to communion and back, she didn’t move from her prime apocalypse seat.
Since the organ would not work without electric current, the organist moved to the piano and played the familiar songs. Someone sang out strongly, temporarily distracting the remaining congregation from the chaotic sounds still blaring outside the church. Evie’s voice did not join in. She kept silently reciting the rosary at top speed, using her fingers instead of beads to count the decades.
After a few smaller shakes, the earthquake-like event had apparently ended.
Father Steven got all the way through the Mass, and after he and the altar servers left the altar, he waited at the main entrance to talk to those who had survived the scare with him.
Evie, numbed by the shock of the event, stayed put, sitting in her pew until all the other people and father Steven left the main part of the church. Then she waited some more, her gaze fixed on the EXIT sign.
Finally, she stood up and made her way to the EXIT door. She pushed hard. It opened about fourteen inches wide and a bleating alarm rang out. Holding it there, she was unable to move through the door as there was a large maple tree and wires down, two feet from the door. In the fair light of dusk, the church parking lot looked like a mega mole had tunneled a path down the center with a long, serpentine bulge of asphalt. She could see houses and other buildings tilted, roofs caved-in and cars smashed. She heard explosions and saw flames in the distance. In the next block, one older wood frame house had folded in half, inward on itself. Evie hoped her own little house seven blocks away had fared better.
Sweeping her gaze up, the incongruous wispy clouded sky was unaffected. She saw a gaping tear on the ground, which appeared as if someone had used an old fashioned can opener and ripped through black top and earth. She closed her eyes tightly and reopened them, hoping the view would correct itself and her familiar neighborhood would reappear. Sadly, it remained a stark portrayal of a Godzilla attack aftermath.
Evie’s heart began fluttering rapidly in her chest, beating triple-time, her breath coming in short unsatisfying puffs. She could not calm the flurry of palpitations and fleetingly wondered if she was experiencing a heart attack. She asked aloud, “Now, Lord?”
As if in answer to her query, there was a sudden violent vibration under her. Evie lost her footing and just that quick, she was sitting legs splayed, on the marble tile floor. The heavy door slammed shut, launching a deep echoing boom loudly through the empty church.
So, there she was. She had just executed a perfect pratfall and it occurred to her that God had literally closed the door on her Exit.
Then, Evie was laughing. Loud unrestrained bellyaching laughter originating from her toes traveled up and tumbled out in heaves, snorts and guffaws. After several minutes the laughing began to subside. Both her breathing and heart rate reverted back to normal. She slowly stood up feeling relieved her feet were planted firmly. Evie took a moment to appreciate the joy alive within herself. It gave her a new strength. At least for the moment, she was fearless.
Evie turned around, walked to the area just in front of the altar, and bowed reverently. Then she moved to the far left side of the church, put three dollars in a small metal box, lit a candle, brushed the first two fingers of her right hand to her forehead, chest, and left and right shoulders, then strolled purposively down the aisle, out the main doors of the church toward the sirens.
Now she was thirty-two and still sitting alone in the designated seat during this Saturday evening Mass. Evie liked settling in the pew without people around her for most of the Mass. She only felt self-conscious when everyone offered handshakes to each other during the “sign of peace,” or when the church became crowded as it usually was for Easter services and she was hemmed in.
Her dark auburn hair was styled in a pageboy, she wore rimless glasses, a bit too much rouge and dark red lipstick. Her black and red horizontal striped sweater over black slacks flattered her diminutive size, assuring an appropriate style of dress for Mass—not jeans, yet nothing too flashy. She shifted her weight uncomfortably in the hard oak pew, turned gently to her right and watched a blue September sunbeam, filtered through a stained glass rendition of Eden, shimmer on the large white mums sitting in a brass pot. These flowers were most likely donated by the couple married there that morning. She wondered why with all the possible color choices, brides so often chose white for their wedding flowers. If they were wearing white, wouldn’t a contrasting bright orange or even red make more sense? She had never had occasion to plan her own wedding, but was sure she would make a better selection, given the chance.
By modern standards, Evie was looked upon as a religious woman. She attended some weekday morning Masses when her work schedule at the Hessville branch of the Hammond, Indiana, Post Office allowed. She said the rosary every night before she went to bed, and she had even served a term as a parish council member. Today, however, rote won out over reverence as she recited the Nicene Creed. She began to look up at the pine ceiling planks and play dot-to-dot with the knots in the wood. She found herself surveying the pews, turning her head only slightly. These distractions caused her to respond to the priest’s “The Lord be with you,” with the old answer, “And also with you,” while everyone else chanted correctly, “And with your spirit.”
The church was more than half-filled, mostly with white-haired parishioners, but there were a few clusters of young families battling toddlers into civilized behavior. Her pastor, Father Steven, close to sixty now, a large sagging man with a physique benefiting from the robes he wore, was getting ready to preach his sermon. He cleared his throat and coughed from his chest into a white cotton handkerchief which he tucked mysteriously deep into his left sleeve. Evie prepared to focus on his words. He began by walking down off the altar steps and into the congregation, using the microphone clipped to his collar and looking at a small slip of paper in his hand. He spoke,
“In the 13th chapter of Isaiah, there is a reference to the fall of Babylon six centuries before Christ. It reads: ‘The stars and constellations of the heavens send forth no light; the sun is dark when it rises and the light of the moon does not shine...the heavens tremble and the earth shall be shaken from its place.’”
Then Evie’s gaze moved up to the stationary fans hanging from the ceiling. They looked like lost boat propellers waiting for an engine to rev, which might at any moment send them spinning on some adventurous course.
She looked back to the priest standing with his arms folded in front of him, leaning down toward the only teen in the room, and waiting for an answer to some theological query she had missed. Father Steven, who evidently felt the need to repeat the question, said, “Really, give me your best answer. Do you think that is what it will be like at the end of the world?”
She saw the youth tuck his head down in embarrassment, bangs reaching his nose, the silence in the room approaching communal discomfort. Then from some unknown core of resolve he shook off the intimidation by raising his head and shrugging his shoulders with a non-answer, answer. The priest backed up and acted as if that was exactly what he wanted to hear and turned it into a different question to the whole crowd, “That’s right. You don’t know. None of us here really knows the answer. Isn’t that where faith comes from?” Heads began nodding and some people released nervous laughs.
As the priest continued to make his point, she watched the teen look away from the priest, and followed the boy’s gaze to the far right wall of the church, past the organist, to the door with the metal arm-bar at its middle which no one ever used. She realized the boy was watching the door. Above the door the neon letters read EXIT.
Then Evie found herself staring at the word, EXIT. It was surprising to her that she had never really noticed that sign there before. Suddenly, she decided that the priest had picked the wrong topic. Why didn’t he use the Exit as a metaphor for God? Just like the Exit, wasn’t God looked upon by people everywhere as a way out, especially for use in case of emergencies. He had the prop available right there. She couldn’t believe that Father Steven hadn’t ever used that idea for a sermon. She guessed some people just missed the obvious.
Evie could see Father Steven had completed his homily and was headed back up the three steps to the altar to continue the Mass, when he stumbled and caught himself with a hand on the top step. Simultaneously, she felt her vision go blurry for a moment but thought she felt the pew tremble. Before she could catch up to what was going on, the chalice and cups began to rattle fiercely on the table behind the altar. Above her head the ceiling fans swayed. Some of the worshipers began to gasp and shriek and others headed for the door. The priest stood back up and steadied himself on the podium telling the people to remain calm.
“Look, I don’t know what is going on here. It is scary. If any of you feel like you need to leave, please follow your own instincts.” He paused and took a breath. An elderly woman cried out, “It’s the end of the world!”
Father Steven looked at the woman and extended his arm out to her as he said, “I am as concerned as you. Try to calm down. We’re okay right now. Let’s pray God will see us through this, but if this is the way it ends, there is no better way to leave this world than remaining close to the Lord in Holy Communion. I’m going to keep saying Mass as long as I can.” Then he continued with the Mass.
Punctuating his speech, there was more shaking, sirens, squealing tires and crashing noises outside, The lights flickered and finally went out.
Still, waning sunlight trickled through stained glass windows. Many of the people stayed, although some were huddled together on the floor in the aisles. Evie felt conflicted. Every five minutes or so, she looked at the Exit sign, and questioned the sanity of staying. But a little voice inside kept reminding her of her end of the world plan. Except for the short walk up to communion and back, she didn’t move from her prime apocalypse seat.
Since the organ would not work without electric current, the organist moved to the piano and played the familiar songs. Someone sang out strongly, temporarily distracting the remaining congregation from the chaotic sounds still blaring outside the church. Evie’s voice did not join in. She kept silently reciting the rosary at top speed, using her fingers instead of beads to count the decades.
After a few smaller shakes, the earthquake-like event had apparently ended.
Father Steven got all the way through the Mass, and after he and the altar servers left the altar, he waited at the main entrance to talk to those who had survived the scare with him.
Evie, numbed by the shock of the event, stayed put, sitting in her pew until all the other people and father Steven left the main part of the church. Then she waited some more, her gaze fixed on the EXIT sign.
Finally, she stood up and made her way to the EXIT door. She pushed hard. It opened about fourteen inches wide and a bleating alarm rang out. Holding it there, she was unable to move through the door as there was a large maple tree and wires down, two feet from the door. In the fair light of dusk, the church parking lot looked like a mega mole had tunneled a path down the center with a long, serpentine bulge of asphalt. She could see houses and other buildings tilted, roofs caved-in and cars smashed. She heard explosions and saw flames in the distance. In the next block, one older wood frame house had folded in half, inward on itself. Evie hoped her own little house seven blocks away had fared better.
Sweeping her gaze up, the incongruous wispy clouded sky was unaffected. She saw a gaping tear on the ground, which appeared as if someone had used an old fashioned can opener and ripped through black top and earth. She closed her eyes tightly and reopened them, hoping the view would correct itself and her familiar neighborhood would reappear. Sadly, it remained a stark portrayal of a Godzilla attack aftermath.
Evie’s heart began fluttering rapidly in her chest, beating triple-time, her breath coming in short unsatisfying puffs. She could not calm the flurry of palpitations and fleetingly wondered if she was experiencing a heart attack. She asked aloud, “Now, Lord?”
As if in answer to her query, there was a sudden violent vibration under her. Evie lost her footing and just that quick, she was sitting legs splayed, on the marble tile floor. The heavy door slammed shut, launching a deep echoing boom loudly through the empty church.
So, there she was. She had just executed a perfect pratfall and it occurred to her that God had literally closed the door on her Exit.
Then, Evie was laughing. Loud unrestrained bellyaching laughter originating from her toes traveled up and tumbled out in heaves, snorts and guffaws. After several minutes the laughing began to subside. Both her breathing and heart rate reverted back to normal. She slowly stood up feeling relieved her feet were planted firmly. Evie took a moment to appreciate the joy alive within herself. It gave her a new strength. At least for the moment, she was fearless.
Evie turned around, walked to the area just in front of the altar, and bowed reverently. Then she moved to the far left side of the church, put three dollars in a small metal box, lit a candle, brushed the first two fingers of her right hand to her forehead, chest, and left and right shoulders, then strolled purposively down the aisle, out the main doors of the church toward the sirens.
