The Impressionist

by Tim Clinton

  Problem with my report? I sighed, rolling my eyes. Well, there’s the crisis.

  “I’ll be in tomorrow early to resolve,” I typed and pressed Send. After that, I pulled up Paige’s name and pressed call. I needed to talk to her, not text. I wanted her to hear my voice. Six or seven rings later, her voice message picked up. “This is Paige. I’m unable to talk right now but if you leave a message I’ll get back to you. Thanks!”

  “Paige, please, I need to talk to you. I said things I shouldn’t have. Please listen. I’m sorry. I love you.”

  Within a minute I received a two word text. “Need space.”

  “How long?” I texted back while clanking around the room. Then I saw that she had packed some clothes.

  “Don’t know,” she sent. “I’ve got some things to think through.”

  “What am I supposed to do about Josh?” I sent.

  “You’re his father. Handle it. I can’t deal right now.”

  Now she wants me to handle it. I shook my head and plopped down on the bed. That figures. But if something goes wrong, guess who’ll get the blame.

  The sound of rummaging through the kitchen cabinets meant Josh was done with his shower and looking for food. Our house was nice, but still small enough for everyone to know everybody else’s business, which in this case was in my favor.

  Sitting on the bed waiting, anticipating the inevitable, I did not want to have this conversation with him. Paige, where are you when I need you? She helped balance me when dealing with Josh. The thought of her leaving was tearing me up. Another pain jabbed me in the chest. Paige, Josh, work—it was all closing in on me.

  The pantry door closed loudly, then I heard Josh making his way back to his room like a large rodent where he closed his door securely, shutting me out and ignoring my presence. It occurred to me then that he probably had his headphones in the whole time and didn’t even know I was home.

  Pushing myself off the bed, I trudged to Josh’s room. At the door, I vacillated between knocking it open and waiting it out a little longer. Just a few hours earlier I had wanted to put him in the ER. Now, I was numb again and rationalized that putting it off as long as possible was the way to go.

  In the living room, I kicked back in my Lazy Boy chair with the remote. I just needed to chill for a while. The Vikings and Bears were playing in an important game with the Playoffs on the line. I’d planned on watching, but my life had taken a drastic turn. It’s amazing how quickly things can spin out of control. 6:09 was left on the clock in the fourth quarter and the Vikings were on the Bears’ eleven yard line about to score. The quarterback dropped back to pass and…and…the Bear’s defensive coordinator had dialed up a blitz. The quarterback was going down. No! Wait! He scrambled out of the sack and found a man open at the goal line! Touch—

  “Dad! Where are my keys?” Josh yelled out. “They were here when I went to take my shower!”

  Okay, maybe he did know I was home.

  I turned the TV volume up. “The touchdown is under review,” the announcer said. “It appears the receiver stepped out of bounds on the one-foot line.”

  “Dad! I said ‘Where are my keys?!’”

  I pushed the off button on the remote and looked up. Josh now was standing in the living room in blue jeans with no shirt on, his long, wet hair shooting off in a thousand directions like he’d been drying it with a towel. Tall and lanky, at seventeen he’d gone through a recent growth spurt. I was six feet even. He was at least that tall, though I had about forty pounds on him.

  “I have them,” I said. “We have some things to talk about. I think you know what.”

  Josh rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said.

  “You don’t think this is serious,” I said, allowing my voice to elevate. “What’s that on your arm?”

  “Nothing,” he said folding his arms over his chest.

  I stood and marched over to him yanking his arms apart to reveal the words carved into his flesh, “NO PAIN” and “DIE.” Red and freshly scabbing wounds; my stomach lurched as I inwardly groaned for my son and the damage he was inflicting upon himself. Why would someone do that to themselves? I thought.

  “When did you do that?” I demanded.

  “What does it matter? You weren’t here anyway,” he said, jerking his arms away from my grasp and flinging them in the air in protest. When he did, his fist smacked me in the mouth, busting my lip causing it to bleed. I think it shocked him because he braced himself for the retaliation. Though unintentional, the act tore at my self-control. “You’re high!” I shouted clutching the back of one of his triceps, pulling him to me. “Let me see your eyes!”

  “I’m not high,” he yelled, pushing back away. “I need my keys. I’ve got to get out of here!”

  “You’re not going anywhere, punk! You shouldn’t be driving in your condition and the car’s in my name. I’m paying the insurance on it! It belongs to me. We are going to talk.”

  “Talking doesn’t mean nuthin,” he spat. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “You can’t keep using, Josh! Don’t you understand? It’s ruining your life. You’re blowing it! You need serious help.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You don’t care? How can you say that? On top of that, if you keep getting high, your butt’s gonna wind up in jail—or worse you’re going to hurt some innocent person! And if you do go to jail, I’m not bailing you out! That’s for sure! I’m surprised you haven’t been arrested already.”

  Josh just stood there glaring at me with cold, uncaring, eyes. He crossed his arms again, covering the scars.

  “How many times have we been through this, Josh? If you have a record it’s going to be hard to get into college. Now, you may not even graduate on time. You’re smarter than this!”

  “I’m not going to college anyway,” he said nonchalantly.

  “What!” I shouted, clenching my fists. “Well, if you don’t—”

  “What, Dad?” he said interrupting me. “I might not end up like you? If you’re an example of success, no thanks! You’re not happy! Mom’s not. I heard you guys this morning. If the two of you can’t make it, why should I even try? You ran her off and I’m leaving too! I don’t want to be anything like you! Got it?”

  With that, Josh bolted out the front door, slamming it behind him. I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut once again.

  25

  Bile rose up in the back of my throat and my hands trembled. I felt physically ill. “Just look at you. You’re a loser with a capital L,” the voice berated. “Josh nailed it. You drove both of them off. They’re trying to get away from you. You drive everyone away. You’ve been doing it your whole life. It’s a never-ending cycle.”

  The panic and despair was now replaced with a suffocating depression that closed in around me…darkness like I was being buried alive. I considered plopping back down in the Lazy Boy and anesthetizing myself with football, but chose to limp back to my bedroom instead. Truth was I didn’t know what to do with myself.

  Back in my bedroom, I spotted the canister and slid my portrait out and unrolled it before me on the bed. The myriad of colors splashed and splotched with Jim Ed’s impressionistic style once again leapt off the pages as my eyes scanned the images he’d captured. I compared the half-me, half-dragon with the half-me, half-lion. Which one was really me, the vicious monster or the courageous lion? There was no doubt in my mind. Then I noticed small letters written at bottom corner of the painting, something that I’d missed before. It was a Scripture reference. Nehemiah 4:14. I reached for a Bible that Paige kept in the bedside table and looked up the Scripture. “Remember the Lord, great and awesome, and fight for your brethren, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your houses.”

  There sure has been fighting going on in the house, I thought, sliding the Bible back into the drawer. I’m quite certain that’s not the type of fighting Nehemiah was talking about. Sitting there I felt the heaviness of my family, my home, my life crumbling
down around me, and recalled the words of Jim Ed.

  “I’ve discovered that life has many defining moments,” he’d said, “places where we have to make choices of how we are going to respond—what voices we are going to listen to. Today is a defining moment for you, Adam, whether you are going to begin walking in the light and forgiveness; are you going to get back into the fight, or are you simply going to continue on the same path getting the same results?”

  I was certain that if anything was going to turn around, something had to change—and that meant starting with me. I was the one who was going to have to take action. It was the only hope I had for saving myself and my family. In my mind, I knew all this, but my emotions were screaming just the opposite. The depression, fear, and regret now overshadowed any feelings of hope. All I felt was hopelessness and despair. Laying the painting aside, I curled up on the bed in the fetal position and rocked back and forth until I fell into a fretful sleep.

  26

  When my eyes popped open, my first thought was that someone had come in and pulled up the blinds because the late afternoon sun was shining directly in my face. Squinting, I instinctively shielded my eyes. Then it occurred to me that the sun always sets on the other side of the house. Yet, if that was the case, why was the whole room full of light, blinding light, a light so bright my eyes should have melted in their sockets? In fact, my whole body should have melted. I looked down and realized that I had a different body, a new body, one that absorbed the light. What was more amazing, however, was the light was alive and pulsating, moving in and out of me, bathing me in inexpressible love and peace. Inside the light, nothing else mattered. I was at peace, complete and total peace. I didn’t know where I was, but I never wanted to leave.

  Then I saw Him, a distinct figure stepping out from the light, yet somehow was the light. Light was bursting from inside Him and through Him. It was Jesus; I just knew that it was. But this Jesus was unlike any being I’d ever seen before. A magnificent blend of all races, His head and entire body radiated with absolute holiness. The flames of His eyes seared through to the deepest parts of my essence, revealing everything true and repulsive about me. All that I’d tried desperately to keep hidden in the dark corners of my soul was exposed by the light and laid bare before the One who held the power of life itself in His hands.

  At this knowledge, even though in a new body, I was repelled backward away from Him. “No! Jesus, no!” I cried. “I know what’s in me. I’m not good. I’ve failed too many times! I’m so disgraceful. I’m unworthy.”

  “Oh, Adam, My son, I know you,” Jesus said, His smile warm and comforting. When He spoke, His mouth never moved but I understood perfectly as the warmth of His love penetrated every atom of my being. “I know you better than anyone, better than you know yourself. I see you, Adam, all of you. I died for you. The price was paid. Your part is to receive My gift.” He held out His hands, and that’s when I saw the scars. For a moment, I remembered Josh’s scars. Josh had cut himself out of frustration and pain, to experience some form of relief, but Jesus had allowed Himself to be excruciatingly tortured beyond anything our imaginations can fathom and then hung on the Cross because of me, because of my sin. Feeling the weight of how much pain I’d caused Him, I dropped to my knees and wept a river of tears, tears of gratitude.

  “Adam,” Jesus said, placing His hand on my shoulder, lifting me up. “I see you.”

  “Lord?” I trembled. “I don’t understand.”

  “Look,” He said. “I want to show you something.”

  In less than an instant, somehow I was outside my body, looking back at myself—the other me. I was clothed in a radiantly white, pure and shimmering garment fitted perfectly on my newly formed spiritual body. “This is the true you,” said Jesus. “You are mine, Adam, clothed in My perfect righteousness. I purchased you with My own blood. See yourself as I see you. Live from your true identity, not your old man that is dying. You don’t have to be a slave. My Spirit is in you to empower you to live the way I created you to. Only believe, Adam, and depend on Me.”

  Then I was back in my other body, looking in Jesus’ eyes. He placed His hand on my shoulder. “Remember, I am with you always. You will experience troubles in the world, Adam, but have peace and don’t lose heart because I have overcome the world.”

  Jesus began to fade back into the light around Him. “Wait!” I blurted out, sensing He was leaving. “What about Paige and Josh?”

  “You will have all you need to do what is before you, for My Spirit is in you. I will comfort you and counsel you. Listen to My voice. Walk in step with My Spirit, Adam.”

  “Is Jim Ed an angel?” I impulsively asked. “Did You send him?”

  “He’s a chosen vessel, like you, Adam.”

  Just like that Jesus disappeared and I was left pondering the things He had said.

  My eyes blinked open and I was still in the fetal position on the bed. A dream, I thought, yes, that was it—a dream! Yet somehow I knew in my heart what I’d experienced was more real than anything I’d known when I was awake. I slipped to my knees.

  “Jesus!” I cried out. “Take me! Take what’s left of my life and use it. Change me, God! Make me like You. Make me more like Jim Ed.”

  At that moment, it felt like warm oil poured over my head, covering my body and cleansing me from the inside out. That same overwhelming peace I felt in the dream was in the room. Jesus was here. It was as if I could see His blazing eyes, filled with warmth and compassion. He was so close. For a long time I knelt there beside my bed, weeping quietly, floating in His endless love.

  Feeling another presence in the room, I turned around surprised to find Josh standing over me. At first, I wasn’t sure what he was going to do, if he was going to cuss at me or take a swing, but then I saw the tears in his eyes. Our eyes linked and he fell down by my side collapsing into my arms.

  “I love you, son,” I cried, squeezing him tightly. “I love you so much!”

  “I love you too, Dad,” he cried.

  I slid my arm around his shoulder like we were buddies, and we both sat there on the floor for a while. No words were spoken. No words were needed.

  27

  I unfolded the piece of paper with Jim Ed’s number and entered it as a new contact in my phone. I really wanted to get with him and tell him my experience. I knew I couldn’t tell just anyone. Some people would just write me off. I’d still not heard from Paige and had a gut feeling that dumping a new religious experience on her might make her leery. No, this was real. Something had happened inside me and I knew I would never be the same. Paige was going to have to see the new me. When the time was right, I would tell her.

  Josh agreed to get into a professional program. We couldn’t do anything until Monday anyway, and he didn’t fight me any longer about the keys. Something had occurred between us. Josh wasn’t bluffing, though I was perfectly aware that he could lie to my face with tears in his eyes. Yes, something real happened between us, but I knew it was going to be a long, difficult journey forward with him. I had a mixture of emotions running through my mind. I had to tell someone of my incredible experience so I entered in Jim Ed’s number and pushed Call. I thought about Eric— he would just love this. Just like with Paige there was no answer, but this one went straight to voice mail after the first ring. “Jim Ed, this is Adam, something happened to me, man! Wonderful, strange, I’ve got to tell you. Can we meet? Call me.”

  For the next 20 minutes I paced the floor of our house, waiting. I finally gave up. Midway though a bowl of Captain Crunch Josh and I were having, my phone dinged indicating a message. I looked down thinking it was Paige, but it was Jim Ed.

  “Meet me at the new McCafe at 6 pm,” he sent. “The one at the corner of 101st street and Memorial Boulevard.”

  “Sounds great,” I replied. “See you there.”

  I invited Josh to ride along with me to meet this painter dude and afterward get some pizza and hang out. I showed him the portrait that Jim Ed had done.<
br />
  “Cool,” Josh replied.

  A block or so from the McCafe was the Forest Green Cemetery. As we passed by, I saw Jim Ed’s truck weaving through the cemetery’s main driveway out to Memorial Boulevard. Apparently he was leaving to meet us. I’m sure he didn’t recognize us because he had never seen my vehicle before.

  Josh and I pulled into the parking lot of McCafe and waited for Jim Ed. When he got out of the truck we walked to meet him in the parking lot.

  “Jim Ed, this is my son, Josh,” I said.

  Wearing a black, long-sleeved t-shirt, Josh nodded. Jim Ed looked at him with his warm, inviting eyes and stuck out his hand. A big smile broke across his face. “Name is James Edward Porter. Friends call me Jim Ed. Nice to meet you, Josh.”

  Josh took his hand and shook it slightly. “I’m Josh.”

  Jim Ed tipped his Saints cap. “Fine young man,” he said squeezing Josh’s hand firmly. “Yes sir. You’re bursting with intelligence and gifts. Can feel it.”

  Josh didn’t speak, but his face lit up.

  Jim Ed leaned in closer to Josh. “I see you, man,” he whispered in his ear. “You’re set apart for a divine purpose. God’s got big plans for you.”

  As we walked in, I could tell Jim Ed was exhausted. He looked older and depleted, even more so than he had when we left the park.

  After the three of us got our coffee and slid into our booth, Jim Ed turned to me and said, “So tell me about this strange and wonderful experience.”

  “Something incredible happened, Jim Ed!” I exploded, hardly able to contain my excitement, but trying to tone it down some. “I had a dream, but it was more than a dream. It was like a vision. I was in the light and Jesus came to me. He spoke to me. It was real Jim Ed, and I’m the last person to put stock in such nonsense as dreams!”

  Jim Ed and Josh listened carefully, hanging on my words as I went into great detail.