Fifteen and scared. I’m taking on the world in my head and out. Body transforming into a hairy, throaty beast, I never sleep well and I don’t eat for nourishment. Soul seems like a debatable concept when yours isn’t the one being devoured.

Where is God? Where is God when my parents are divorced? When my dad is an alcoholic? When my neighbor touched my penis years ago?

When they come to take me at night….

I read about the possible connections between what has been coined “alien abduction” and childhood abuse. The theory that I could ever forget a man fondling my genitals and replace that memory with one of spacemen stealing me in the dark A.M. is, in a word, ludicrous.

Guess what?—I was molested. My parents were divorced. And someone from another realm did open my bedroom door and take me to God only knows where.

God only knows. God, where are you, friend? Are you in the child molester who lived downstairs? Are you in the food I eat? The anger behind my dad’s eyes and in his sauce?

Or is that you there by the door babbling nonsense in my ear that makes me sleep and forget?

I’ve always been amazed that I haven’t resorted to drugs and alcohol for relief. Perhaps that’s where God is. In me. Sober.

Ready to crack.