The Sheltered Life of Betsy Parker

by E. David Hopkins

  “She died on scene,” his mother cried, “What could we have done? There was nothing more we could have done then.”

  “OH ... YES ... THERE ... WAS!!!” Mark yelled from the doorway, for he couldn't bear to come inside this ghastly place. “SHE WAS DYING AND YOU TOOK NO RESPONSIBILITY, SHOWED NO COMFORT, NO REMORSE ... NOTHING!!!!!

  “AND YOU KNOW WHAT?” Mark hollered. “I'M NOT EVEN TALKING TO YOU ANYMORE. I'LL NEVER SPEAK TO YOU, SEE YOU, OR THINK OF YOU AGAIN. I AM DISOWNING YOU. HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT?”

  SLAM!

  After Mark had slammed the door, he ran away from the house to get as far away as he possibly could from this place.

  “Just get me out of here, Catherine,” he breathed. “Hurry!”

  ***

  That night, Mark couldn't sleep. The room was cold, spooky and empty without Betsy. The grief of losing her, and the bitter hatred Mark felt towards his parents burned inside him. He tossed and turned hour after hour, but he felt like he was thrashing in a mud puddle in a cold, bleak cave.

  At some point or another, for Mark neither knew nor cared what time it was, Mark got out of bed, put on a bathrobe, and walked away. He didn't know where. He didn't know when he'd stop. He just wanted to get away from everything, away from everyone, away from the world.

  It was a sensation Mark had never encountered before. He had gotten so used to Betsy for comfort. Numerous times, during the period when he knew her, both before and during their married life, Mark would get depressed about something, or something wouldn't go right, but there was Betsy, with her loving smile, soft words, and sparkling eyes, always there to comfort him, and Mark would feel better right away.

  But now, there was no Betsy to comfort him. This was one of his moments he could have used Betsy's comfort the most. Alas, here Mark was; depressed, grief-stricken, angry and alone, with no one to turn to.

  He walked and walked until he found a large rock, where he sat down. Once seated upon the rock, Mark gazed into the starry sky. He sat in silence and felt the night all around him. The nighttime was a void that surrounded him. The air was still warm from the daylight, but Mark shivered. He sat motionless on the rock, listening to nothing except his own breath, that one sound that kept him company, the sound that was himself, the only person he had left.

  But Mark could not live like that, not alone.

  Betsy's price to give Mark the gift of life had been herself. Alas, here Mark was, alive because of Betsy, the angel for whom Mark would have gladly given his own life to save. It had been her one final act of goodness that accompanied all her other virtues, which, to Mark, outnumbered the hairs on her head. The rest of Mark's life was a gift from Betsy, but it was a gift he found himself unable to accept, for in this gift Betsy had given him, she was not there.

  Betsy's price to give Mark's parents the gift of redemption had been herself. Alas, in that gift of redemption, there was no acceptance, no thanks, no reciprocation. The hearts of Mark's parents were so cold and so hardened that nothing Betsy did mattered to them. In their hearts, there was no love, but only pretence, blindness and hypocrisy. In their eyes, the sole fact that Betsy could never wear any clothes cancelled out, and rendered null and void, everything she did.

  Mark's solitude grew darker and darker, as his loss and despair were dragging him deeper and deeper into that cold, bleak cave, until all light was blotted out.

  Then, he reached a point where he sat in impenetrable blackness. He was beyond grief stricken, beyond hopeless, beyond reproach; he felt dead. Everything that had given Mark hope had been sucked out of him, and he felt like a skeleton sitting on that lonely rock, separated from his body and the world, never to rise again.

  At the final instant, when Mark had arrived at this deepest, darkest point, and there was no further to go, a feeling of euphoria swept over him. It was indescribable. It was happiness, love, joy, peace, and so many more bright, happy, wonderful feelings all bubbling in him at once. He felt a pair of arms wrapping themselves around him, comforting him, holding him, like a mother holding her newborn baby. They were arms of a quality he had never felt before, the arms of an angel. An all-loving, pure, white, benevolent, laughing, joyous angel was holding him, loving him, comforting him.

  He could sense a playful laugh in his heart. He couldn't hear it, at least not in the way people of this world normally hear, but he could sense it, like it was being sent to a kind of extra sense he never knew he had.

  Mark looked all around him. He saw no one, but he could feel someone, someone very special. Betsy was there. It was that one presence that he truly knew. Mark was not alone; he could feel Betsy sitting there with him, smiling, laughing, loving him, comforting him.

  “It is not time, precious one,” came Betsy's voice in the same way her laugh had come, “You are not ready. You have more to accomplish. Come away. Come away, back to this world. Let go of all that troubles you. Have no anger, no hatred, no grudges. Live in peace. Live, laugh, learn, love, and always be at peace.”

  The presence left him, but the feelings it left within him remained. Mark sat up from the rock. A tear rolled out of his eye, then another, then one from the other eye, and Mark dropped onto the ground and began to cry tears of joy, comfort and peace. He felt guilty for not feeling thankful for the rest of his life, but that guilt was washed away by the euphoric feelings he now had. After some time, Mark cried himself to sleep.

  24 A Comforting Place

  When Mark awoke, it was another bright and sunny morning. He was a little surprised to find himself in the open glade, and a little embarrassed that he was still in his bathrobe, but he awoke with a new sense of eagerness, determination and joy.

  Mark decided, right then, that the first thing he would do would be to rebuild the broken bridge between himself and his parents. Before now, he never thought he would be able to do this, that he didn't even want to. Now, Mark felt that it was his duty, his priority, to honor the memory of Betsy Parker. He would knock on their door, and visit them every day. Every day, he would sit inside their house, talk maybe, then see if maybe, yet, his parents would accept him, once more, as their son.

  Mark vowed to see Roger too. However cold and callous Roger was, they were still brothers, still a family, and Mark still had him.

  Mark rose and walked back to Sunny Palms. He dressed, made some breakfast, and left the resort to pay his parents a visit.

  “Where are you going, Mark?” Catherine asked when she saw him.

  “I'm going to visit my parents,” Mark replied.

  “Are you serious? They were so horrible to you yesterday, and you said yourself that you never wanted to see them again.”

  “I've come to feel I need to,” Mark replied. “I cannot guarantee that I can rebuild anything with them, but the least I can do is to try, and then I'll be happy that I tried. Besides, today is Easter Sunday, and there couldn't be any better way to celebrate this day than by resurrecting relationships.”

  “Good for you Mark,” Catherine beamed. “That is what I like to hear. I'll come with you.”

  Mark shook his head. “Thank you Catherine,” he replied, “but no. I think it's better that I do this myself.”

  Catherine nodded. “Okay Mark. Good luck, and happy Easter.”

  “Happy Easter, Catherine,” Mark smiled in return.

  Mark left the resort, and before he knew it, he was at his parents' door. Mark knocked gently, rather than the pounding he had made the previous day.

  The door opened. There was his father at the other side.

  “Oh, it's you again,” Mr. Turner snarled. “I thought you'd disowned us. Well, we disowned you first. Goodbye.”

  Mark's father slammed the door.

  “No! Wait!” cried Mark. “Please let me in; just for five minutes.”

  The door creaked open one more time.

  “Okay, if that's what you want. Five minutes it is then, but I can't see what brings you back here.”

  “Thank you so much,” Mark smiled.<
br />
  He stepped onto the landing, removed his shoes, and stepped up the stairs. Mark's father sat down, once more, at the breakfast table with Mark's mother, and Mark sat in what used to be his own chair at the table.

  Mark sat there the whole time, just sitting, silent, with his parents. He didn't even tell them the amazing encounter and the message he had felt the previous night. He sat there, without ever saying a word, letting his parents take in his thoughts, his feelings, his presence.

  When the five minutes were up, Mark rose from the table.

  “Thanks for letting me in,” Mark smiled. “That was all I wanted. Bye for now.”

  And Mark left.

  The next day, Mark came to his parents' house for ten minutes, again saying nothing the whole time, just sitting with them at the kitchen table.

  The next day, Mark came for fifteen minutes. By now, his parents were really wondering what was going on. Twelve minutes into the fifteen, Mark's father asked, “Mark, are you okay? What is this you're doing?”

  “I just want to see you,” Mark replied. “I just want a little quiet time with you. That's all.”

  Every day, Mark added five more minutes onto his stays at his parents' house. A week into his daily visits, Mark and his parents began engaging in conversation once more.

  “You really want to love us, don't you Mark?” his mother asked him.

  “I do,” Mark replied. “And I don't want to love you. I do love you. But I loved Betsy too. Is there something wrong with that? Can't I love whoever I choose?”

  At this, both of Mark's parents retreated into silence. They were confused and baffled. How could Mark love them, when he also loved Betsy?

  The visits continued. On the twelfth day, the visits came to an hour, and an hour was how long they stayed. There was mostly silence exchanged at these visits, with Mark hoping his parents would sit quietly, thinking about who their son really was; hoping, just hoping that maybe, one day, they would understand Betsy for who she had really been, and honor her name.

  After two weeks, Mark's parents opened up enough to discuss one person who had long been absent from Mark's life.

  “Roger has been arrested,” his father explained. “We've known this for several days now, Mark, but we've never told you. He's been charged with hit and run. It was him who was driving the car that killed Betsy. He was driving to pick Xavier up from his friend Marco's house at the time of the crash.”

  Mark was stunned. The wind was knocked out of him. “It was Roger?” he gasped. “Do you know this, or is it only suspected?”

  “We know it,” Mark's mother sighed. “The police stopped him further down the road, got his license number and took him into custody. He's in jail now, awaiting trial.”

  “Then we're going to see Roger!” Mark called. “Mom! Dad! Are you coming?”

  “You bet we are!” Mark's dad called. “Come on, son. Let's go.”

  The three bundled into Mark's parents' car and drove to the county jail. When they got there, there was Roger, in a waiting cell.

  “Roger!” Mark sobbed, when he saw his brother. “Was it really you? Did you run over Betsy?”

  “I did,” Roger admitted. “At first I thought, 'It's just that naked freak. She's not even a proper person. I don't need to stop for her,' but further down the road, my conscience, the conscience I haven't felt for many years, seized me. I felt a sense of grief and guilt I hadn't felt in a long time. It came to light that I really had run over a human being, possibly killed her, and that I had driven away. I was further troubled when it dawned on me that she had saved mom and dad, and I would have stopped for mom and dad right away if I had hit them. Rochelle has left me, and is planning to file for divorce. She picked Xavier up after I got arrested, phoned me and told me our life together was over. She says I'm a bad example for Xavier. She doesn't want Xavier to grow up with a hit and run driver for a father.”

  “Roger,” Mark breathed in amazement and wonder. “You actually feel badly about what you did? I can't express how I feel, and I don't think I have ever seen you show remorse for anything.”

  Roger continued. “When I was further down the road, my feelings of guilt became so strong, that I decided to turn around to see if Betsy was okay, but that was the point when the police found me and busted me. They informed me she had died, and I felt terrible.”

  Mark's mother and father smiled at their older son. Mark did too.

  “Brother,” Mark reassured Roger. “It's going to be okay. I'll come to visit you in prison often, I promise. I forgive you, Roger.”

  “Mark,” Mrs. Turner smiled. “Good for you for wanting to see Roger once again. Roger, good for you for deciding to help.”

  “Nice to see you, sonny,” Mr. Turner winked at Roger. “Mark's right. We will all be visiting you regularly.”

  Mark was blown away. He had never seen anything like this before. Here he was, having a peaceful conversation with his whole family. He didn't know what to make of it.

  ***

  The day of Betsy's funeral arrived. The church was crammed, with all space on every pew taken, and many people were standing. Everyone carried a solemn, mournful expression, and a good many were wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs. Carl, Megan, Laura, Antonio, Mark and Catherine were sitting in the front pew, and Minister Jane Jordan was standing at the front.

  “We gather, today, to commemorate the life of Betsy Alicia Parker,” she began. “In her twenty-one years of life, from January 16 1992 to March 30 2013, Betsy touched so many. In all her years, she could never wear any clothes, but she lit up the atmosphere everywhere she went, and where ever she was, there was never a sad face. We mourn her loss, but we remember her, celebrate her life, and carry on with our own lives. Betsy Parker may have left us in person, but she is still with us all in spirit.”

  Jane proceeded to tell the congregation the story of Betsy's life, all the way from her birth to the events leading up to her death. Then, she called Betsy's family to the front to give her eulogy.

  Mark was the first to rise and step forward. “I met you in a coffee shop,” he began, in a contemplative, meditating voice. “From that day onward, I loved you. You weren't just my friend. You were never just my friend, Betsy. You were my companion, my life, and my loving, wonderful wife. Thank you, Betsy. Thank you for everything. Thank you for putting a smile on my face every day, for being yourself, and for saving my parents. All your life, you sought acceptance. You sought to be loved, and to be treated at the same level as your fellow people of this planet, and now you have that, Betsy. You have finally found a place where you are loved, happy, and accepted in every conceivable way. I look up to you every day Betsy, in hopes that I can be more like you: happy, kind, energetic, loving, forgiving, humble, modest, unselfish, friendly, and good, and some day I will join you in that special place you have found yourself.”

  Mark wiped his eyes one more time, and stepped down from the pulpit. Laura was the next to stand at the front. She was carrying Betsy's picture 'A Walk of Hope.'

  “I wasn't always there for you Betsy,” she said in a soft voice. “I wasn't always comfortable with you, or what you were, but now, I see the error of my ways. You were my sister, Betsy, my beloved sister, and you still are. We played together as little girls and had so much fun. Now, I cherish those days, and wish, with all my heart, that I could have them back; that you could be here and we could live those days all over again. If only I had seen more of your life, seen your wedding, seen you fight for your rights. If I had only smiled at you as you left on that plane to Hawaii. Now, I miss you, but I will remember you by the wonderful artwork you gave the world. I am thankful, Betsy, so thankful that I got to see you one last time.”

  Laura's boyfriend, Antonio, gave his eulogy next. “I wish I could have met you, Betsy. I met your sister, Laura, at school. Laura told me about you. Our conversation continued into an in-depth discussion about your life, and I was fascinated by the various ways your life had played out. Then, Laura pro
mised to return to you. I told Laura that I wanted to meet you, after Laura had had one more visit with you, but your life came to a close, from performing one final act of unconditional love. Now that I have heard all about you, I promise to do all I can to honor you.”

  Betsy's parents made their eulogy next, and Betsy's father spoke.

  “When Betsy was born, my wife and I were happy and intrigued that The Lord had sent us a healthy, beautiful baby girl. We were even happier when she began to develop and grow like any ordinary baby. We fed her, bathed her, clothed her, changed her diapers,”

  A few people laughed at this point.

  “but when it was revealed that our daughter had a unique condition that kept her from wearing any clothing at all, or touching pretty-well anything with any portion of her skin apart from her mouth, hands, and feet, my wife and I were horrified and dumbstruck. We were beyond the ballpark of being concerned. We were terrified. We didn't know what we were going to do with our daughter. We were afraid she would accidentally have a giant allergic reaction, which would kill her in her infancy, but, worst of all, we were afraid that our daughter would live her whole life, whatever it was going to be, as a hermit and an invalid, never meeting any people, never knowing anyone, never learning or exploring, and never being loved, understood, or appreciated, by anyone except my wife and me.”

  At this point, Megan took over. “Now, we both know that our daughter lived, and she lived a grand life, despite our fear, for she grew into a successful, smart, talented young woman. She was loved by us, by her husband, by the other campers at Sunny Palms and by the many people who came to buy her art, whether in person or online. I am proud to have been the mother of this delightful girl, and my husband, Carl, is proud to have been her father. Rest in peace Betsy, and may no one ever doubt you again.”

  Catherine was the last to step to the front and speak.

  “I am not saying we should all be nudists,” she began. “There are billions of people on this planet that would never set foot in a nudist resort, campground, event or venue of any kind. But that doesn't mean that they are any less noble, any less worthy, any less intelligent, or any less kind, than my friend, Betsy. I was raised as a nudist by my parents, and I had the pleasure of meeting Betsy Parker, for the first time, at Sunny Palms, when she was seven and I was eight. We played together, laughed together and had so much fun together. She was a real delight in my life, a bubble, a gem, and I don't think I would be as happy as I am right now, if I had never met her.”