by Rick R. Reed
Better just to leave things alone, Ethan thought, rising. As your first instinct told you, this will probably go nowhere. And maybe, for once, nowhere is a very good place.
It was time for bed.
TWO DAYS later, a Sunday morning, Ethan would have laughed at himself if he wasn’t so concerned about his sanity and his inability to let things go. He called Jan at a little after eight. He felt comfortable in doing so, because she complained endlessly about how her cats woke her at the crack of dawn, starving, as though the poor things hadn’t eaten for days instead of hours, and she never got to sleep in. Ethan suspected she secretly enjoyed the early mornings—not to mention being in such yowling and crying demand.
She answered on the second ring. “This better be good.”
“Don’t tell me you were sleeping. Lying on the Lord’s day is a compounded sin.”
“What’s a compounded sin? Is that like a mortal sin?”
“Not quite. It’s venial, kicked up a notch, as Emeril would say.”
Jan laughed, and it was good for Ethan to hear her chuckles. “So, brunch?”
“Well, that sounds good. There’s a place near me I hear serves pork belly congee….”
“What’s that?” Jan asked, intrigued.
“Like a warm bowl of hug, with bacon flavor.”
“Let me get my hat!” Jan laughed.
“But seriously, I was calling because—” Ethan lost his train of thought, or at least it derailed when he considered how to ask Jan what he really wanted to—and it was not for brunch, although they could certainly do that afterward.
Dead air for several seconds. Ethan’s mental clock clicked in his head as second after second after second passed. He finally blurted out what was on his mind. “Would you be up for going to church with me this morning?”
Jan simply laughed and laughed, her laughter sounding musical, melodious, and mocking.
“What?” Ethan asked, feeling his scalp prickle in embarrassment.
“You? In a church? When the hell did you ever do that? Besides being an altar boy when you were nine, down at Our Lady of Perpetual Agony.” He heard Jan running water and then the whoosh of a gas flame. She was probably making tea. Could he take that as a no? Could he take her mockery as a no? Should he simply hang up the phone?
Ethan blurted, “We can still do brunch. After.” He paced his living room, phone held too tightly to his ear. He watched as Cat jumped up on the sill of the picture window to observe the goings-on on Eastwood Avenue. Maybe he’d heard there’d be pigeons or squirrels. “And it’s not really a church. It’s a, uh, what do you call it? A spiritual center.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Jan very reasonably asked.
“Long ago,” Ethan replied, thinking but not saying how losing Brian had put him firmly over the edge. “So, you’ll go?”
He was fully prepared for her to say no, to tell him to see a shrink, but what she said was, “You’ll pick me up?”
Ethan glanced at the clock on the DVD player. “In about ninety minutes.”
Jan sighed. “That should give me enough time to run a comb through my hair and put some lipstick on.”
“Me too,” Ethan said. “I’ll see you at nine thirty. Look sharp.”
“I always do.”
“And Jan?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. This means a lot to me.” Ethan really did doubt his sanity, because for no reason he could fathom, he suddenly felt near tears.
“Sure thing, hon. Anything for you. Even church. Or a center. Whatever. See you.” And she clicked off.
Ethan plopped down on the couch, weak in the knees. Cat turned his head, noticing, and came over to sit beside him. Absently, Ethan stroked him. The emotions stirred up by the plan were strange and foreign. He had no idea where they were coming from, only that he experienced them deep in his heart.
Going to this spiritual center wasn’t something he simply wanted to do. It wasn’t necessarily about satisfying his curiosity. No, it was something he needed to do. And had needed to do for a long time, especially since Brian’s passing.
So what about Ben Allread? Was he just some sort of conduit? A way for the universe to put Ethan square in the path of, perhaps, some healing? Some redemption?
Ethan shook his head. If the latter were the case, the universe certainly had a strange sense of humor.
“THAT’S HIM.” Ethan leaned over and whispered to Jan as Ben Allread took the stage at the front of the gymnasium. The two of them had sat patiently in their folding chairs waiting for this moment. Well, Ethan couldn’t speak for Jan, who was checking Facebook on her phone and had been since the welcoming person, a middle-aged gray-haired woman with a buzz cut and big hoop earrings, had encouraged them to check in on social media about where they all were this morning. After that there was a song by the small choir, accompanied on piano. The song was Green Day’s “Good Riddance,” which seemed an odd choice for a church, especially when Ethan expected something more along the lines of a hymn. But as he listened to the lyrics, he teared up again, especially when it seemed the words of the song could have been directed at him. Jan turned her head to look at him when he sniffled but didn’t say anything. She merely took his hand in her own, quietly, and squeezed.
The song was followed by a prayer, but an odd one, or at least one Ethan didn’t associate with the kind of offerings lifted up in his former life as a Catholic boy. It was all about “walking in the light” and “knowing that we are all one in Spirit.” The leader of the prayer, a young man Ethan surmised couldn’t be much older than twenty-one, concluded by asking the small congregation to join him in a chant:
“There is one life. That life is God. That life is perfect. That life is my life now.”
Ethan, because he never wanted to stand out, rose and said the chant three times with the rest of the assembled—a motley assortment of hipsters, older people, straight, gay, Latino, Asian—a true rainbow of humanity—putting a little more force behind the words with each repetition. How he wished his life was perfect! Maybe, after due diligence, lots of therapy, and winning the lottery, he too could claim his life was “perfect.”
They sat as the prayer leader welcomed Reverend Ben to the stage.
“He’s cute,” Jan whispered back to Ethan.
And so he was. And at last Ethan could see the morphing, the transformation between the young man barely out of boyhood he’d once worked alongside and the confident man now before them. Gone was the streaky, almost platinum-blond hair Bubbles had once favored, with a long lock of it hanging down over one eye. Ben now had close-cropped hair, almost light brown, shaved on the sides and the back with a bit of a mop still on top, tamed with gel. Ethan didn’t know if Bubbles had worn contacts once upon a time during his tenure at LA Nicholes, but if he had, he’d since put such devices behind. His round tortoiseshell glasses gave him a paradoxically owlish yet sexy appearance. Ben was the kind of person who looked really good in glasses, maybe even better than without.
But one thing hadn’t changed—Ben’s voice. Involuntarily, Ethan cringed as he began speaking, because Ben’s voice could easily be confused with Cher’s, but warmed as he heard his words. Warmed more as he suddenly felt, in much the same way he’d experienced earlier with the Green Day song, that Ben was speaking directly to him.
“Rumi says, ‘the wound is the place where light enters you.’” Ben stopped and simply stood before them for at least a minute, letting the words sink in. Someone coughed behind them. In the back, a door squeaked open and slammed shut. Otherwise, it was quiet.
The wound is the place where light enters you. Ethan pondered the words, wondering if Ben somehow knew Ethan was present today. Indeed, if Ben knew he was present and was aware of his recent loss. Because Ethan did consider himself wounded—deeply so.
But he’d never thought there could be something positive about that wound. Or certainly nothing connected with light. No, all Ethan felt was surrounded by shadows. The world
was a dark and cold place without his Brian in it.
Ben was good at being dramatic. His pause lasted so long that Ethan leaned forward in his chair, hungry for what he’d say next but also wondering if he’d say anything.
Finally Ben smiled and ended the silence. “All of us are wounded creatures. Each and every one of us is, in some way, broken. Yet how many of us see that wound or that brokenness as a gift instead of a liability?” He paused again, almost as though he were expecting the assembled crowd to rise up as one with an answer to his question.
Ethan thought there was no way he could ever see the wound of losing Brian as something to be grateful for.
“The light is always there,” Ben continued. “Love, beauty, abundance, joy.” Ben breathed in, smiling and making eye contact with many in the room. “They’re all there, all just waiting for us to touch them, to experience them. I know some of you might not believe that.
“Some of you dwell in the shadows. And within those shadows, light might seem like a fantasy, a tale told by some Pollyanna, not the way things really are. Oh no, that would be too perfect. But as Gene reminded us before I walked up here, there’s only one life, God’s life, and that life is perfect.
“See, what those of you hunkered down in the shadows fail to see is that shadows are made by….” His voice trailed off, and he stretched his arms out to the assembled for an answer.
A female voice in the back shouted out, “Light!”
And Ben smiled, nodding. “That’s right. Darkness cannot exist without light. To get out of the shadows, all we need to do is step into the light. It seems simple, doesn’t it? But for some of us, where we’re standing, moving into the light seems like a pipe dream, an illusion. From where some of us stand, that light might as well be a million miles away.
“But it’s not. It’s less than a mile. Less than half a mile, a quarter of a mile. It’s within us, right here.” And Ben touched his heart. “It’s always here, and we can access it whenever we want. There’s no secret word. There’s no special road we have to go down to somehow make ourselves ready. We don’t need a degree or a credit card. We need only be willing to ask for it and accept it.
“That light is within all of us. And it is all of us. Ernest Holmes tells us, ‘Let us waste no further time looking for the secret of success or the key to happiness. Already the door is open and whosoever will may enter.’” Ben paused again, perhaps to let the quote sink in.
“That door never closes, my friends. And yet sometimes we’re afraid to approach the door, fearing that it won’t be open—maybe for others, but not for us.
“But I’m here to tell you, the door to happiness, to fulfillment, to peace, to joy, to love, is always open to each and every one of us. Right here and right now. Don’t let fear prevent you from coming through that welcoming door.”
Ethan lowered his head and stared down at the shiny hardwood floor beneath his loafers. Two tears, one after the other, dropped, plink plunk, one on the floor and one on his instep. He so wanted to believe in what Ben was saying. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to take the leap of faith…. But he couldn’t see how these things Ben was talking about were his to claim, no matter how much Ben backed things up with quotes from great thinkers.
Ethan was alone. He’d pretty much always been alone. And in that singularity, it was dark. Could it really be so simple that all he needed to do was to step through some imaginary portal to suddenly find the light? Or just open up his heart—whatever that meant—to find true happiness? To find love?
He’d found love! And he’d had it snatched away!
Ben was still talking, but his words became an aural blur. Ethan didn’t know if he couldn’t hear them because of some defect in his eardrums or because he didn’t want to take in what Ben had to say because it hurt so bad.
He leaned over to Jan and nudged her with his shoulder. “Can we go?” he asked, knowing how desperate he sounded and simply not caring. “Can we just get out of here?” he hissed.
Jan looked at him, her lower lip quivering, and he knew it was in response to the pain that had to be naked on his face.
“Sure, honey.” Jan was wise enough not to ask if they should wait for the end of the sermon, or talk, or whatever it was Ben called what he was doing. She was empathetic enough to know that Ethan, for reasons even he didn’t quite understand—or maybe was simply not ready to understand—needed to leave right now. He felt Jan understood that it was imperative they go, not at the end of the talk or the beginning of the next song, but right now.
Ethan stood and headed for the doors, knowing Jan, dear Jan, followed.
“Love the places where you’ve broken,” Ben repeated, just as Ethan got to one of the exits. “That’s where the light comes in.”
Ethan hurried outside, breathing heavily.
He leaned against the brick exterior of the school, and Jan took him in her arms. “It’s okay,” she said.
And Ethan, head on her shoulder, wept.
AFTER ETHAN’S eggs Benedict and Jan’s french toast, with Bloody Marys for both of them, Jan leaned over the table a bit, connected her dark eyes with Ethan’s, and asked, “Why?”
They were in Tweet, a favorite of both of them, especially for brunch.
Hand trembling hardly at all, Ethan lifted his Bloody Mary to his mouth and took a swallow. He’d only eaten half of his eggs, unusual for him because he never once ordered them without informing whoever he was with that Tweet made the best hollandaise sauce in Chicago.
“Why what?”
Jan smirked a little. Then her features softened into concern. “Don’t. You know what.”
Ethan closed his eyes and then drained his glass. He set it down on the table and looked around for their waitress, a tattooed waif who looked like a cross between Betty Boop and Kate Moss. He caught her eye and ordered another.
Finally he got back to his brunch companion and her question. “I’m not sure what to tell you when I don’t even know what to tell myself.”
Jan reached across the table, took both Ethan’s hands in her own, and squeezed. She let go after a moment and sat back in her chair. “I know these past couple of months have been difficult, but I guess I’m wondering why that service this morning seemed so hard for you. So emotional….” She shook her head, and it made his heart ache to see her eyes gone shiny. She swallowed. “What did he say?”
The waitress brought over his second Bloody and asked Jan if she wanted another one too—and surprise, surprise, she did.
Ethan let out a small sigh. “I think it was a combination of things. One was just seeing Bubbles up there.”
Jan cocked her head.
Ethan chuckled. “That’s what I used to call him when we worked together. Under my breath, of course. But he deserved the name. He was flighty. He was an airhead, just like a bubble or that character on Ab Fab. Anyway, you could see he’s nothing like that now, so something changed for him.” Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe seeing him just brought back the time he was briefly employed as our receptionist.” He told Jan how Bubbles, or Ben, was the one who turned him on to wingpeople.com, the website where he’d met Brian. She knew all about the deceptions and the drama of that whole business, but Ethan didn’t know if he’d ever told her of Ben’s role in it. “And just that time—when Brian and I were first together. It was so wonderful. I never thought I’d find love. I was in my forties, and nothing ever seemed to work out for me in the romance department, so when Brian came along and the pieces fell into place, not without some jiggling, but when they did, it was like a miracle.
“And then it just didn’t last.
“It’s hard for me to do what Ben said, even though my head tells me he’s right. Goodness, joy, light, whatever you want to call it, is all around us, right?”
Jan nodded, but Ethan wasn’t convinced she was so sure either. He loved her a little more in that moment. “Sure,” she said. “Of course it is.”
Ethan touched the top of her
hand gently. “You’re a good friend.”
“Ah, I’m an old fag hag who’s only tolerated by my kitties… and you.” She smiled. The waitress brought her new cocktail, and they both took the opportunity to gulp down half. Ethan was glad they’d traveled today by “L” train. This day had all the earmarks of a good day to drink… a lot.
“You know that’s not true. Everybody we work with, at least, is crazy about you. We—”
Jan cut him off. “We’re not talking about me, sweetie.”
There was a brief silence. They listened as a group of guys a couple of tables over burst into laughter. “Anyway, I don’t know if I have it in me to step through the door into joy, or however he put it. I don’t know if I can walk out of the shadows and into the light that’s making them.” Ethan shook his head and drained his drink. “I know I should. I just don’t know if I can.”
“Honey, it’s a journey. You don’t have to arrive on anyone else’s schedule. You know? Take your time. Love yourself. And know what he said is true—the light is all around. You just have to be ready to bask in it. And maybe you’re just not, not yet.” Jan smiled sadly. “And that’s okay. But I hope it’s some comfort to know that good things are always there, waiting. And so am I.” She grabbed his hands once more and held them tightly. “And so is Brian.”
Ethan’s mouth dropped open. He wasn’t sure what to say.
“He’s still with you, sweetheart. He always will be. That love you guys shared? That doesn’t just vanish. He’s always with you.” She let go of his hands and stood. She placed a finger on his chest. “Right here.
“And before I totally lose it, I’m going to the ladies’ to powder my nose, fix my mascara, and slap a smile on this mug I call a face. When I come back out, we are going to have another round, and then we’re going to see what’s playing at the Music Box, and we’re going to go, have tanker-size Cokes, Twizzlers, and giant tubs of popcorn with real butter—our teeth and waistlines be damned.”
