Steve was wide-eyed. “Dude! Jason like cast a demon outta ya, right here in the band room. He’s like a warlock or something now.”
As much church and Sunday school as Steve had attended, not to mention a Christian college, Jason was astonished at his friend’s spiritual ignorance.
“Not a warlock, man, just doin’ what Jesus told us to do.”
To Steve, that was weirder than his explanation. As to the inappropriateness of his conclusion, Steve had indeed attended all of that church and college, just as Jason knew he had. But Jason had ignored the extent to which his good friend remained skeptical about all the stuff he was hearing. Steve knew well enough to not speak his doubts aloud, even in private. He had been biding his time until he could go out on his own, where he could ignore all the religious stuff he had endured. According to his expectations, this was that time in his life when people would just have to let him be himself. Those expectations had just taken a direct hit at that most memorable of band practices—even more memorable than the one where a huge sliver of a broken drum stick penetrated the corner of Steve’s eye, just missing blinding him.
Jason stayed focused on Donnie, which seemed to invite the latter to fill in as much of an explanation as he could.
“I found out that my grandma died,” Donnie said. “Last week, I heard. And she’s way down in Florida. And I got no savings, and my dad is missing in action, of course. My mom can’t pay for me to go down there.” He paused to take a corrugated breath, recovering some more control over his emotions. “Losing my job was bad enough. Finding out that it keeps me from goin’ to my grandma’s funeral, was way too much. I loved my grandma.” He stopped talking, overwhelmed by emotion again.
Jason had not heard that Donnie had lost his job, nor had he heard that his grandmother died. This made him feel like a neglectful father, something Donnie knew much too much about. His father had traded in his marriage with Donnie’s mom for a newer model, a woman he met at the health club. Gradually, he faded out of Donnie’s life entirely, ashamed of what he had done, and finding it harder to face his son, as he grew older and began to understand the implications of his father’s choices. Donnie was generally mad at his father, but he still asked him for financial help, now and again. These days, he didn’t know where his dad was.
Donnie’s mom had gone into considerable debt supporting him through college, and he was determined not to burden her further. As it was, she was having to rely on the charity of family members to get her down to Florida, to her mother’s funeral. In a brighter position in life, with a clearer head, Donnie may have accepted his mother’s help, just this once, considering it was her mother’s funeral. But he had surrendered, instead, to the cruelty of his situation, and fell under the power of depression.
That was the backstory to the most earthshaking practice Frosty and the Wise Men had ever had, and that without playing a single song.
Chapter 13
The Morrisons
Kayla and Jesus went to work at the Morrisons’ house. In the vibrant little art world of that college town, Frank and Ella Morrison ruled among the aristocracy. Frank had taught at the college as a young man, retiring at age forty-five, when his paintings began to consistently sell for many thousands of dollars. Ella too had taught some at the college, as well as the local community college, where Kayla now taught a class.
The stature of the Morrisons in the local art scene transcended their teaching history, and even transcended the quality of their art. As in most fields, it’s not just raw talent that gets one ahead, marketing and image are core to success. Together, Frank and Ella constituted a powerful social force. Frank bore the sort of personal gravitas that inserted his voice into the heads of others, even when he was far away in time or distance. What Frank would think about a painting, an idea, or a thought, entered the minds of many of his former students, former colleagues and former friends. In essence, he was an intellectual bully.
Frank’s forceful personality remained at the apex of the social world around the college, because of Ella, as much as Frank. She was the silver lining, the frosting, the gentle touch to smooth the ruffled feathers. She made Frank tolerable for lots of people, including Kayla.
Kayla had not been a student of either of the Morrisons, she was too late arriving at the art department of the college. But she had caught their attention as a passionately bright young talent. After that, the question was one of personality. Kayla was no mere satellite, suited to revolving around either Ella or Frank. She left her own mark, had her own voice, her own place in the social stratosphere. The Morrisons wanted to add her to their constellation, to enhance their value, to capitalize on her rise in their little universe.
But Kayla felt like a serf in the castle, when she worked at the Morrisons’ studio, especially if they were present. Alone, she filled the studio with her sparks—humming a song in her head or on her phone. Alone, she was happy at work, not reminded of her lowly place in the local art world.
On Tuesdays, Frank and Ella were usually both around the house. That’s one reason they wanted Kayla to start late, to give them some space before she arrived. But today would be different. With Jesus by her side, Kayla didn’t feel like a lowly servant, who possessed nothing, and only worked for those who did.
With Jason taking the car, Kayla rode her bike to work. On such a beautiful spring day, this was an asset, not a liability. It was difficult for her to get comfortable with Jesus running along beside her, reminding her of an Irish setter, faithfully accompanying his master. But she knew who the true master was between the two of them. His ability to run along beside her like that, without getting winded, made that point obvious.
Parking her bike alongside the house on Elm Street, the old blonde stone building with charcoal colored window frames and leaded glass windows, Kayla smiled at Jesus. She was glad he could accompany her, of course, but was focused now on relief that she hadn’t crashed on the way over, the loping man—that only she could see—pulling her attention away from the road and traffic several times, in the mile and a half ride.
“I wouldn’t let you fall,” Jesus said, in response to those thoughts.
Her cheeks ripening into her fullest grin of gratitude and infatuation, Kayla enjoyed not even having to say what she was thinking. Every woman, after all, really wants a man who can read her mind. Jesus laughed in response to her joy and love, and she knew that was what he was laughing about.
His laughter provided a breeze that Kayla could ride into work, no matter what job she had. But Kayla loved her work. Only a seasoning of dread at facing Frank tainted the euphoria of any work day. The sound of his voice venting some frustration over an art gallery’s treatment of his paintings greeted Kayla at the door. She was accustomed to walking right in and announcing her presence, knowing she was expected. But she hesitated this time. Part of that hesitation came from that perturbed tone in Frank’s voice, but more of it came from having an uninvited guest with her. How would Frank view what Kayla was experiencing? This was the sort of question that most people who knew him would ask at the door to his house or studio, or even the door to some distant opportunity or encounter.
Kayla pressed through the oddity of her situation, closing the front door and stepping onto the slate tiles in the entryway of the house. The wall she faced when she entered, was inlayed with smooth river rocks collected from the Big Sandy River many miles to the east. Frank wanted them. Frank got them. Ella had arranged them in a natural, yet aesthetically pleasing, way and everyone was happy…in general.
Louder and clearer, but winding down from full steam, Frank’s voice continued to mark the way into the studio. Jesus startled Kayla, by walking ahead of her, as if he knew he was welcomed in that house. But she felt that somehow his authority for being there actually came from her, and not so much from Frank or Ella. It was a feeling, and not a developed philosophical position. The latter was more Jason’s territory than Kayla’s. She lived mostly on intuition and instinct.
Nevertheless, she often pushed through her most vocal instincts, which urged her to stay away from the house’s grumpy lord.
Just as Kayla stepped into the studio behind Jesus, Ella spoke up from the patio, outside the studio’s French doors. “I’m sure you’re right, dear. But we’ll be just fine, no matter what they do.”
With the backs of both her employers turned to her, Kayla had inadvertently overheard an interaction that revealed something. She had often heard Ella covering for Frank, when he was not around. But Kayla had rarely heard her moderating his moods while they thought they were alone.
Kayla spoke up, so as not to spook anyone. “Hello, Frank.”
Without turning around entirely, Frank swung his head to where he could see Kayla walking toward him. “Oh, that explains the feeling of light and joy that just entered the room,” he said.
Kayla slowed her step and strained to detect a note of sarcasm in his tone. She found none, no matter how many times she replayed his words in her head. That instant replay was interrupted for Kayla, however, by the sight of Jesus stepping right up next to Frank, and looking at the painting he was working on. It was a dark seascape, seen from the deck of a ship, with a father and a son clinging to rigging and wheel, in a furious fight for their lives.
Jesus’s air of familiarity left Kayla speechless, so Frank had to respond to his own greeting. “I see I stumped you with that uncharacteristically shining welcome.”
Ella responded to her husband, having missed Kayla’s arrival. “What’s that dear? You seem to have…” She stopped when she entered through the French doors, a watering can in her hand. “Oh, Kayla! Is it that time already? So you’re the one that lifted Frank out of his grumpy mood.”
Stunned now by those generous words from both of her employers, Kayla blurted what she was really thinking. “I think it was Jesus that you sensed, Frank, and not just me.”
That was not the sort of thing Kayla would have planned to say to Frank, or even to Ella. Even among some Christians, she knew better than to speak about Jesus in such an immediate way, as if he were really there.
Frank didn’t know what to say to that. His pressed and folded faith never came flapping out for anyone to see, the way Kayla just let hers show; and he had never heard anything like that from his assistant either.
Ella, always the peace maker, tried to respond positively. “Well, I suppose that could be true,” she said, still searching for a measured reply. “It’s always bright and sunny to have you here, either way.” She concocted the sort of smile you offer as an apology for a weak attempt.
Kayla noted that Jesus didn’t seem uncomfortable, nor did he seem insulted by all the chagrin mounting on the faces around him. Kayla chickened out and decided to pretend she didn’t say anything. “It is a beautiful day, anyway.”
Ella and Frank nodded mutely, both apparently restraining the grand shoulder shrugs that Kayla’s odd entrance might have provoked. Ella opted for leaping over the awkwardness like a steeple chase runner. “Can I get you something to drink, before you get to work?”
“Ah, no thanks. I’m fine,” Kayla said. She caught a concerned look on Frank’s face, as he turned back to his painting. She assumed he was worried that she had gone soft on him, turned to the pious side, or something.
Jesus was standing right next to Frank, looking over his shoulder at his painting, studying it invasively, the way he had climbed into Kayla’s paintings. Though he had not leapt to affirm the explanation that Kayla had offered, Frank was feeling a presence in the studio that reminded him of something.
Kayla knew nothing of Frank’s past life as a Christian college student. She wouldn’t have dreamed that he ever pursued more of God in his life. He had, however, played piano as a boy, and had been involved with a group of fellow students in leading a Sunday afternoon worship service at the college. At that point in his life, Frank was still deciding whether to pursue music or painting, just beginning to lean in the way of the brush and canvas. This was before his first marriage, to a young woman that was also part of that student group of impassioned worshippers.
In late night gatherings, those students would sing and pray until time disappeared and all they knew was the presence of God all around them. In those days, Frank craved that feeling of the real presence of a living God. In those days, he found it again and again.
Now, Frank was remembering that feeling, but it didn’t present itself to him with a neat label on it. It was more like remembering a flavor or scent, when passing down an aisle at the grocery store, a sensual memory stirred by a wafted fragrance. As soon as that fragrance nudged to life a revival of that craving, Frank shook his head, as if to rid his hair of a leaf fallen from a tree. Jesus remained standing next to him undetected, undeterred.
Oblivious to all of this, Kayla focused on trying to recover her dignity and get to work. She checked the To Do list that Frank and Ella kept for her. Jesus left Frank’s side and came to stand next to Kayla, as she perused the list. He spoke to her without moving his lips, his voice playing like audio in her head.
“I understand why you’re intimidated by Frank,” he said. “Most people are. But I know him well enough to know that it’s not necessary to fear him. He respects you, and would be glad to listen to what you have to say about anything.”
To Kayla, this seemed like a potential ethical breech. Was it right for Jesus to give her information about somebody else, especially her employer?
Jesus answered this thought. “I promised to be with you and to watch over you. There is much to see in the world, beyond what your eyes can detect. I’m just showing you the landscape of your life, like turning a light on, before you dash out across the lawn at night.”
The mention of dashing across the lawn at night, stirred a memory for Kayla. She flashed to an evening in high school, the August before her sophomore year, just before her brother Peter went off to college for the first time. Her brothers had been teasing her, then wrestling with each other, and then squaring off with pillows and couch cushions. Kayla got caught in between the battling titans, that night, as on so many other occasions. When she was reduced to tears over an accidental collision, her mother had shouted down the stairs to the family room. “Stop tearing up the house and go outside with that kind of roughhousing.”
The kids looked at each other, amused by the word “roughhousing,” and intrigued by her telling them to go outside to play, all of them over fifteen years old. Besides that, it was dark outside. With a shrug and a smirk, Michael led the way out the sliding glass door and into the back yard, charging barefoot into the dark. A shout of pain from him, prompted Kayla to hit the switch for the outside light, just as Pete joined Michael on the grass.
When the lights came on, Michael jumped up from where he had been cradling his foot, and began to run around the yard shouting and waving his arms like a deranged child, in and out of the black shadows cast by the pine trees in the yard. That was the last time Kayla could remember frolicking with her big brothers, before everyone got serious and busy, like grownups.
All of that delayed Kayla from comprehending her To Do list by an extra fifteen seconds, as it stirred in her a longing and an anxiety about Pete’s troubles. She started to pray for him and then looked at Jesus. She sent him a thought. “Help Pete, will you please?”
Jesus smiled a reassuring promise before Ella interrupted their moment, with details about her top two items on Kayla’s list.
Like Jason, Kayla learned that day how to work for wages, in the presence of an attentive and affable companion, that no one else could see or hear. When necessary, he remained silent, a fascinated observer, keen on everything Kayla did, even something as mundane as opening packages of supplies, or reorganizing the paint tubes that Frank tended to squeeze and scatter.
Ella and Frank finished up in the studio and went out to a late lunch, leaving Kayla and Jesus alone. Kayla was putting a gloss varnish on three of Ella’s paintings. Frank never let Kayla do anything to one o
f his finished paintings, usually done in oil. She could only be trusted to lay down a foundation before he created a masterpiece. Ella, on the other hand, used acrylics, and these lacked some of the gloss and depth of oil paint, so she had Kayla add a layer of rich shine when she was finished.
Ella’s impressionist paintings always stirred feelings in Kayla. The opportunity to add even that final touch felt like an intimacy between them, as if Ella welcomed Kayla into her unique expression of her heart. Jesus wanted to discuss this feeling with Kayla, starting with unspoken thoughts Kayla was forming around the painting of two female ballet dancers, seated and removing their slippers, faces down, away from the viewer.
“I think it looks resigned,” Jesus said, in response to Kayla’s attempts to understand the sadness she saw in the slump of their shoulders and the bend of their heads. The dancers seemed older than Kayla, though, perhaps, not as old as Ella.
“Resigned to aging?” Kayla said, replying to Jesus. She was getting more comfortable with conversing about her unformed feelings with him, another new intimacy for her.
Jesus nodded and stepped closer. “Notice how they’re slightly turned away from each other, as well as from us.” He gestured across the canvas, like a veteran art instructor.
“Maybe not just resigned,” Kayla said, tipping her head, a brush poised in her right hand. “Maybe resentful, and not just about being tired, but about each other.”
“Remember Ella’s sister?” Jesus said.
Again, Kayla battled a feeling of inappropriateness to Jesus making this connection for her, without permission from Ella.
“She wants you to know,” Jesus said, replying to that glimpse of a thought.
Kayla took note of Ella’s hidden desire and the way Jesus revealed it, as if it were his own to reveal, as if he were bringing them together through his desire. She hung onto this notion, even as she and Jesus did her work for the next hour. Frank and Ella returned from lunch at that point.
Sharing Jesus (Seeing Jesus Book 3) Page 12
