Currents Magazine Winter 2015

Support Group
A man sat on his plastic chair waiting
for the group to arrive. He twiddled his
fingers, crossed his legs, uncrossed them.
The man often facilitated these kinds of
support groups but never had he been so
fortunate to work with such important
people before. That is why he twiddled
his fingers so vigorously and couldn’t sit
still for more than a few seconds.
The room was in the basement of an old,
forgotten bar and just as easily could have
been the location for one of those illegal
gambling operations you see so often in
the movies. For the support group’s particular
needs however, the man had the
room touched up a bit — to give it a
more comfortable feel of sorts. The lone
dangling light bulb in the middle of the
small square room, for instance, had been
removed entirely and replaced with a
simple tabletop lamp placed in the middle
of the desk they were to congregate
around. Where there were cracks in the
wall, the man covered them with abstractly
inspirational paintings and posters
of birds, flowers and the like. Instead
of the old, decaying wooden chairs that
had been there for years apparently, the
man brought in five plastic, red chairs. It
was all rather simple and slightly familiar
but of course, that was the goal — to
give these great men a space where they
could share their stories and frustrations
without thrusting them into a forced
spotlighted space.
The man took a good, long look at the
clock on the wall. The hands indicated
that it was four minutes to 9 p.m. His
anxiety was beginning to lift as he looked
around the quaint room and concluded
silently to himself that this would more
than suffice these men’s worldly needs.
Some coffee and donuts were carefully
laid out on the desk in the middle of
the red chairs. The man went to grab for
the lone jelly-filled donut when the door
to the room swung open and the first
member of this exclusive support group
walked in.
He was a darker man and the support
BY ELLIOT BASSILE
group leader immediately recognized
him. As he slowly unraveled his turban,
Muhammad opened his mouth to speak.
“Damn, there’s nothing like taking this
thing off at the end of a long day man.”
The support group facilitator jumped up
to welcome the prophet.
“Hello, my name is Ron. It is an absolute
pleasure and honor to meet you and work
with you tonight Muhammad. I can call
you Muhammad right?”
Muhammad gave a short, corner-of-themouth
smile as he shook Ron’s hand.
“Of course you can, surely you wouldn’t
be able to pronounce the whole thing
now, would you, Ronald?”
Ron nodded his head, half in agreement,
half in shame. This Muhammad guy really
is as intense as they say, he thought
to himself.
“Yes … yes you’re right about that. Well
take a seat please, Muhammad. Grab
a donut, a cup of coffee, make yourself
comfortable, and we’ll give the others
some more time to show up.”
At this, Muhammad picked up the final
jelly donut and devoured it as he stared
Ronald in the eyes, as if he knew of the
minor torment he was causing his host.
Mere seconds later, and to Ronald’s utter
relief, the next man walked through
the door. Again, there was no mistaking
him for anyone else, it was Shiva. He had
a snake draped around his neck and was
wearing a tank top one could find at Urban
Outfitters. Ronald, half expecting the
snake, was more taken aback by the tank
top.
Shiva wears wife beaters, Ronald thought
to himself incredulously. As if reading the
slight shock on Ron’s face but mistaking
its source for something else, Shiva addressed
Ron in a soft, apologetic tone.
“Good evening, I am Shiva, and this is my
snake Vasuki. I hope he does not frighten
you too much. Parvati, my wife, is out
with her friends tonight and couldn’t care
for him as she usually does, and we only
had enough money for the kids’ babysitter.
I could not find a snake sitter at an
affordable price.”
He paused as if waiting for a reaction
from Ron and Muhammad but they just
stared. Then Shiva broke down laughing
at his own joke, sputtering about how ridiculous
an idea a snake sitter was. Ron
joined in to make the mood slightly more
bearable, but Muhammad kept eating his
donut, eyeing Shiva up and down.
“What’s with the tank top, bro?” Muhammad
finally said, jelly stuck in the
corner of his lips and all.
“What do you mean?” Shiva answered
somewhat taken aback.
Before anything could escalate though,
Ron stepped in.
“Um, I believe that Muhammad was only
inquiring about its brand, Shiva.”
Muhammad shot Ron a dirty look but
did not press the matter. Instead, he
reached for a napkin and cleaned his face
of the jelly that had so generously been
spread across it.
“Damn, that’s a great f------ donut,” he
finally said.
Meanwhile, Shiva was beginning to address
the subject of his tank top but was
interrupted by Jesus’ arrival.
Ron, a fervent fan of his work, jumped
up when he caught sight of the illustrious
bearded man.
“Wow, what a pleasure! I wasn’t sure if
your schedule was going to allow you to
make it, Jesus, but welcome. And I must
say it is quite the honor meeting you.”
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