Back to the Clubhouse-Doug Blair

(this submission by Doug was one of many first place contest winners on Christian creative writing (C.C.W.), excellent writing Doug!)-O.E.W.

Seven thirty AM and Lindsay looked at herself in the reflection in the bake shop window. It had been a busy night and it was time to get back to the House for a bath and some rest. She took a look at the bare waist, the cleavage and the side profile. Yep still pretty good. The hair was a mess. She remembered that she had left her brush in the motel room with the last guy.

She had been in somewhat of a hurry to get away from that one – Hydro worker. At one point he had held her head in his huge hands as if it were a softball. Nope she didn’t really like the inside tricks. Too hemmed in. Always made her think of Katie and the disfiguring injuries she had suffered one Friday evening in a construction trailer. Club Members at the House had concluded that she was of little further value. Moved on to Hamilton eight months ago. Poor Katie.

Well back at the House there would be clean sheets, a long soak and undisturbed peace and quiet for a good eight hours. Provided the “white bag” traffic downstairs didn’t get too rowdy. Simple rules for the place. No sales until 1 PM. All cash. No names exchanged. Cars always parked at least as far away as the Shoppers Drug Mart lot. She could see them from her upstairs front window, although the novelty had worn off. All sorts of customers from all walks: the factory, the law office, the car dealership, the college, the fitness club. Some looking for thrills, some needing “the adjustment”, some having forgotten the reason a long time ago.

Every now and then she would recognize a face from one of her trysts. She would ask herself whether she had tipped him off in any way about the place as a source. That was entirely taboo. The Club Members had made it very clear that they were two distinct businesses. She had almost gotten a beating once for something of much less significance.

Saturday morning, and she was walking the street past many smiling shoppers and families from the Kitchener Farmers’ Market. She remembered times when she had come here before as a pre-teen with her Mom. Dad had left for the tar sands which promised great wages. He said that it was just a question of accumulating the right amount of cash. He never returned. One of his cousins had intimated that he had hit the coke pretty hard in Fort McMurray.

A woman, neatly dressed with her young son at her side, was observing Lindsay intently, as other pedestrians shuffled by. Lindsay felt her eyes; felt that she knew; Lindsay looked away as if keenly interested in some merchandise in a window.

Yep that woman was still watching, and smiling. Nothing awkward or condemning in the expression either. With sweet confidence and goodwill she extended a small booklet or tract. Just another Bible pounder? Was this one different?

The title page on the handout read “God says that you do not have to keep living like this. There is much better for you. Trust Jesus to show the way. “


2 thoughts on “Back to the Clubhouse-Doug Blair

  1. This was not so much a work of fiction. One summer evening I was with Steve, a friend in ministry, near that very corner on King Street. We had made a practice of going out on Wednesday evenings to talk to people and give out tracts. Not much concrete fruit in it we thought. On this one occasion Steve saw this attractive 20 something young woman by the curb. He held out his paper and made a friendly comment. She said nothing but gave a look that seemed to intimate “Oh Buddy if you only knew”. Right then a guy drove up in a car; gave her the nod, and she climbed into the passenger seat. Gone. Down the rabbit’s hole of regret. Can’t remember whether she held on to the tract. Drug money. Ugly men. Inner shame. Life risking waste. It all came out in the short story.

  2. I was once the guy in the car…so I can relate. And would not even have noticed you or your friend. But Praise God…I can SEE you now! And that’s all that matters! The “Now”, His Blessed “Now.” Maybe she did hold on to the tract, perhaps left it in a John’s car?
    Makes me think of the story of the little cracked water pot that thought it was a failure, but in fact while leaking was providing/supplying/watering the Master’s beautiful garden all along the path from the water source back to the Master’s house…Amen?!

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