Wednesday, August 22, 2007

The Eyes of God

We have had a 7-year-old visiting us for awhile. It is hard to believe that our own children were so small not that long ago.
The questions and wonder are endless. He has large eyes for this world. And big questions. Just like us.
In a letter from a family member who was just experiencing the joy of being grandparents, another member of the family told them, "NOW you know how God feels for us".

Enjoy this day.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Therefore Choose Life

Lynne Hasuly


Guilt repelled off
the armor provided,
designed to protect the creature of clay;
soul soil entrusted into the hands of the Lord...
choosing life...
choosing joy...
over stubborn refusal
to chew through the restraints of the enemy...
enticed by distorted desires within...
for the chewing produces
strength of spirit...
galvanizing resolve to seek clarity of perception...
choosing life...
choosing joy over the piercing familiarity of the abyss.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Alexander 8-22

So many questions were unanswered, but no one was in a hurry to go first. Even Bitsy felt safe with these people so newly met, standing around their son, concerned mostly that he was ok. Sarge ruffled Alexander’s hair and smiled, and Alexander smiled back, and Sarge’s shoulders relaxed. Kitty gave her son a hug and looked into his eyes, satisfying herself that he was not hurt or frightened. Lexi took Bitsy by the shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. Bitsy stiffened for a moment; then she relaxed, too. Lexi said, “Let’s just get Bitsy into the picture, and then I guess we all have stories to tell.” Sarge and Kitty looked alarmed, but Lexi reassured them with an ‘oldest child’ look, and steered Bitsy into the little room. The equipment was impressive enough, and Bitsy’s eyes were wide as she walked around the white appliance, testing the handle and hearing the whoosh, looking up when the damper opened over her head. But when Lexi explained about the underground cave through which a strong vacuum pulled air to the Progressive Power facility, Bitsy looked at Sarge with undisguised wonder. “How long,” she asked Alexander, “have you known about this?” With a sheepish look at his parents, Alexander murmured, “Since last night.“Well,” Sarge shrugged, taking his wife’s hand, “ it had to happen sometime, and Lexi, you were about this age, I remember. But I wish you had come to us first,” he looked sternly at Alexander, but it wouldn’t wash. “Dad,” Lexi reminded him, you would have had to discuss it with the whole family, and by the time they all approved, Alexander would have been shaving.” Sarge gave her a Look, but it wasn’t That Look, and she giggled, and he gave in. They sat down and talked, telling stories in reverse order, Alexander and Bitsy recounting how the INSEC agents had used Kerry to set Alexander up, and how Bitsy had followed him to make sure he wasn’t all alone out there, and Kitty squeezed Bitsy’s hand and said thanks, meaning it very much, The grownups listened raptly while the two youngsters told about fighting with the agents, and helping each other get back to town, and Bitsy covering for Alexander on the bus. And Lexi explained about their late-night trip to the basement, and Sarge and Kitty gave them both a “wait ‘til we get you home” look, but they were home. And Alexander had to go back into the Room of Relief and commune with the fartdock again, and after all that, it was time for the two young Agents to go on duty. “Bitsy,” Sarge said, as they all trooped back upstairs, “I don’t have to tell you the seriousness of this matter, or how hard it will go for us all if someone finds out about our….. facility.” Bitsy turned the full force of the Bitsy stare on Sarge, but her heart wasn’t in it. Instead she took his hand and squeezed it, and said, “ Mr. Wozniak, all families have things they keep to themselves. I’m sorry I wound up barging in. But I never rat on friends--- never.” And Sarge nodded and smiled, and Kitty, who had already made her mind up about Bitsy, gave the little girl a hug and a look that said, welcome. To Alexander she said, “ Now, dear, the extra DOOK we gave you should be kicking in any minute. Are you sure you’re ready to go downtown for duty? “ “Yes, Mom,” Alexander grinned, “and I’ve got quarters for the rectomat, and I won’t eat anything until I get home. What’s for supper tonight, by the way, Dad? Goulash this time?” And Sarge grabbed Alexander and messed up his hair, and the kids went out on the street, Alexander calling back, “Thanks, Lexi,” and Bitsy waving over her shoulder. And for the next four hours they went through the motions, patrolling the shopping district, waving their scanners, pretending not to mind being avoided by everyone; and when Bitsy picked up a reading going up the escalator at Flump’s Emporium, she turned away and cut her sensitivity. When she turned again, she saw the terrified look on the face of the old gentleman and gave him a huge, sweet Bitsy smile, and he whispered, “Bless you, young lady,” and ran up the moving stairs all the same. They met just at the stroke of six, at the corner of Tannerman Square, but instead of the D bus, a FourWord Tech van pulled up. Stash was at the wheel, cap pulled down low. He nodded to Bitsy, and said, “Ok, Al, you and Miss Bruce get in. Grabbing Bitsy, Alexander dragged her into the open side door of the van, it closed at Stash’s signal, and they drove off up Pollep St. Stash turned and smiled at the two kids, but he was clearly a bit nervous. “You two stay low,” he warned, turning into the Fourword parking garage entrance. He swiped his i.d., smiled to the surveillance camera, and pulled through the opening door and slotted the van into its numbered space. He turned in the seat, whispering, “Stay down for a minute, ok, until I clear the coast.” He was back in a moment, handing them both long-billed caps and coveralls. Then, swaddled and hatted beyond positive recognition, Alexander and Bitsy followed Stash across the parking area and into the elevator. Once inside the lab, Stash put a finger to his lips as he led them into the back. A moment later they were in Stash’s soundproof room. Stash leaned against a table, smiling a smile that included amusement, curiosity, exasperation and a bit of its own secret knowledge of things.
Bitsy looked more scared than Alexander had ever seen her. Just in time he realized her problem: “Bitsy, this is my Uncle Stash. He works for the Ministry,…”
“Yeah, I know,” Bitsy was panting a little, trying to scope Stash, take in the strange little room they were in, and hold her pack tightly in her arms and away from Stash all at once. “I’ve been in a few times to get calibrated, so I’ve seen you. But there was a woman who usually took care of me….” “That’d be Desiree, my assistant,” Stash nodded. He looked meaningfully at Alexander, who tried again. “Bitsy, Uncle Stash is ok. He’s been helping me….. sort of work things out, and he’s always been my friend. He helped my dad build the … thing you saw today.” Alexander glanced around, afraid to trust Stash’s trick room with damning evidence. Bitsy now stared at Stash with undisguised wonder. This handsome young engineer standing in his Fourword windbreaker and cap was in charge of all the sensors, all the equipment, all the things they used to catch people; and also part of the most daring bit of civil disobedience she had heard of since….. since the other thing. She put that out of her mind. This was enough for now. “How,” she began, having to begin somewhere, “ Did you find out about what happened, Mr….. Wozniak, and—“ Stash, Miss Bruce, just Stash, “ the handsome man grinned and mussed Alexander’s hair again, as if touching him was important, “ and I hope you’ll believe me when I say I owe you for saving Al’s little a---- ,, little skinny butt this morning. When Alexander’s dad sent me the code, I figured the worst, either one of us got nabbed or the whole caper was up. I hauled… myself over to the house, and the three of them filled me in for about an hour. Your mom and sister are worried about you, dude,” he frowned at Alexander. “Most people who take on an INSEC team come out second best, Al. It was pretty brave for you to go up there, but was it smart?” A “hmmmph!” from Bitsy encouraged Stash to go on. Did you think you could handle that Oka goon and his henchmen by yourself? Hmmm?” Alexander shrugged. Stash couldn’t bear it, he grabbed Alexander and hugged him, letting his relief show, and his remaining concern. Alexander wasn’t as embarrassed by Stash’s affection as he would have predicted. It was good to have people on your side, he was learning, especially when Innovative Ideas left you high and dry. He hugged Stash back, stepped back and looked up. “Stash, I don’t want to worry you for no reason, or Dad or Mom or Lexi or….. my friends.” He turned to Bitsy, nodding. “And I know now how lucky I am to have people like you looking out for me. But they trapped Noyes; they bagged him and sent him off, just because it made them look good. And they used Kerry, though he’s too dumb to know it, and they’re trying to mess with Bitsy’s family, and if I keep my head down and look the other way, where does it end? For all I know, they’ve got us anyway. They said they’d be downtown in a couple of hours to report us….” “And that’s why we’re here,” Stash broke in, glancing at his own wrist unit for the time. “ I want to hear everything, but it’ll have to wait until the work’s done. If you two will trust me, I think I can steer us through this. Miss Bruce? “ Bitsy took a breath. “Call me Bitsy, Stash,” she said finally. “What do we do?”
The next half hour was as surprising and unsettling as anything that had happened to Alexander and Bitsy in a week. In ten seconds Stash had them back out in the main lab, warning them not to speak at all, and he sent them scurrying for parts by means of hastily scrawled notes: “ Aisle 11, Drawer 2, bin 14, ex334 bezel face,” and so on. Bitsy and Alexander brought the parts to the table where Stash’s hands were almost a blur. He gutted Bitsy’s old remote in 30 seconds, replaced the locator, code transmitter and clear face, scuffed the clear plastic on the sole of his shoe, and turned to Alexander’s sleek new prototype. Stash frowned as he flexed the cracked band mounts, made of “improved” plastic instead of the metal bezel on Bitsy’s. He finally gave up trying to save it, smashed the wreck with a mallet, went into the back and returned with a new, identical unit. Again he scuffed it slightly, grubbed it up with his fingers, and handed it back. “I can’t fake the serial number on the case, Al, “ he made a face and shrugged, “but they probably won’t bother to check, and if they do, they’ll be……” he grinned and winked at Bitsy, “ calling here for the info.” Bitsy was adjusting the band of her resuscitated wrist remote, staring at it, then at Stash, then back at the apparent absence of any evidence usable by Insec in their quest to discredit her or Alexander. She watched, rapt, as Alexander strapped on his own remote, and they looked at each other, The look that passed between them held until Stash cleared his throat and started putting his tools away. “Ok, agents Bruce and Wozniak, “ he wiped his hands officiously on a shop towel and reached for his windbreaker, “your equipment appears to be in serviceable condition, and next time I hope you’ll take…..” Alexander’s PEW went off in his bag, a faux-musical signal that meant a message from the Ministry. Bitsy’s went off a moment later, and they held up the screens, entering their agent codes, and read: “ Code Mauve, Code Mauve, your presence is required in UnderSec. Leer’s office immediately. Suspend all duty functions and make your way to Ministry Headquarters using all due haste. Acknowledge with compliance code. Do Not attempt to calibrate or alter your Pew or wrist unit in any way. Do not make any personal transmissions at this time. Proceed directly to Headquarters; your location will be monitored as soon as you acknowledge this transmission. Out.”
Alexander gulped.He returned his Pew to his bag and met Bitsy’s look. She was plenty scared, but she stuck out her chin and winked at him. That felt much better. They both looked at Stash. “What now, Stash?” Alexander attempted an off hand manner, but his voice shook a little. Stash looked from Alexander to Bitsy and back to Alexander, shaking his head. Amazing. These two kids, both still child-size, were in it up to their necks, but they were both still players, even knowing the stakes. He grinned, putting a strong hand on each one’s shoulder. “Let’s get you back on the street so you can acknowledge their stupid message, “ he said. “I’ll tell you the rest on the way.”
Half an hour later Alexander and Bitsy stepped off the elevator in the Ministry building on Leer’s floor. The receptionist wasn’t at her desk, so they knocked on Leer’s office door. No answer. They exchanged puzzled looks, knocked again, no answer. Not a sound came from behind Undersecretary Leer’s door. They turned at a small sound and saw Naff and LaFlamme standing behind them. Noogle was just pulling the door shut, leaving himself in the hallway, no doubt to stand guard. LaFlamme and Naff stepped forward, smug smiles in place, staring at Alexander and Bitsy like snakes at two mice.
“Just hand ‘em over, remotes and Pews,” Naff said, reaching for Alexander’s bag. Alexander batted his hand away, dropping his bag on the floor behind him and trying to shove Naff away. Bitsy took a vicious swing with her bag, designed to take LaFlamme out, or at least force her to stand back while they dealt with Naff. LaFlamme ducked, turned and stepped between Alexander and Naff. The two Insec agents exchanged a look, and Naff backed off, muttering curses between clenched teeth. LaFlamme turned again to face Alexander and Bitsy, and laughed. Clearly the command of this Insec team had changed hands, whether officially or not. LaFlamme folded her arms and regarded her captives with some amusement. “Ok,” she began, “ I have to hand it to you. You’re feisty, but you don’t know when you’re beaten. Remember what I told you up in the park? Hmmmm?” She waited. Alexander was about to reply when Bitsy grabbed his arm. She mouthed, No talking, and he understood. They waited in silence while LaFlamme and Naff conferred briefly. Naff tried the next tack. “You do,” he said, acknowledge being up in Exemplary Acres this morning between the hours of nine and 11, don’t you? Your instruments may have been out of range, but we have three witnesses who saw you enter the park, and three Insec agents who saw you both deliberately destroy Ministry property. You assaulted Ministry agents, attacked a Ministry Undersecretary’s son…” Alexander snorted. He couldn’t help it. The idea of him attacking Kerry and surviving the experience defied belief. “ So!” Naff seized on this small crack in their composure. “ You deny attacking your classmate Kerry Oka? Do you deny luring him up there to discuss treasonous thoughts and to entrap him? Do you?”
Bitsy planted her tiny sneaker squarely on Alexander’s foot. It wasn’t painful, just a reminder that silence was golden, and sore feet would be the price of folly. Alexander knew she was right. He kept silent, even under Naff’s taunts.
LaFlamme stepped in. “When we download your Pews, “ she said, purring, “We will certainly find the emissions you committed on your way back to town, or we’ll find your downtime and that will be interpreted as guilt. You couldn’t possibly, “ she laughed, “have failed to emit after eating……” she paused for effect, leaning in, lowering her voice, “ tuna fish.” Bitsy grabbed Alexander just before he exploded. It was a clear case of the lady generals marshaling their hot headed troops, and the two young women looked at each other with a hatred that began to reek of respect. Fiercely mouthing Don’t Speak to Alexander, Bitsy spoke for the first time. She said, “ We were summoned Code Mauve by Undersecretary Leer. Where is he? If you sent that Code without authorization, you’re liable to….” The door behind her opened, and Undersecretary Leer was standing there, his hairpiece glistening with hold spray, his hideous tie askew, and with him was a Ministry Tech assistant, a tall, redheaded woman with a rather flushed complexion and smoldering green eyes. She patted Leer’s bony shoulder and smiled sweetly at Naff and LaFlamme. “I’m Tech assistant Desiree Valjean,” she murmured. “I’ll take these two agents’ Pews and wrist units down and read them out. It’ll just be a few minutes. She looked at Alexander and Bitsy, her face rather artfully blank, and they handed over their bags, then their wrist units She sauntered through the door, contriving to radiate more voomph through her lab coat than anyone would have thought possible. Noogle could be heard offering to help her with her burdens out in the hall, and her laugh came back like music. “Undersecretary?” LaFlamme was untouched by Desiree’s spell, but Naff and Leer were both still staring at the door, as if that vision would come back through it any second. “Undersecretary Leer? “ LaFlamme tried again, louder. Leer blinked and seemed to notice her for the first time. He straightened his tie, leaving it a bit off as usual, and collected himself. “Yes, Agent…..” he paused. “LaFlamme.” “Oh, yes, LaFramme.” “LaFlamme, sir” came again through gritted teeth. “ Yes, yes, LaFlamme,” and Leer seemed also to notice the two young agents for the first time. He left his office door closed, motioning them to chairs in the reception area, and began to pace back and forth. His toupee, brilliant under its dressing, looked very much applied in reverse on his head. Tufts were sticking out here and there, and the fringes failed to meet the margins of his own dwindling pelt. He began to count on his dingy, nail-bitten fingers.
“To begin with your misdemeanors,” he bent one forefinger back with the other, for emphasis, “Entering Ministry property under false premises,” he looked at Bitsy, who glared back until he turned to Alexander. ‘Your fellow agent got past the gate attendant by saying that a fellow agent had sent a distress signal from within the park.” He smirked. “Of course you sent no such signal.” Alexander considered this. “Actually, Minister, “ he said thoughtfully, “ I did.” When the tech brings back the results, I bet you’ll see it on B-- Agent Bruce’s log. She was within range—“ “Which brings us to your other… indiscretions, “ Leer interrupted, holding up his fingers again. “ You attempted to entrap Undersecretary Oka’s son by recording his unguarded remarks, remarks provoked by you under supposedly confidential circumstances?” He smiled like a toad wearing a fur coat. “And--- and, “ he went on, waving Alexander to silence as he tried to protest, “ only Agent Naff’s team stopped you from carrying out your plan by turning off your Pew before you could incriminate an innocent young boy from a fine family.” Alexander opened his mouth, only to feel Bitsy’s foot connect with his ankle. He went ahead anyway. “ Undersecretary, I was at Exemplary Acres at Kerry’s invitation. I made no attempt to record his remarks, as you will see when the tech returns my wrist remote.”
“Your wrist remote,” sneered Naff, “is kaput. Remember?” He returned LaFlamme’s warning look. “No, Agent Naff, I don’t think it is, “ Alexander went on. “ When the tech reads my fully functional wrist remote, it will show at least that I sent no record command from it that morning. And it will show the distress signal that I sent just before you….. just before the remote was removed from my wrist by you.”
Leer was getting out of his depth. He cleared his throat and resumed counting. “ And, not least, you assaulted these Insec agents as they performed their duties investigating your behaviors and those of, “ he turned and gloated, “Agent Bruce. Agent Bruce, can you account for your presence in Exemplary Acres this morning, when you had no official business there? If you had been in your own duty sector, you wouldn’t have gotten involved. As it is, you face charges of obstruction and destroying Ministry property, as Agents Naff and LaFlamme are telling me you damaged your own wrist unit to prevent them from retrieving important data pertinent to their investigation.”
Bitsy, very much on the hot seat, accused by three Insec Agents, appeared unfazed. “Undersecretary Leer,” she beamed, taking in Naff and LaFlamme as well, “I can’t imagine what sensitive data these agents could be referring to. My reason for being in Exemplary Acres this morning is no mystery; I was there to meet Agent Wozniak. He had a meeting with Kerry Oka and some friends, and we were to get together afterward to study on the bus back to town. And as for my wrist remote, I assure you it’s not damaged, by me or anybody. It’s old, but recently calibrated, and working just fine.” She continued smiling at Leer and the two sour faces of the Insec agents until Leer broke the silence. “Yes… yes, well, we’ll see about that when the tech returns with the… oh, here she is.”
And with that Desiree breezed through the door and Leer was suddenly standing up straight and tall, holding in his stomach and attempting to appear debonair, or as much as possible with a small dead animal plastered to his scalp. “Miss Valjean!” he boomed, turning away from his two suspects and holding out his hand for her report. She smiled, surrendered the printout, and studiously ignored Alexander and Bitsy while Leer went over the results. He finished reading the page, frowned, adjusted it to a smile, and said, “Miss Valjean, are you certain you examined these devices fully? I assume, ha, ha, that you are qualified to do this level of analysis.” He made a face at Desiree that would have been condescending if he had a willing subject. As it was, Desiree chuckled and replied in her smokiest voice, “ Undersecretary Leer, I supervise the staff who calibrate and repair these devices every day. I might be a little… overqualified, if you ask me.” And she stood staring at Leer as waiting for him to say something quite as stupid as that again.
He looked again at the single page report for each device. “Hmm, seems to be in order, calibration within tolerances, distress signal sent approximately 10:45 am, received by Agent Bruce app. 10:47, no discernable damage to any equipment, short period of…”
“What!” Agent Naff exploded, getting up and trying to take the report from Leer’s hand. Leer held onto the pages, glaring at Naff until he realized things were not going well. Naff let go of the paper and tried again. “Undersecretary Leer, we all saw these agents damage their wrist units with our own eyes! And refusing to cooperate with us is itself a punishable offense! They also turned off their equipment to conceal emissions offenses, and we have civilian witnesses who will…. “ He stopped. He was staring at something Desiree was still holding, carefully, as if it might become important at some future time. It was a rather thicker sheaf of papers, unbound, clipped into two sections. Desiree was smiling at him, smiling at Leer, smiling at LaFlamme, smiling enough to warm up the room. She said, “I took an extra minute to print out the voice records and recent activity of the two Pews. It doesn’t seem to be anything vital, just, you know, routine stuff.” Naff and LaFlamme couldn’t take their eyes off the prize Desiree was holding rather closely to her chest. Leer was also staring, over the papers at Senior Technician Valjean’s top button. He eventually tore his eyes away from her, turned to Naff and LaFlamme, and said, “Would you agents like to see the voice records entered as evidence against Bruce and Wozniak?” Their eyes widened. They looked at each other. Eventually Naff managed to say, “ We don’t think that will be necessary, Undersecretary…. We feel the evidence of our eyewitnesses is enough to indict…”
“Of what?” Leer interrupted. Their wrist units are undamaged, their pews indicate no tampering other than a few minutes’ downtime for Agent Wozniak, and no emission offenses have, apparently, occurred. Other than Agent Bruce’s suspicious presence in that sector…. Is there in fact any evidence of what you allege to have witnessed?”
Naff and LaFlamme squirmed, looked at each other, looked daggers and Bitsy and Alexander, but they both wound up staring at the voice record printouts held so fetchingly by Senior Tech Valjean, and they knew they had nothing. Alexander’s Pew had been powered down while they alleged he was trying to entrap Kerry, the broken wrist units were miraculously repaired (though they had a pretty good idea who might have done that, and would have a score to settle with Stash if they got the chance), and Alexander had somehow gotten back to town, done his duty shift, and appeared here in the Ministry office without emitting, even after enough HOOK to inflate a zeppelin. Nothing. Leer got tired of waiting for them to produce the evidence he needed to discipline his two young POOP agents. He said, “ Agents Naff and LaFlamme, in the absence of any data to support your allegations, I’m letting these two POOP agents off this time, with a warning: if any question arises at any time in the future about your behavior or performance of duty, a written warning in your file will activate a DEAL ( Disciplinary …………………………) and you will be sent to Corrective Training without a hearing. Do you understand? For the next six months you both will be this close “ , he held up a finger and thumb , “ to automatic Time Out. At my discretion.” He watched with satisfaction as Alexander’s and Bitsy’s faces fell. Any trumped up offense would do. If the Insec team could make any little thing stick in the next six months, and clearly they were going to try, they would have won after all. Bitsy looked at the printouts Desiree was still holding. She asked, “Miss Valjean, have you erased the memories of our Pews?” Desiree smiled, but not too brightly. She replied, “ No, actually, I expect you’ll both have to file your weekly reports from that data, so I left the memories intact. Is there a problem?” The two women looked at each other, the younger one sending massive amounts of code through her blue eyes and careful smile, the older one sending all the data her lovely face and green eyes could hold. Alexander got it, too, and he stood up, feeling strangely brave after being poisoned, punched, interrogated, slandered and put on probation. “Undersecretary Leer,” he said, “if you and the Insec team have no further questions, Agent Bruce and I would like to go and file our duty reports. Unless there is any other charge we need to answer?” he looked at Leer, careful not to sound cheeky. After a brief pause, Leer cleared his throat and said, “No, I suppose we’re done here. You and Agent Bruce should go and…. File your reports. I’d like a word with Agents Naff and LaFlamme in my office. Miss Valjean, thank you very much, you may go.” Desiree handed over the Pews, and held the door for Alexander and Bitsy as they scuttled as quickly as dignity would permit out of Leer’s office and into the hall. Holding a finger to her lips, Desiree punched the elevator button, and once inside, she grinned and mussed Alexander’s hair—just a little. Bitsy felt a twinge of jealousy, Alexander blushed beet red. “You agents have had a pretty exciting day, I think. I’ll report to my supervisor immediately about the outcome of your meeting. You two had better get home before something else happens.” She grinned again as the elevator stopped at street level, and they got off, bustling down Pollep St. to the bus stop.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Potholes and Banana Peels

Lynne Hasuly

It happened. I slipped.
That besetting sin snuck into my being and
put the banana peel on my path.
I fell. It hurt.
The pothole I fell into was dark and damp.
I could feel the chill of darkness creep into my bones
and bring with it that familiar ache.
I should have known better than to play with the images;
should have known that the end would be smelling of death.
My old fascination with potholes and b-skins had
conspired with evil to bring me down low...
and actually watch the old pictures of grim windows
show me what evil would have me become.
Now I have to get myself out of my pothole.
My digging in mire has brought me to naught
but regret and a fog-walking
into the realm that I have known for so long.
I finally remember the call of the savior to
seek and to save that what was lost,
and cast my sins into the sea of the forgotten
as an outpouring of love and His grace.
"Jesus! I need you to touch me and heal me; for you
are the One whom my heart longs to reach.
Just the hem of your garment brought healing to one...
but You are near me, and speaking of grace.
My Lord and my savior,
Be near me today.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

More Like Trevor

At the sound of the garage door opening, Helen startled and looked up from her book. 5:30 already? The chicken she’d defrosted to cook for supper sat on the counter, still encased in its plastic and Styrofoam packaging. Jim would get all grumpy when he realized dinner was still an hour away. Sighing, she stuck the receipt she was using as a bookmark between pages 213 and 214, then set her book down on top of her Bible—a book she hadn’t gotten around to looking at today. Guilt niggled vaguely at the fringe of her psyche, but she gave it a mental shrug off. At least the novel she was reading was a Christian novel. She’d read the Bible tomorrow. There was always tomorrow.

By the time Jim came shuffling in through the door from the garage, looking as he always did after a day at the shop—greasy, sweaty, and perpetually navy blue in the way of wardrobe—Helen had managed to extract the chicken from its package and scatter enough ingredients and cooking implements on the kitchen island to make it look as if she’d started cooking more than fifteen seconds ago. One by one she dipped the breast pieces into buttermilk, then breadcrumbs.

Jim draped his coat over a chair rather than the coat rack. “Hi honey.”

“Hi.” She braced herself as he approached and remained facing the counter, not taking her eyes off the chicken. “How was your day?”

“Not bad. Pretty slow.” He placed his hands on her hips and jutted his stubbly chin over her shoulder. “Mm. Fried chicken?”

As he craned around her, aiming his lips at hers, she stiffened, then tolerated the kiss, offering a mouth as cold and uninviting as a statue’s and pulling away after the faintest contact. His breath betrayed what he’d had for lunch—something with onions and garlic. Helen’s thoughts turned to Trevor, whose breath carried with it a consistently pleasant hint of cinnamon tic tacs. Maybe if Jim were more like Trevor, she’d want to kiss him when he came home.

Jim moved to the sink and scrubbed his grease-stained hands. Helen watched him from the corner of her eye. Same old T-shirt. Same old workpants and boots. She couldn’t help comparing him again to Trevor, always so neat and stylish. Today Trevor had worn a red button-up shirt with trendy jeans and sandals. The top few buttons of his shirt has been left undone, revealing deliciously sculpted pecs. Instead of a belly like Jim’s—which reminded Helen of her own in the fifth month of pregnancy—Trevor’s jeans belted around a well-defined abs, kept firm by a daily exercise regimen.

Helen turned on the stove’s front burner and poured oil into the skillet. “Honey, have you thought any more about joining that gym?”

Jim wiped his hands on a towel and shook his head. “No. I wish you’d get off that. I don’t have time, I don’t have money, and I’m really not interested in going there.”

The oil sizzled as Helen dropped the first piece of chicken in. She pressed her lips together. No sense in talking anymore. He’d only get defensive. And he obviously didn’t care about being attractive for her. Trevor ran five miles every morning, lifted weights, played baseball with a league, and took karate classes. Jim couldn’t go to the gym a couple times a week?

She waited until she heard the sound of his recliner opening and the evening news clicking on, then relaxed, letting her imagination wander. What would Trevor do if he were here? Not sit slumped in the living room while she did all the work. Probably he’d make one of his fancy salads with cranberries, walnuts, and gorgonzola. Or set the table, lighting candles and pouring wine for the two of them. He’d act silly and make her laugh, telling jokes and entertaining her with stories about his mountain-climbing adventures or his time in the Marines. Or maybe he’d talk about his volunteer work with under-privileged youth. Just thinking about the way he helped that wheelchair-bound boy learn to play basketball made her heart patter.

Why couldn’t Jim help out once in a while? Do something exciting? Say something charming or interesting? Something besides, “Mm. Fried chicken?” or, “Where’s the remote?”

Dinner was quiet for the most part. Jim relayed some stories about the guys at work, but Helen found it hard to keep her attention from wandering. Who cared was Bob Weston’s wife was diagnosed with? Or what Sherman Potter’s son had gotten in trouble for? The monotony of this nightly ritual and the boring conversations depressed her. She longed to look across the table and see Trevor’s sparkling eyes and crooked smile instead of Jim with a chunk of mashed potatoes hanging from his lip. Trevor would talk to her about meaningful things—art, music, spiritual matters. Trevor understood about so many things. He knew when to talk, when to just listen, when to give advice and when to simply offer a tender embrace. She finished her meal quickly and began to clear the table while Jim was still eating.

Getting through the evening was no problem. Helen simply set up camp wherever Jim wasn’t, which wasn’t difficult; his routine rarely varied. He’d do some yard work, take a shower, then watch TV from the comfort of his trusty Lay-z-boy. So Helen busied herself with some of the housework she’d avoided during the day, until she heard Jim turn the TV off. He’d be going to bed.

Now comfortable in her pajamas—the new ones she bought with the money Jim gave her yesterday—she entered the living room. She lowered herself onto the couch just as Jim rose from his chair, as if they were on opposite ends of some invisible seesaw.

He walked over and leaned down to kiss her. “You comin’ up?”

You comin’ up? She knew what the real question was: Can we have sex? Indignance flared up. Why should she give herself to him? What had he done for her? If he were like Trevor, he might have brought home flowers, tried to look good, romanced her…

Jim stood waiting, nothing like Trevor in his boxers and old Rolling Stones t-shirt with the armpit stains.

Forcing a smile, Helen nodded. “Pretty soon. I just want to read for a bit.” Of course she’d drag it out, and by the time she came up, he’d be snoring. Again, a stab of guilt pricked at her. When was the last time they’d been together? Two weeks ago? Three?

Well, there was always tomorrow. Tomorrow night she’d go up with him.

He brushed his hand down the back of her hair. “Okay. Don’t stay up too late.”

The usual sense of relief washed over her when he exited the room. Now she could be alone. She picked up the novel she’d put down earlier, found her place, and began reading:

Trevor sank to his knees. He lifted Sandy’s chin and gazed into her eyes. It seemed as if he could see right into her soul. Her pulse quickened as he leaned toward her, and his cinnamon-scented breath caressed her face…