“Jesus...what a beautiful voice,” he said, caught in a trance as she slowly glided back and forth, as if reaching for angels. “She sure sings like one...” A lump formed suddenly in his throat, and he rubbed his swollen eyes. He hadn’t slept in days, but he strained with all of his might to focus on her as she exercised, and her tune soon turned back into a low hum. She seemed unmoved by the rain, moving, twirling and prancing about playfully. She owned the space, she was the queen of peace, she was the wife of ‘not a care in the world’—she had papers on it. He wanted to know what it felt like again. He wanted a taste of what she had...
~***~
Rhapsody glanced at the clock above her living room television, not believing the time. She blinked several times, rubbed her eyes and struggled amongst the overstuffed throw pillows on the couch, trying to free herself from the cocoon of their softness that surrounded her form. It was two in the morning, and she’d fallen asleep there yet once again. The television DVR buzzed as her favorite television programs were taped, reminding her she needed some down-time. She had been too busy and tired as of late, but she promised herself she’d indulge in a ‘stay-cation’ as soon as possible. Rhapsody got to her feet. She stood and stretched her stiff body in need of the comforts of her Queen sized bed, not the broken-in- couch she’d made into a cot one time too many. Yawning loudly, she made her way out of the room, down the short hall and into her bedroom. As she slid under the sheets, she closed her eyes, but not for long.
That’s right!
She popped back up, flinging the sheets off of her in haste. Grabbing a pen and paper out of her nightstand drawer, she jotted down song lyrics that had been dancing in her head for weeks. She felt inspired, and she’d dreamed of kelly green blades of grass, chirping birds and storm clouds that threatened to ruin it all. The lyrics kept coming, all streaming from her recent trysts at Mies Park. She reminisced as the words continued to take over, pouring onto the paper.
The people watching in the park while she exercised her body and vocal chords proved to be quite entertaining, but more than anything, she had some new eye candy and she was more than happy to take an indulgent nibble or two. What began as a secret glance here and there, escalated into curiosity. The man was alluring. He had a quiet strength about him, yet, he seemed troubled, regardless of the kind smile that would crease his face when she’d glance his way. Poems, song lyrics, thoughts and ideas raced inside of her based on her fleeting interactions with the guy. They’d never spoken a word, but she felt as if they’d been communicating for weeks...
She hated to admit it to herself as her pen moved hastily across the dark blue line in her binder, scribbling verses with nimble fingers, but he’d caught her attention alright.
Hell, if he is my muse for a new song, so be it...
She grinned as she continued to write, wondering where it would all end, but one thing was for certain before the end of that summer, she wanted the man to say something to her, anything.
Yes, she’d sworn off men, but hey, this was innocent. She saw nothing wrong with admiring the scenery. Besides, just because she wasn’t buying didn’t mean she couldn’t window shop and from her vantage point, he showcased an award-winning display of charismatic bling that she simply couldn’t resist...
~***~
Three weeks later...
Before he’d even had a moment to catch up and distract himself with overdue duties, Dane found himself in the midst of troubled waters, standing in the church that he and Josh’s family attended when they were mere children. Where their families sat together, interwoven like carpet fibers, on the pews. Only this time, they weren’t altar boys anymore...but Dane was standing at the altar nevertheless. He attempted to feel nothing, so he could get through the darn day...the day that had a sun and a moon, but he felt neither familiarity nor peace with this basic fact.
He put on a strong face and even stronger performance, in typical Dane fashion. Patting backs, smiling, offering hugs and kind words... He simply went through the motions. Margie dabbed at her eyes with an ivory, balled up Kleenex as the priest spoke, her children huddled around her and the church filled to the brim with family, co-workers and friends as the celebration of the Eucharist continued around the altar table. Josh knew so many people, and they’d all gathered to pay their respects and say one final good-bye to him.
Dane knew when he’d left Josh in his home, before returning several weeks prior after the bad news, that it would be the last time. He’d talked to him the morning he died. The man could barely speak, but he offered one sentence to Dane that was now embedded in his mind:
“Remember, it is better to have loved and lost, than never have loved at all, and I had that, buddy...my family, friends, everyone. Thank you.”
Dane clasped his hands together, his white robe with gold embroidery flowing over his arms. He heard bits and pieces of the priest’s words through the fog in his mind. Litanies, all-too-familiar, tiny tidbits as the Priest spoke the prayers and all-too-familiar words...
“...Jesus redeems us...the body and blood of Christ...The blessed mother Mary and her divine son...”
He crawled in his own skin, itching to say something, to protest. Such a strange sensation, out of control. He glanced momentarily out of a large stained glass window, a colorful scene of the Virgin Mary holding her newborn son, Jesus Christ. The rainbow light filtered through, distorting passing cars, while he felt imprisoned inside of his own heart. He wanted to escape, to get away from Josh’s casket so he could scream in private, but he kept it all in, bottled like wine to age perfectly, along with all of his other feelings from years gone past that had fermented.
The funeral waged on, each moment drawn out like damnation, an unwelcome eternity—and they moved outside to the cemetery.
“O God, by whose mercy the souls of the faithful find rest; mercifully grant forgiveness of their sins to Thy servants and handmaids, and to all here and elsewhere who rest in Christ: that being freed from all sins, they may rejoice with Thee for evermore. Through the same our Lord,” Dane said as Josh’s casket was lowered into the ground.
He spoke in subdued tones, pleasant and calm, as though giving a five-day weather forecast. He’d attended and presided over thousands of funerals, and prayed for all involved. Now, he needed some alone time but instead, he was bombarded with family and old high-school friends, crying, hugging and clinging to one another, sometimes falling to pieces in his arms. He provided comfort for hours on end, for everyone but himself.
God, please...I need to get away. I need you to give me some solace, some peace. I’ve been begging you...Tell me where to go, where I can regroup and speak to you and get through this. Most of all, tell me how I can forgive you for taking him away from me—my very best friend?
~***~
The dusk had given birth to willowy purple streaks stretched across the Michigan sky while the mellow orange sunset disappeared behind slow moving cottony clouds. Dane leaned back on the park bench and sighed, his eyes closing momentarily as he gathered his thoughts. There were no ducks on the lake today, only light undulations from the wind.
He missed the ducks. They were a nice focal point when the pressure became too much. Every now and again, he’d see a swan or two, but he hadn’t seen any in groups, in weeks. They were alone, just like him...
He’d jogged, worked out so much at the gym he almost passed out, threw himself into his work—even making over two-hundred sandwiches single-handedly to take to the homeless shelter the night before. But it still didn’t completely quiet the nagging voices, the hidden secrets and the resentment. The heavy chain-wrapped bitterness that he admitted in prayer remained deep inside of him, festering, growing stronger instead of waning as time promised to do. All of those ugly enigmas from the past died with his beloved confidant, which, for Dane, exposed them, dug them up from the dank soil he’d buried them in. Perhaps they refused to stay in the grave with the man and clawed their way out, scrounging and fighting, kicking up
freshly unearthed mud. They made themselves known, these secrets. Yes...secrets.
The ones that caused him to do things that he said he was ashamed of, after he’d accepted his calling into the priesthood. Josh was there, picking up the pieces, making it right. He’d discarded the empty wine and beer bottles, cleared away the marijuana debris and chocked the pills. Dane had held on to the lie: that he’d hurt himself during a football scrimmage and needed help because his back was a twisted wreck. He soon discovered that alcohol and uppers made a surprisingly interesting cocktail, one that promised sweet relief from the incubuses that at times kept him up at night. These were complicated feelings, a thorny place to dwell. Dane knew full well what his problem was. It wasn’t only that he’d lost his best friend and sounding board—he’d lost his own personal priest—the man he’d confessed it all to, the things that Josh hadn’t been privy to, but Dane purged all the same. He did it right before he was blessed by the bishop—he’d confessed his sins and prayed the dirt away, the guilt that tortured him so.
When he conducted his homilies, he often pulled from personal experiences, riveting the crowd as they held onto his every syllable from the pews. He was often told how ‘entertaining’ he was, how ‘up to date’, ‘hip’ and ‘contemporary’ his sermons were by the young and elderly alike. It was no coincidence. That familiar torment, he turned around and used to help others, but no one knew why he sounded so authentic, why he seemed to truly understand their pain. The reason was the liquor, the pills, the guilt, the vicious cycle; though he never let these seduce him thoroughly, and had let God pull him out just in time.
Dane only gave a piece of himself, never unwrapped his full past for their public eyes and mental consumption. It wasn’t that he cared what someone would think, or even that others would know, but because he understood that if he lost any of the respect of the devoted congregations, he’d be alienated at the parish and that would bring undesirable attention to the church, especially since he now dined once again with the enemy...
No, it had reared its ugly head from time to time during periods of extreme upheaval and stress. Josh knew all about it, and he kept him sane. He figured Josh wasn’t aware he’d relapsed, though he told his best friend that very fact in his dreams. Secrets...more and more piled up like stinking trash. As a youth, keeping it away from home was daunting; explaining to a college professor why he wobbled into class was a chore, but like many addicts, he’d manipulated his way through. Now, who wouldn’t trust an almost straight A, good Catholic boy?
Dane looked to his left then to his right. The coast was clear. He slid the pint-sized bottle of Smirnoff Vodka out of his pocket, unscrewed the top and sucked down the final drops, hoping that they’d chase the demons away. He immediately rejoiced in the warmth, the soothing heat that coated his throat and relaxed his woes and tense muscles. He’d been isolated, suffering from depression due to it, and the liquid lady had been his friend, though he knew her assistance always came with a price.
In the past, especially while he was out of the country, in places like Haiti where disaster was so prevalent, he felt at times, helpless and missed his family...but she was always there. He pitied himself a time or two, then pushed the pain away as he always had, off to the side like rubble or putrid debris falling down into a sewer drain. He’d prided himself on stopping—months, sometimes years rolled past when he stayed clean, but now that Josh was gone, the liquid lady sat by his side again, hugging him tight, making all the ‘bad’ inside him melt, and disappear into the bottomless depths of the lifeless lake...
~***~
Rhapsody hated that she was in love with the cold grass. Her allergies didn’t appreciate the love fest. The ongoing love affair had been relentless, tugging at her need for nature, for weeks. Every spring, the fling would begin, then before she knew it, she was hightailing it away from her occupational obligations, and stretching her body to the beautiful limit—what she called, ‘yogamatized’. It was a bit too cool to wear a leotard this early evening, so she settled for navy blue leggings and an oversized T-shirt. It messed up her mojo, but it still got the job done. Bending and stretching, she kept her eye on her surroundings. Children hand in hand with their parents, couples with barking pets that were better cared for than the average U.S adult, and then, there was him...
On and off, she’d see the smiling man on the chipped paint wooden bench.
You’ve become a song, thank you and you know what? You look kinda familiar...
It was always the same bench, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d swear at times he wasn’t even breathing. He blended in like shrubbery—no, like a statue—but his eyes caught the glimmer of the sun and on cloudy days, they darkened with something she couldn’t describe. He intrigued her, perplexed her, and called to her. From one angle, he’d look harmless. From another, something mischievous and possibly dangerous brewed. Nevertheless, he had a peace about him—yet, still, he also looked like the entire world was on his shoulders.
In short, he was an enigma. Someone that could both go unnoticed and command attention. Sometimes, he’d meet her glance, and give an acknowledging nod. Other times, he’d stare off into space, as if uninterested in his very own existence. Today was different, though.
While she lay on her back and brought her legs up, the fluffy clouds rolled by showing her all the soft pictures they could make. Yet, when she turned to the side, they were gone and all that was left was the man slipping what appeared to be a bottle of clear liquor into his jacket pocket. Worse of all, he had a nasty look of guilt about him after it was all said and done. She knew that look, she’d had it before—only her addiction wasn’t a bottle, but a leeching ex-lover she’d allowed back into her life one time too many. Nonetheless, she was honest with herself and from that honesty came some pain, some harsh truth. Honesty was her teacher.
Sometimes, she just didn’t want to be alone; it had nothing to do with heartbreak or love anymore. She wanted a warm body beside her, that was why she’d let him back, and when it was over, she didn’t mourn him or the relationship any longer, only the familiarity. At last though, she’d had enough. He was wearing on her, getting on her nerves. She’d thrust herself back into her exercise routine a few months after she gave him his true walking papers, and never looked back.
The park was an awesome escape, a healing zone. People watching was epic. Plentiful animals, wild and domestic, to observe during their daily routines, and the perfect scene to stretch and simply appreciate the new opportunities coming her way. Yeah, she was in a good place, but her voyeuristic nature compelled her—her biggest downfall. In her enjoyment of nosey surveillance, she’d make up stories in her head about what people were doing and thinking. She’d even make up songs, but the one about him was far more serious. She paused, singing the lyrics inside of her head...
Thaaaaman, doesn’t stand....he sits, bent like bows, under the tree limbs....
He flees inside himself, carrying a heeeeavy load,
The wind, will carry his sorrows away...on some empty road...
There was just one problem now. She didn’t want to guess anymore. She wanted to really know what his deal was. It was killing her. Her inquisitiveness was on a rampage, and somewhere deep within, she demanded answers. He appeared aloof, but not cold. His smile at times was warm, at other times, obviously manufactured as a simple courtesy. And good Lord, he was a handsome son of a gun—and conversant, from how she’d seen him interact with some people. She hated it. She prided herself on her memory, and something tugged at those strings, but she couldn’t figure out what.
Where do I know that face?
Rhapsody surmised he was about six-two, maybe six-three and definitely in good shape—not that that was important to her; not that she was looking for a boyfriend or anything, of course.
She smiled at her own thoughts.
His medium brown hair was streaked with highlights and went darker to a rich brown closer to his nape, blending into his short, almo
st black sideburns. Almost too perfect hair—unnerving, as if he had an expensive colorist taking care of those strands, and something mystical kept every strand in place, like the damned wind would go straight to hell if it dared to blow that coif out of place. Yet, it didn’t look hard or stiff, just obeyed his command. His light blue eyes popped against his tanned skin in a classically handsome face with a keen nose, fleshy lips that appeared soft, dark eyebrows and an undeniable boyish charm. She was certain he looked younger than he actually was. He had wisdom about him...
She’d occasionally watch him glide his fingers over his hair as he appeared to be in deep thought. She rose from the ground, huffed and gripped her water bottle. Removing the cap, she took a big chug, and smirked. He was staring at her now, and this time, he didn’t look away or offer a nod. He just...well, he just glared.
He might be a drunk...Nah, I doubt it. How would I know? But he is sneaking sips from a damn liquor bottle. What’s wrong with him? Hmmm... It’s none of my business, I don’t know him ... or do I?
She grinned mischievously.
Forgive Me Father For I Have Loved Page 6
