Angel, page 20
Paul sat hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. He felt as though he’d been pummeled repeatedly with a club. Ian was chewing on the nail of his index finger, and his legs bounced.
“I need to go out and have a cigarette,” he said.
“You can’t go out there now,” Paul said. “They’ll see you. Just wait a little longer.”
Ian stood up and took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He pulled one cigarette out and tapped it on the back of the pack, then put it in his mouth. He raised his eyebrows, then reached into his other pocket and produced a lighter.
“You can’t smoke in the building,” Paul said.
“Yeah,” Ian said, flicking the lighter. “Arrest me.” He lit the cigarette, took a long drag, blew out a trail of smoke, then walked over to the back office window, which overlooked the playground.
Paul thought he should say something, but he was too drained to think of what it could be. They waited in silence.
When the votes were all counted, 53 percent were in favor of keeping Paul as minister. He could stay, but it was a Pyrrhic victory. He knew things could never be the same again.
The Backpack and the
Fly-Eating Plant
In summer, Mount Rainier is alive with color; glacier lilies, pink and white heather, red paintbrush, and white anemones compete for the attention of the senses. The naturalist John Muir called Rainier’s Paradise Valley “the most extravagantly beautiful of all the alpine gardens I ever beheld in all my mountain-top wanderings.” Lummi Indian legend has it that this beauty was stolen. Back when mountains were people, Mount Rainier deserted her husband, Mount Baker, and took all the flowers and fruits with her.
Paul needed to cling to Ian for comfort and protection. He was the only other person in the eye of the hurricane with him, and Paul had never felt as connected to a human being. He was sure Ian felt the same way. That night Ian caressed him with so much tenderness that Paul thought he was trying to summon his soul to his skin. In the sanctuary of Ian’s embrace, Paul allowed all of the stress, the worry and shame, to drift away. They fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
Paul woke up alone in the bed. This was unusual. Ian liked to sleep in as late as he could. Paul went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, shaved, and then headed for the kitchen, where he expected to find Ian at the table, sitting in his briefs, eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. Before he could get to the kitchen, though, he spotted Ian sitting, fully clothed, on the futon. He was staring in the direction of the dark television, smoking a cigarette.
“There you are!” Paul grinned broadly, sat down beside Ian, and leaned in to kiss him. Ian turned away. That was when Paul noticed the green backpack laying on the floor. The fly-eating plant, which normally lived on the kitchen windowsill, was sitting on the end table.
“Are you going somewhere?” Paul asked.
Ian took a long drag on his cigarette, then crushed it out in the saucer-ashtray. “This is hard,” he said.
Paul hadn’t seen it coming. He was shocked and dismayed, and yet he understood exactly what was happening. “You’re… leaving?”
Ian nodded. “Yeah.”
“What did I do?”
“It’s not you…. God, don’t you hate that. ‘It’s not you’. I’ve never been the one to do this before. It sucks.”
“It’s not fun for me either,” Paul said.
“Yeah.” Ian grimaced. He gazed for a moment at the fly-eating plant, then turned back to Paul. “You remember you told me everyone gets a second chance? I need one. You heard them last night. I’m never going to be anything but the ‘troubled kid’ here. I’m not that person anymore. I want to start over where no one knows who I used to be.”
“We can do that. We can start over together.”
He shook his head. “You know who I was too.”
“I don’t care about that.”
Ian rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and shook his head again. “You can’t forget,” he said. “You remind me all the time.”
“Give me a chance. I know I get jealous, but I’m working on it.”
“Maybe it’s just that I can’t forget that you saw me that way.” Ian reached out to Paul and ran his fingers through the gray hair at his temples. “You really changed me, you know? When you met me, I never even thought I could wish for what I wanted. I didn’t think it would ever be possible for someone like me. Now I’m wishing for what I want. But I realized I want more than this.”
“What do you want? We can do it together.”
“We can’t. I want to start over. I don’t want to be a charity case or somebody’s dark secret.”
“I’m not ashamed of you.”
“You can’t help it. It’s just the situation. I mean, what were we thinking, you know? You’re a Christian minister. I’ll always be a problem for you.”
Paul started to object, but Ian cut him off.
“You know it’s true. And that’s always going to be a problem for me.”
“I can quit. I can do something else. We can go to Massachusetts like you wanted. Let’s run away and get married.”
Ian smiled, a wistful smile full of all the things he longed for and no longer believed he could have with Paul. “You can’t just quit,” he said. “Being a minister isn’t just a job for you. It’s who you are. I wish I had something like that. That’s why I love you.”
“If you love me, then why? Let me go with you.”
“You’d end up resenting me for it. I’ve done enough damage to your life. If I go now, you can fix things at the church. Just tell them it was all a misunderstanding and you were trying to protect me. They’ll believe it. You can have your old life back.”
“Don’t do this for me. That’s not what I want. I don’t want my old life back.” Tears flowed down Paul’s cheeks. He made no effort to stop them or brush them away. “I was dead inside when you came along. I don’t want to feel that dead again.”
“You brought me back to life too.”
“When did you decide all this?”
“At the meeting.”
“You decided last night, and you’re leaving this morning? You didn’t give me much of a chance.”
“I decided yesterday, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while…. I’m really glad I met you. Sometimes… I think it’s not always supposed to last forever, you know? But it was… well….” His face finished the sentence. It was a positive emotion that he didn’t have the words to describe.
“So last night…. What was that, good-bye?”
“What would you have done if I’d told you then?”
Paul thought about it. “I’d have held you longer,” he said.
“Yeah.”
After a moment, Ian stood up and flung the backpack over his shoulder.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“I thought I’d go west. Maybe see the mountains.”
“Do you have enough money?”
“I’ll get by.”
“Wait,” Paul said. He picked up his wallet from the end table and unfolded it. It contained only thirty-one dollars in cash. He took the money out, folded it in half with his index finger, and handed it to Ian.
“I don’t want your money.”
“Take it. I’ll worry. It’s not a lot. If I knew you were leaving me, I’d have gone to the ATM.”
Ian laughed as he tucked the money into his back pocket; then he sniffled and rubbed his nose.
“Keep my number,” Paul said. “If you change your mind… even… even if you don’t—if you get in trouble, anything. I’ll always be here for you.”
“You’ll be fine, you know,” Ian said as a tear escaped down his cheek. “You’ll meet a beautiful woman. And you’ll put her on a pedestal. Maybe she’ll be able to live up to it.”
Paul leaned into Ian. Ian reached up and wiped the tears from Paul’s face and drew him in for a last, lingering kiss. As it faded, they held onto each other, each trying to memorize the feeling. Paul lowered his head. “Don’t go,” he whispered.
Ian backed away and picked up the fly-eating plant from the end table. He held it up for a moment for Paul to see. Then he turned and walked out the door.
Paul followed him and stood in the doorway, watching him walk to the end of the block, that familiar gait, head high, leading with his hips. Paul tried to memorize his movements. When Ian got to the corner, he turned around. For a moment, Paul thought he had changed his mind, that he would come running back and throw himself into Paul’s arms like a scene from a Hollywood romance. He didn’t. They held a long look. Then Ian waved, turned the corner, and disappeared.
Paul didn’t go into the church that day or the next day. Julie called and left messages on the voice mail, asking where they were, but he didn’t call back. He couldn’t face the questions, the gossip, or the spot in the office where he had sat with Ian just a day before listening to the church members’ meeting. By Thursday, though, he knew he had no choice.
“Where have you been?” Julie asked when she saw him. “I’ve been really worried. Are you okay? Where is Ian?”
“You should put out an ad for a new custodian.”
“Why?”
“Can you send out an all-church e-mail for me?”
“Sure.”
“Tell them that I’m going to make an important announcement on Sunday during the service.”
“What is it?”
“I’d rather tell everybody at once.”
“Paul, did you ask Ian to leave?”
“No,” he said, and he went into his office. He had not even sat down at his desk when Julie knocked on the door. She entered without giving him a chance to tell her to go away.
“What’s going on, Paul?”
Paul pressed his lips together. He wanted to answer without any emotion, but his body couldn’t handle the strain. His voice cracked. “He left. We listened to everything they said at that meeting…. He’s not coming back.”
“Maybe I could try calling him and tell him we want him here.”
“He’s not at the house. He’s gone. He left. I tried to call but he changed his cell phone number or something. I can’t reach him. I don’t know where he is.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
All this time he’d thought he had to hide his love for Ian from her. Now he could see it in her face. She knew and had probably known for a long time. And it was okay. She understood, and she cared. She opened her arms, and he accepted the hug. She held him as long as he needed without letting go.
Sunday
In his 1864 book The Sacred Mountains, a Presbyterian minister named Joel Tyler Headley wrote, “There are some mountains standing on this sphere of ours that seem almost conscious beings, and if they would but speak, and tell what they have seen and felt, the traveler who pauses at their base would tremble with awe and alarm…. Thus do mountain summits stand the silent yet most eloquent historians of heaven and earth… their solitude and far removal from human interruption and the sounds of busy life, render them better fitted for such communications than the plain and the city.”
The church was packed that Sunday. The largest attendance the church had ever seen. Everyone knew about the outcome of the big vote and that Paul would be making a special announcement. It was the greatest drama in their church history, much more interesting than anything on TV. No one wanted to miss whatever was about to happen.
Congratulations, Mike, Paul thought. You got your growth.
Normally before service on Sunday people talked and laughed. The foyer and pavilion were alive with voices. Those who spoke this Sunday did so in hushed tones. Few people greeted Paul when he passed. They were too uncomfortable.
Paul stood in the bathroom in his black robe. He took a long look at himself in the mirror. When he was ready, he ran his hands over the material to straighten out any wrinkles, took a deep breath, and walked down the hall and into the sanctuary. He could feel all eyes upon him.
Paul took his normal seat, and Emily began to play the prelude. There was all of the regular ritual to get through before the much anticipated sermon. The congregation sat through it with impatience. But Paul took his time. He performed the rituals with particular reverence. The reverence of someone who knows he is doing something cherished for the last time.
I would have held you longer….
When, at last, the time came for Paul to deliver his sermon, he stood at the podium without notes. He took a deep breath. There was no sound but the gentle rattle of the air conditioner.
“I won’t be delivering a normal sermon today,” he began. “This congregation has been through a difficult challenge. We’re deeply divided, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I let this division happen. I probably could have put an end to it before it got to the point it did. But sometimes love can blind you. I love this community. I look out and I see adults who grew up here. I remember performing your baptisms. I see husbands and wives, and I remember performing your weddings. I remember the people who are no longer with us, and I remember performing their funerals. I am so grateful to every one of you for sharing so much love with me, for letting me be a part of your lives.”
His throat tightened, and he took another breath and swallowed, trying to get his voice back.
“I want to thank all of you who voted to allow me to stay and serve as your minister. I’m humbled and grateful. And to those of you who voted the other way, I want you to know I have no hard feelings.”
Paul looked down at the podium to the place where his notes would be if he had them. There was a long pause.
“I’ve been blessed to have two loves in my life. I don’t know why God chose to send them to me. But I’m grateful. Each one taught me so much. And one thing I learned is that sometimes….” His throat caught again, and he continued at a higher pitch, “Sometimes when you love something, you have to let it go. As hard as that may be. And I love this church, and this community, too much to stay and see it torn apart.”
Paul cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “That’s why I’m resigning as your minister, effective this Friday. This will be my last service in this church.”
There were sighs and gasps in the congregation. Julie, who was sitting in the front row, was crying. Paul’s own tears started to flow.
“Thank you for the honor of allowing me to serve you for so long and for being such an important part of my life. Now it’s time for this community to heal. Please join me in a silent prayer for healing.”
Mountain
The first summit in the Bible, the first important peak, perhaps in human history, is Mount Ararat. It emerges from the floodwaters of an old world washed away, ready to accept a world reborn.
Paul wasn’t particular when he scanned the job listings on the Internet. He wasn’t seeking ministerial posts or professional jobs. He wanted something else. Something that would take him away from anything he’d done before. He lingered over listings for forest rangers and positions on fishing trawlers. He was waiting for something to jump out at him, a new world and a new life. No experience necessary. In the end, it was one word that got him: mountain.
The ad for a Mount Rainier tour guide promised lodging in a pristine mountain setting. Paul let himself believe it was a direct sign from God. He would go the mountain, and he would find his angel there just waiting to be reunited. But there is a lot of west, and there are a lot of mountains. The reunion was not to be.
Paul took very little with him to Washington. He loaded up his car with his clothing and a few sentimental items, the pictures of Sara, the angel ornament, and Ian’s favorite cereal bowl. The rest of the contents of his condo were sold by an estate agent. (He got about as much money for all of his worldly possessions as he’d originally paid for his big-screen TV.) He drove out of town past the church. As he took one last look at the building that had been at the center of his life for so long, he noticed the contractors on the roof. They were starting to repair the old steeple.
It was a Wednesday afternoon, usually a throwaway of a day. Tours were light in the middle of the week. But the weather this afternoon was ideal. The mountain was out, and the sky that surrounded its peak was an almost cloudless blue. The group was small enough for Paul to engage them each personally, to tell his most directly tailored stories. He could give them lots of time to wander and take photographs to bring home to flat states like Indiana and Kansas for the absent friends they wished were there to share the view.
Paul kept one special photograph in his bus. It hung from the rearview mirror, where it was always in his peripheral vision. As she got out of the bus for her solitary mountain time, a woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties asked him about the picture.
“Is that your son?”
“His name is Ian,” Paul replied.
“He’s handsome. You must be very proud of him.”
“I am,” Paul said. “Very proud.”
As the tourists made their way along the mountain paths, Paul sat at a picnic table quietly taking in the scene. He looked up, as he often did, to Rainier’s awesome peak. It had become his church and his steeple. He thought about the steeple he had left behind, the clean white spire rising above a little church now run by a new minister. Did the new minister joke with Julie over lunch? Did he have to meditate before meetings with Rella? Did he embrace Mike’s vision of growth, or did they clash? Did anyone place flowers by the modest stone in the churchyard that bore the name of Sara Tobit? Steeples, our man-made mountains, were always meant to outlast the people who built them.
