Forty-Fifth Paradox Writing

“I’m sorry Mr. Death, but Penny Jacobs isn’t in that room anymore.” Her eyes, brimming with innocence, stared back at his empty ones.

“Then who is?” Mr. Death sighed, smoothing his pale hair back. He could feel in his hands where this headed.

The nurse glanced at the open binder on her desk. “Pam Jacobs.  Completely different person Penny’s family says.”

Mr. Death, or Al, as he preferred to be called, rubbed his face wearily. (Angel O. Death tended to give people the wrong impression.) “You’re absolutely sure?”

The nurse twirled a blonde curl in her hand. “Absolutely.”

“Alright.” She half expected him to sigh in defeat, but he almost looked relieved. “You said there was somebody I should see in room 50?”

She flipped through her notebook, sliding her finger down to the appropriate name. “Yep, that’s the one.”

“Thank you.” As Al left, the nurse swore she saw his shadow linger longer than the others.

Waiting until Angel O. Death vanished around the corner, the nurse headed to “Pam” Jacobs room. The nurse sat in the chair next to the hospital bed and whispered “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your husband was right.’

“I think we should’ve turned right three palm trees ago.” The sand rustled along the hooves, and two of the riders tightened the cloths covering their mouths.

“Three, huh.”

“Yeah, three. That one by that mountain.”

“You call that a mountain? That was more like a foothill!”

“Um…I think my cammel needs to pee.”

The others glanced at him, their turbans billowing in the dessert wind. Still, they didn’t stop just yet.

One sighed, the narrow band of gold circling his turban glinting in the moonlight. “I suppose he didn’t need to when we were at that oasis not to long ago.”

“Not at all.” The second answered, scrutinizing his robes of fine scarlet while his skin tried to match their hue.

“Hm, well, we could always try the next one.” The third added optimistically, trying to juggle his star chart and his looking glass.

“I’m sure there won’t be one for another few days. You should’ve checked your camel while you had the chance.”

“I did! I swear, no signs at all of any… potential leakage.”

“You sure we couldn’t just take a break? I’m feeling a little tired myself.”

“We can’t. That camel will be doing its business until the moon wanes at this rate. We’re already late.”

“Oh come on. That child has waited for over a year now, it’s not like he’s still waiting in some manger for our gifts.”

“I don’t know..this myrrh might spoil, or that frankincense. It’s not like gold, you know.”

“Hey Dad?” She bobbed on her heels, the curls in her pigtails bouncing. Her small pink hands grasped onto the corner of his armchair as she leaned towards him.

“Yes Princess? He glanced down through the narrow passage between the newspaper and his face.

“Would you pray for me?”

The newspaper sank a little, crackling slightly as it wrinkled in his hands. “What’s wrong?”

Princess beamed, her curls bouncing a second time. “Oh, nothing’s wrong Daddy.”

“Oh?”

“Mommy says that when two or more people pray, God’s with ‘em.”

“Mm-hm.” One of his eyebrows stretched to the ceiling knowingly. “And what are you praying for?”

“A pony.”

“A pony? But Princess….”

“Would you please pray for me? Pretty please?”

“Of course. But don’t get mad at me if God says to wait.”

Her shirt had already begun to stick to her skin, but she couldn’t wash it today. As she pushed the glass door open with her foot, she wondered if anyone but the employee had bothered to show up. No one had. Sighing softly, she figured it was for the best. She really didn’t want the company anyway.

If only building had air conditioning. Most of the women in her neighborhood did their laundry in the morning, or the evening, when the sun didn’t turn any suspect building into an oven. She couldn’t bear the stares. And so the woman came here alone, even though it made her more thirsty, and the heat sapped her strength.

Thirst. She knew the feeling all too well. It only took her an hour in this heat, surrounded by hot clothes dryers to empty her water bottle. Everyday she emptied her water bottle, and every day she headed into the convenience store to buy a fresh one. Even though the store had better fans than the laundromat, she looked forward to those even less. Better fans meant more people, and more people meant harsher stares.

She would just have to bear up and bear every moment like she did every day. Things wouldn’t get better any time soon, if ever, so she’d have to accept the way things went now. As always, she’d have to settle for anything and anyone, when no one nor nothing would settle for her.

The minutes dragged on, each one making her wish she lived somewhere else, as someone else. As she waited for her clothes to dry, she noticed a man outside. He wore a plaid shirt and ragged jeans, and his hair seemed a bit unkempt. So far, she didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, except for what he carried in his hand. She swallowed, recognizing it as a leather bound book with gold print.

BEEP! The dryer called from across the aisle. She walked toward it, pulling her hot clothes out slowly, hoping the man outside would walk away. He didn’t. Why would he even be here? Bible thumpers didn’t come here, not to laundromats in trashy neighborhoods. They just didn’t. So why him?

She picked up her basket, heading toward the door and slipping out as inconspicuously as she could. Unfortunately, the chime on the door gave her away. Turning quickly, she tried to duck away from his glance. It didn’t work. Thankfully he didn’t follow when she walked away…yet.

The water bottle purchase went through without anything unusual, and it served to get her hopes up.  The sight of him served to dash any hopes she had of avoiding him, and anything he had to say. She walked past him quickly, hoping something would distract him. It didn’t.

“Excuse me, miss.”

She didn’t stop to look, she only slowed her pace.

“Could I have a drink of your water?”

He seemed sincere enough. “Do you even know what I am?” She asked. “If you did, you wouldn’t want to share a drink with me.”

“If you knew who I am, you’d be asking me for a drink.” He replied evenly.

The outrageousness of his statement caught her by surprise.

“But sir, you don’t even have a water bottle…or a wallet for that matter. How do you plan on giving me water?” Her eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you are? Just because you’re a preacher, doesn’t mean your beliefs are better or higher than mine.”

He took the water bottle from her hand studying it casually. “Anyone who  drinks this water will just be thirsty again. Those who drink my water will never thirst again.” Then he handed her bottle back to her. His eyes met hers as he said levelly, “Those who drink my water will gain eternal life.”

It would be nice to not have to buy water every day after leaving the laundromat. She could finally hide from the eyes of the public. And to never thirst again… “Please, give me this water! Then I’ll never be thirsty again, and I won’t have to come here to get water.”

“Go and get your husband.”

The request caught her by surprise. “I don’t have a husband.” He still didn’t understand….

“You’re right; you don’t have a husband.” He smiled slightly, not to be condescending, but to show some sympathy. “Actually, you’ve had a husband, and four boyfriends before. The woman you’re living with right now is your girlfriend.”

Okay, maybe he did know. In fact, he knew more than she felt comfortable with. “So maybe you do know something.” She quirked an eyebrow expectantly as she asked “How can you be sure that you have the only way to heaven? The only right way to worship?” Turning her head to glance around the street, she added. “We’re good people with good intentions. How could God exclude us?”

“Who are you to judge God? You hardly know him.” She could see a sparkle in his eyes, as if he had seen the punchline and she hadn’t. ”Salvation comes through me, and there will come a day when how you worship God won’t matter, except that you do it truthfully and in his Spirit.”

“I know a savior is coming, who’ll explain everything to us.” She folded her uncomfortably, wishing she knew what was so funny.

“I am the Savior.” His grin exploded onto his face.

“You are?” A car blaring its horn a short distance away diverted her attention away. A moment later she turned her head back to the man only to see him gone. The woman only knew of one thing to do. She left her water bottle and her laundry at the laundromat as she walked away.

Soon walking didn’t seem fast enough, and she ran. She pounded her feet against the pavement as she made her way back to her neighborhood. Knocking on doors and making phone calls, she told everyone she could think of what she had seen and heard. Some followed, some didn’t. At first she didn’t know where to lead them, until she spotted it back at the laundromat. The preacher had left his book behind, leaning against the wall on the sidewalk.

She knew exactly what to do now.

It’s not easy being the woman that all my children have come to hate. They may not think it outright, but I can see it in their eyes, and their clenched jaws. I don’t really blame them; I’m part of the reason they’re miserable. My mistake and its consequences have continued to echo throughout mortality, in my children and my children’s children.

I suppose I should just let it go, I can’t do much about it now. That’s the thing about guilt though, it seeps into the cracks of my mind and heart and it doesn’t let go. It still won’t let go of that forbidden fruit I ate, even after it turned to ash in my mouth. Even now, I can still taste it: Death.

I’ll still say, long after my physical end, that it wasn’t completely my fault. I doubt anyone will believe me to be anything but I wasn’t the only one who ate it. God cursed him too, so not all of it comes from me. Sometimes I find it hard to believe I’m cursed for believing a lie, when I knew it wasn’t the truth in the first place.

(After Charles Wright)

Lead me away from nightmares

And lead me away from pipe-dreams

That was over my head at night.

Take me away on the morning tide

And guard me with your angel wings

Against sneaker waves and spastic drivers.

Remember me when you report to Heaven,

Michael, God, and my older other.

Tell them not to worry about the fall I had this morning;

The bruise’ll heal soon anyway.

I suppose I could grow five inches taller. I could shrink two inches thinner. I could even make my hair three shades lighter. Would that make you like me four degrees more?

Or maybe I could climb one more mountain, swim one more ocean, run one more mile. I could write one more song, save one more life, cook one more meal. I could change just once more, would things between us change?

But we both know the secret you’ve never kept, but I’ve refused to believe.

I can change a thousand ways a thousand times, and you’d remain unchanged. All those times before I even tried to earn your love, you loved me. And even past all the times I’ll try to do more, change more, save more, it won’t make you love me more. I think I love that, and hopefully I won’t try to change it.

I am a dreamer,

A believer

A thinker

A dancer

A writer

A inker

A blunderer

A liar

A sinner

A server

A mirror of the Savior.

A soft hum lingered near the ceiling. Pastel hues drifted down on sparkling dust from the stained glass windows facing each other. Row after row of pews separated the two sets of windows as if snug in a warm embrace. A lone lectern stood on the stage at the front of the room, bearing a carved cross on its front panel. At the moment the lectern stood alone, empty as most of the room, save one person.

Said person sat one pew back, with his face in his hands. Besides the fans overhead, the room could only hear his soft, relaxed breathing. He didn’t notice the stain glass windows, since other matters seemed much more important at the moment. After a few more moments in seeming silence, he opened his eyes. As he lifted his eyes to the rose-stained rose window at the top of the front wall; the pink rays cascaded down his blond hair like children on a water slide.

A smile bloomed on his face. “I’ll go.”

The door in the back of the small church opened with a soft creak, and a taller figure walked into the sunlit room. His steps echoed off the walls as he made his way down the aisle. A moment passed before he reached the second to front pew, but neither of them noticed. He stopped by the younger man’s side, with his dark hair making the blond hair stand out even more.

“Been in here long?” The man with dark hair asked.

by Christopher Ian Hill

Here I live in the city of abandoned dreams
Where no one thinks positive and only screams

A place where sin is consumed day and night
There is a spiritual battle that I must fight

A place where put-downs echoes from my past
Why can’t I let go, and forgive and move on fast?

I need to break the chain of what’s holding me back
Show no lack of confidence and show no slack

Now, I see the rain and clouds clearing away
The sun peaks through the clouds trying to shine today

The sad sky of gray dissolves out of sight
Letting in the joyful sky of blue shine bright

The sound of celestial music plays in my ear
Giving me hope, the sound of no fear

And what once was an expression of sadness
Now cheerfully changes into the expression of gladness

A place where people once hurt and now hurt no more
The sound of their laughter and bliss galore

My heart and soul now finding warmth and peace
Bitterness, anger, and depression now decrease

And where once was this city of abandoned dreams
Is now a place where dreams fulfilled and sins redeemed