by Chana Keefer
Very soon, he was back. “Well, he won’t be bothering you again.” His voice was calm, but his hands shook as he removed his hat and wiped an arm across his forehead.
“What happened?”
“You need a doctor. An ambulance is on the way… ”
“What happened?” I tried to stand.
“Sit down, ma’am.”
In a monotone, the officer stated the facts. “Suspect was stopped for speeding and suspicion of DUI. When told to exit the vehicle, he pulled a gun. Officer at the scene drew a weapon in response. When ordered to stand down… suspect put the weapon to his head and… ”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Somebody wake me from this nightmare. I keep pulling the covers over my head hoping to wake to a different reality. It won’t go away.
A sort of numbness sets in. For days, I don’t see anyone, I don’t talk, I don’t eat; I just stare. Anything more is too difficult.
Surely I can turn back the clock, create an alternate ending, but the minutes keep marching on in the wrong direction.
I drag my tired, numb self to the ranch to sit in my barn. Something Devin said that night keeps playing over and over in my head. Did I believe that if I was good enough God would make everything perfect? My massive bruises and cracked rib say otherwise.
What about Devin? Where was God when he popped the pills that night, tripped down a black hole and killed himself?
Was God too big or too busy to care? Did he even exist?
The wind moves gently through the grass. The cows graze and one huge horsefly buzzes around my head. Sammy, happy to remain ignored at my side, snaps at our unwelcome guest that buzzes higher until he’s trapped in a huge spider web. He’s able to thrash free just before the spider gets to him. The web has a hole and the spider patiently begins repairs. At that moment, the setting sun shoots its rays through, lighting up the torn web with a prismatic glow.
Is that supposed to mean something? Is there some poetry in the struggle? Am I the fly escaping with his life or the spider repairing the damage to his world?
My head hurts. If there’s some message for me, God, ya better use small words.
I stumbled in the back door, removed muddy boots and headed toward a hot shower. Raised, angry voices echoed down the hall from my parents’ bedroom. Wow! This must be a doozy. Oh well, it was their business.
“Because Esther has a right to know!” Mom’s voice cut through loud and clear.
Okay. So it was my business.
The vicious sounding conversation continued as I neared their door. “I knew she was gonna get strung along. I was just tryin’ to make it easier,” my dad growled.
“Easier! You were just interfering! I can’t believe you’d do this to your own daughter!”
I stuck my head in the door. They stood like gunfighters of the old west, tense and ready to explode.
Mom saw me first. “Maybe we should ask Esther what she would have preferred.” She jerked her head toward me.
As Dad turned, I noticed Mom clutched some letters in her hand that she brought over to me. I glanced at Dad whose jaw twitched as I reached for them. They were both addressed in a child’s hand although the postmarks differed. The first came from New York while the second, a fatter envelope, hailed from England.
I looked up at Dad. “What’s this?”
“Those came a long time ago. It’s really not an issue now.”
“These are from Jeremiah, aren’t they? Why didn’t you give them to me?”
Dad refused to meet my eye. “Well,” he cleared his throat as if buying time, “You were at school. When Sky didn’t contact you, I thought it was for the best.”
On one hand, I was excited Jeremiah had written to me. On the other, I was so furious at Dad I could hardly see straight. “Isn’t that, like, a federal offense or somethin’ to mess with someone’s mail?”
I turned to leave their room. Sure, I had lots more to say, but I knew I could rant more impressively when my curiosity was satisfied.
I went straight to my room, shut the door and inspected the documents. I brought out the one from New York, noticing the postmark date of almost two years ago. Poor Jeremiah. I knew what a big deal it was for a kid to give and receive mail. I hated to think I’d let him down.
Dear Ester,
How are you? I’m fine but I wish you were here.
Everyone says Hi! I tried to get Jerky-eye to write to you but he’s in a bad mood. I think it’s because she’s around again. She is a bad mood.
What will you do this summer? I will be with the tour for another month then Dad says we will go home. I can’t wait to see my dog Sebastian. Did I tell you about him? He is a Yorkshire terrier. He growls at most people but not at me. He gets to stay in the house. Does Sammy stay in the house?
I must go. Please write.
Sincerely,
Jeremiah
Well, that was somewhat enlightening. I reached for the next letter. Good. This one had an actual return address on it that I supposed must be his home in England. Inside were a couple drawings and a short letter.
Dear Esther,
Wally says I spelled your name wrong. Sorry.
How are you doing? Wally said you might have had trouble writing to me because we were on tour, so I am writing from home. It is good to be sleeping in my own bed again. Have you ever noticed that hotel sheets and towels all smell the same?
I start school next week. I have friends who will be with me again. We like to play cricket and sometimes football. Wally says Americans call it soccer. Do you play soccer?
I like your brother, John. He is funny. I enjoyed swimming with him. I’m sorry I didn’t get to swim with you. We had fun at the barn didn’t we?
I’m sending more drawings. I hope you like them. Please write back.
Sincerely,
Jeremiah
p.s. Wally helped me with this. He’s so picky!
I looked over the pictures by the budding Picasso. One showed a drawing of a person with a tiny dog on their lap. Jeremiah had labeled it “Me and Sebastian.” The second was titled “Swimming with Father and John” and showed two figures in a rectangular pool with another in the air next to the diving board with a big splash all around it, a nod to John’s fondness for “cannonballs.” Jeremiah had added fluffy clouds, cows, and a few birds. He had even included my favorite barn in the background. I felt a pang of guilt he hadn’t heard from me.
I pulled out stationery and pen to answer.
Hi Jeremiah!
Thank you so much for the letters and pictures. I’m so sorry it took me so long to answer, but there was a mix-up and I actually just got them.
I’ve been working at a news station this year. It’s fun but I haven’t gotten to fly in a helicopter .
I’m still in college, but will graduate soon. It’ll be so nice to leave tests and research papers behind. I don’t know for sure what I will be doing after that. I’ve had an offer to go into management at the health club and a couple of people at the news station know of job openings, so I’m trying to decide. I’ll have to choose soon since part of growing up is paying bills.
I’ve gotten to do a little traveling lately, though it’s nothing compared to your world adventures. On one of the trips I met a little guy you would have loved. He was a “coatimundi” and looked a bit like a raccoon and monkey put together since he had a pointy nose, stripes and a long tail. He was so much fun! He climbed everywhere and loved candy. Kind of reminded me of a boy I know.
Please don’t take as long to write back as I did. I’d love to hear all about Sebastian, sports, your friends, and how it feels to be so much taller. (Wally told me you’ve been growing like crazy.)
Hugs,
Esther
P.S. I’d tell you to be safe and not talk to strangers, but if you always did that we never would have met.
P.P.S. I’ve never played soccer, just basketball and volleyball. You must be in great shape to be able to do all that running!
/> I gave him the address of my apartment since I planned on remaining there in the summer.
Somehow, the simple act of answering Jeremiah’s letters was a breath of fresh air. It was the first thing that had felt normal and sane for over a week. Maybe I would recover after all.
When I returned to work that next week, Jonnie wasn’t in her office. I absentmindedly began sorting through one of the remaining piles of press paraphernalia. Soon Pete, one of the editors, entered the office.
“Have you heard?” Pete’s eyes were red, his expression tragic.
“Heard what?” I asked.
“Jonnie’s husband, Len, died yesterday. Just pulled up to a traffic light and his heart stopped.”
I gulped back tears as his words sliced through my heart. “Where’s Jonnie?”
“She’s taking a leave of course. Funeral’s on Friday.”
Memories of the way she lit up at the mention of his name filled me with pain. I wondered how she would be able to go on without him.
I had only known her a few months, but she encouraged me about the possibilities of a great marriage more than anyone I ever knew. I stared around her office at the pictures of celebrities she had interviewed and charmed over the years. Most of them included a smiling Len, her life partner and best friend.
She professed a deep faith in God, but I couldn’t imagine feeling anything but rage toward Him in the same circumstances.
I left early that afternoon and drove to the apartment in a daze of confusion and sadness. Marti was gone for the evening working on a group project. I wanted to talk to someone about—everything. Then again, talking required energy. Mine was gone. I stood in the middle of the apartment.
Food? Bleh.
Study? Can’t.
I walked into the bedroom, dropped my bags and fell into the bed, shoes, coat and all.
I felt jumbled and distant from God. Somehow, confidence in a secure future was shaken, replaced by a sneaking suspicion that God gave in order to take away and observe the struggle.
Disjointed and confusing images troubled my sleep.
Len slumped over the steering wheel in his car. I delivered a blow to his back that jump-started his heart and put a joyful smile back on Jonnie’s tear-streaked face.
In the newsroom, people walked around with black sheets over their heads. Back and forth they went, carrying on business as usual, a battalion of dark ghosts hard at work. Through it all, I heard weeping.
I found myself standing in my parent’s kitchen leaning against a cabinet with strong arms holding me tight as I cried into someone’s shoulder. I felt safe and protected as all the hurt from past months gushed out in a flood. The pain of losing Grandma Min cut through me. Devin’s death and the shock of Jonnie’s loss overflowed. Finally, the flood was spent and relaxed against the chest belonging to those comforting arms, hiding my face in the crook of the neck that had such a feeling of home. A gentle hand stroked my hair like a parent soothing a frightened child. Soft words became audible. Words that slowly became a melody…
Young heart don’t cry
The pain will pass
Take heart, you’ll fly
As far as you dare….
I knew that voice. I felt the peace of the song flow through my exhausted soul as I breathed a sigh of contentment. I looked up into the face of the one who held me as Sky smiled into my eyes.
I woke in the night, homesick for those arms, realizing it was only a dream.
For the thousandth time, I wondered where Sky was, what he was doing, and if he thought of me anymore. Why couldn’t I just move on, mark it down to experience and hope there was someone out there to take his place? Why waste more time wishing for a man I could never have?
One large, hot tear trekked down my cheek. “Fine God, you beat me. Happy?”
I sobbed for Devin. I mourned Jonnie’s loss and my own confusion. I begged God to take Sky out of my heart; begged him to fill up the hole Sky had left behind.
Suddenly, the raging emotions stopped as if someone had turned off the flow. My body and mind relaxed and I thought of things in my life to be grateful for: my parents who had been there for me from the beginning, friends like Marti who were true, especially when things were tough, Jonnie and her friendship, Mrs. Bell and our many teatimes, Grandma Min and the smell of her backyard after the rain when we sat on the porch and watched the sunset. I thought of my brothers who loved to torment me yet protected me fiercely from the rest of the world. I recalled several pets through the years who had given unconditional love. As if on cue, Wally hopped up on the bed and began to purr against my arm. The list grew until I wept afresh, no longer tears of sadness, but tears of gratitude for all the love that surrounded me from the very start, evidence of God’s presence.
I thanked God for Sky and for his music that had soothed through my awkward teenage years.
It took a bit of work to think of something else. Okay, I was thankful for not being thrown out of the concert, thankful everyone had been so kind, thankful for Jeremiah and Wally who had made me feel comfortable in unfamiliar surroundings. And… (deep breath) I was thankful for Sky. He had opened me up to realize I could love. He had stirred my soul to larger dreams. He had intensified my longing to experience the world outside my small horizons. He had made me feel special.
Now that I started, I realized how ungrateful I had been.
As the poison filtered through thankfulness, I felt clean, childlike, and complete again.
The phrase “peace that passes understanding” came to mind. This had nothing to do with circumstances. Every trace of emptiness and questioning was simply… gone.
Taking the quilt with me, I climbed out of bed to sit in the light by the window. No soft moonlight, just harsh beacons on tall poles. No tranquil, silent moment—in fact some rowdy neighbors laughed as they took a post-midnight dip in the pool.
It didn’t matter. My soul was full.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Len’s funeral was set for Saturday so I, along with several others from the station, planned to go. Classes and obligations continued as usual that week, but my mind and heart were with Jonnie. Saturday afternoon, a gorgeous spring day scrubbed clean due to morning showers, found me in a convoy from the television station to attend the funeral. We arrived early, but already the huge church was packed.
There was sadness, but the service was a celebration of Len’s life. A couple close friends spoke of personal experiences with him and an even more vibrant picture formed of this life spent in the joy of self-sacrifice. I wanted to get close to Jonnie after the service, but there were so many well wishers I had little more than a chance to wave and blow her a kiss. Although she appeared grief-stricken, there was a glow about her. Her smiles, dazzling even through her tears, contained a depth of peace and strength that was beyond my comprehension.
I drove back to the apartment full of the experience, praying that, when my time came, my life would be defined by the joy that remained in those I had loved.
Entering the apartment, I discovered John, Marti, and her beau Tom, dressed and waiting for me.
The concert! Dread, panic, and excitement smashed into exhaustion. Nausea pushed up in my throat. Why tonight?
Marti’s beautifully made-up eyes were wide, “Girl, you better get on somethin’ amazing quick. We gotta go!”
I realized the understated navy skirt and white blouse I sported wouldn’t exactly pass for stunning. “You guys go ahead,” I encouraged, “I don’t want to hold you up.”
Marti suddenly clued in to where I had been and asked a few polite questions about Jonnie and the funeral. I answered her queries before shooing them out the door explaining I really didn’t plan on getting there too early.
“What are ya crazy?” Marti blurted. “Aren’t you goin’ to talk to him?”
“He’s had two years to talk. I read him loud and clear,” I stated. “Now go. Take advantage of those backstage passes.”
Marti rolled her ey
es in resignation. She of all people knew how stubborn I could be.
“Aw leave her,” added John. “I was just ridin’ her coattails to get a free pass anyway.” He came over for a quick hug. “Keep your chin up, kid,” he whispered in my ear. Wow, no joke or anything. Baby brother was growing up.
I loved them all, but breathed a deep sigh of relief when the door closed. Finally, time to think.
The warm water in the tub comforted me—no pressures, no questions, no “right” thing to do. It brought to mind that amazing time of peace and contentment a few nights before. My stomach fluttered with nervousness. Obviously, like a bath, feeling close to God wasn’t a one-time fix.
I sure didn’t feel peaceful at the moment. But did that mean God wasn’t close? Five words dropped into my thoughts—words that settled the issue.
“I will be with you.”
But as I tried to put on make-up, my nerve faltered yet again. Anyone knows when you get around an old flame you want to be at your very best. No such luck. My eyes were puffy and swollen from crying at the funeral and my face was thinner with dark circles from weeks of not sleeping or eating properly. And, like icing on the cake, my monthly had hit with a vengeance earlier in the afternoon.
I was the Bermuda Triangle of bad circumstances.
In the closet, I perused my options. Marti had laid out a killer ensemble complete with shiny high-heels and a swingy, short skirt, but I didn’t have the energy to try that hard. In the end, comfort swayed the vote. I chose my long, flowing denim dress with a wide belt and low-heeled cowboy boots.
