This is Installment Seven of the novel Rose and Justice.   It includes Chapters II.ix and II.x.  It is 4,869 words long.  As installments are posted, links for each will be added under the tab labeled “The Novel” at the top of this page.   Enjoy!

II.ix

Rose Jackson stuck her finger in the icing on the back edge of her birthday cake, then tried to smooth it down so her mother wouldn’t notice the indentation where the missing icing had once been.  Unfortunately, her efforts only seemed to make the situation worse.  She employed the index fingers of both hands and proceeded in pulling away an entire section of icing, leaving the chocolate cake exposed.  The deep brown of the cake looked even darker than it actually was in contrast with the yellow icing.  She crammed the newly-freed icing in her mouth with one hand and tried to fix the problem with the other.  It was not working.

“Rosalind Kate Jackson!  Get away from that!  How many times have I told you to stay away from that cake until your friends get here!  Now, what are your friends going to think when they see a birthday cake with a big old hole in the back end?  Go wash your face and hands, and don’t touch anything!  This entire house will be a sticky mess if you touch one thing between here and the bathroom!”  Marabelle shoo-ed her daughter away and did her best to salvage the confectionary Mickey Mouse.

Rose scooted out of the dining room with her hands held awkwardly up in front of her, a sign to her mother that she would touch nothing until she had washed her hands.  Her face had that same look she always wore, the one that always turned Phillip to mush, and the one Marabelle purposely ignored when she really wanted to discipline her daughter.  It was a look that could soften the hardest heart.  Phillip loved that look almost as much as he loved his daughter.  That is why Marabelle was the disciplinarian when it came to Rose.  In order to do right by her daughter, she had to make certain she didn’t look at her face when she really needed to get a point across.  The problem was that Rose sometimes felt her mother didn’t really see her.  Marabelle loved her daughter every bit as much as Phillip did, but in order to do what needed to be done out of love, she would create a gulf between them that would last for years.

The look was not the typical innocent face every guilty child innately puts on when caught red-handed.  Nor was it the defiant look that children used who didn’t have a mother like Marabelle Jackson.  It was a look of such simple confidence and acknowledgement that it took the person on the receiving end completely off-guard, even if that person had seen it a million times.  It was a look that said, “I’m listening.  I know I did wrong.  Tell me how to do it right, and give me the punishment I deserve; I can take it.”  When the look was combined with Rose’s big round brown eyes, perpetual contented smile, and the funny way she would always cock her head a little to the left as if to hear better, it was downright deadly.  Phillip loved it and was scared by it all at the same time.  He couldn’t imagine any 13-year old boy being able to resist it.

Rose entered the bathroom and stepped up on the stool she used to be able to reach the sink.  She briefly wondered how she would be able to turn on the water without touching anything.  She thought the conundrum through, then leaned forward and squeezed the cold water knob between her wrists, trying to turn it by moving her arms in opposite directions.  Someone much bigger than her had obviously used the faucet last because the knob was turned tightly off and wouldn’t budge.  She tried it a few times with no success until she heard her father’s voice behind her.

“Whatcha’ doin’, my little Rose?”

“Tryin’ to turn on the water so I can wash my hands.”

“Why are you doing it that way?”

“Because Mama said I wasn’t to touch nothing until I washed my hands.”

Phillip bit his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing, then said, “Anything.  I wasn’t to touch anything.”

Rose turned around.  “Why?  Did you stick your finger in the icing, too?”

Phillip burst out laughing.  “No, I didn’t stick my finger in the icing.”  He turned the water on.  “But, it certainly looks like you did, little Miss Sticky Hands.”  He leaned over his daughter and washed her hands the way he had taught her how, by soaping up his own hands and rubbing them on Rose’s.  They usually ended up doing more giggling than washing, but the job would essentially get done.  When they were finished rinsing, Phillip grabbed the towel and dried Rose’s hands, finger by finger.

“This is the finger you never point.  This is the finger you get in trouble for.  This is the finger somebody will put a ring on, one day way off in the future.  This is the baby finger, to remind you that you will always be daddy’s baby.  And this is your thumb, . . .”

Rose interrupted.  “The finger that’s not a finger, it’s your thumb!”

“That’s right, my little smart girl.  Are you ready for your party?”

Rose smiled.  “Yes. I been ready for the party all week!”

“I’ve been ready for the party all week.”

“You, too?  It’s gonna’ be lots of fun!”

“You are something else, you know that, girl?  Come here and give daddy a hug.  You’ll never get too old to give your daddy a hug, no matter how many birthdays you have.”  Rose squeezed her father’s neck and held on for a long moment, like she always did, which made Phillip’s heart grow bigger every time.  Phillip stood up straight, lifting Rose up in his arms as he did so.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Will I ever have too many birthdays for you to pick me up?”

“You most definitely will.  But then you’ll be picking up your own little ones, so you won’t miss it so much.”

Rose thought about this a minute.  “Well, you can pick up my little ones too so you won’t miss it so much either, o.k.?”

Phillip grinned broadly.  “There’s nothing I’d love better, baby.  But, that’s a long way off.  I’ve still got a few more years of picking you up, Rosebud.  You haven’t blossomed yet.”

“It could happen soon though,” Rose spoke seriously, like a pint-sized CEO discussing a merger.  “I’m five, you know.”

Phillip gave a feigned start of surprise.  “Five?  When did you turn five?”

“At 7:35 this morning.”

Phillip walked down the hall, tickling the love he carried in his arms.  “That’s right.  At 7:35 this morning.  Not 7:32.  Not 7:33.”

“Not 7:34!”  Rose interjected, then they said it together, “7:35, on the dot!”

As they entered the living room, Phillip prayed he could be there for the next 50 birthday parties Rose would have.

II.x

            Chris Columbus stared across his desk at the two beings.  Malcolm was well known to him, and just about everyone else in this place.  He was a troublemaker and due to be sent back any day now.  In fact, when the two had first entered his office, Chris thought for certain that it was Malcolm’s time.  He had begun to smile at the prospect of sending Malcolm back to learn the lessons he still so desperately needed to learn.  As the official registrar of return trips at the return tunnel, Chris had seen all kinds of Beings return for many reasons, both voluntary and involuntary, and he knew Malcolm was destined for a few more earth sessions.  It wasn’t that he didn’t like Malcolm; everyone settled eternally in this place was accepting of everyone else.  He just knew that Malcolm would be ever so much more enjoyable after he learned a few more lessons.

But it was the other being who was requesting a return — a being still not even fully awakened.  Chris shook his head in frustrated hesitation.  “I must tell you that there are great risks in returning before you have fully awakened.  In fact, it could be downright disastrous.  I’m not sure I want that on my record.”

Romeo leaned forward.  “Look, all I know is that I have a true love and I have spent several miserable and futile incarnations looking for her.  In fact, I have been looking for almost 400 earth-years.  She is on the earth-plane now, and I must get there.  Do you want me to wait another 400 years?”

Chris paused, then settled forward.  “No, but that’s not my call anyway.  This is completely your decision.  I just have to make certain that I have informed you of the problem you could, and most likely will, encounter along the way.”

“Well, what are they?”

Chris let out a big rush of air.  “Well, when you return before you have completely awakened, you are almost certain to regress in your journey.  In other words, you will have to relearn lessons you have already learned.  You will not be as advanced in the understanding of the Light as you are now.  In fact,” Chris leaned further over the desk, “you might be downright ignorant.”

Romeo glanced at Malcolm, then turned back to Chris.  “Love conquers all, right?  I’ll take that chance.  What else?”

“Well,” Chris continued, “you are increasing the chance considerably that you will be born into a family you do not know.  Ideally, returners are placed with those whom they have known in a former incarnation.  Any rush job carries a great possibility that you will be placed with people you have never known before; in fact, you might be placed with beings who are on their first go-around, and that can be very scary.”

Romeo thought this over for a minute, then had an inspiration.  “Are you the one who registered Juliet’s return?”

Chris paused.  “I’m really not at liberty to discuss anyone’s return trip with you.  It’s against our most basic rule — the rule not to interfere with destiny.”

“But,” Romeo became excited, “if you know, you can tell me how to reach her.  Don’t you see?  You are the one who can take me back to my true love.  Doesn’t that mean anything to you?  Malcolm says that true loves are destined to meet again.  If that’s so, then won’t you be fulfilling our destiny to bring us back together?”

“It’s not quite that simple.  You see, your destiny is to learn all the lessons you need to learn on the way to getting back to each other.  Yes, you will eventually be together, but if I were to rush or hinder that in any way, then I would be playing with your destiny.  That would get ME sent back, and I can tell you right now, I’m not going there again.”  In his complete commitment to not interfere with destiny, Chris would not tell Romeo about the alchemist, though he was fully aware of the powers to be tapped in the Mystic Wood.

Malcolm was getting impatient with this runaround.  It was part of his plan for Romeo to get sent back as soon as possible, before Hal even knew he was Here.   He had to interject.  “Look, the boy is obviously desperate.  Just send him back.  Anywhere, it doesn’t matter.”

“The east,” Romeo jumped in.  “It must be the east.”

“The east?”  Chris smiled.  “My dear boy, the east is eternal, as is the west.  No matter how far east you get, you can still go east.  What exactly is that supposed to mean to me?”

Romeo thought.  “Well, where did you send Juliet?  Can’t you even give me that much?  Can’t you just put me close to her?”

“You do not yet understand the power of those who are fully awakened.  I am able to completely clear from my mind any information that might break a rule of the Light.  Do I know where Juliet was sent?  Of course.  But since I am determined to not interfere with destiny, then my mind will completely block that information from my consciousness.  So, although I know the information, I am completely incapable of sharing it with you because of the decisions I have made.  Do you understand?”

“Not really,” Romeo looked confused.

“It merely means,” Malcolm said, “that he chooses not to help you.  So, I guess it’s up to me.”

Chris gave Malcolm a look of warning.  “Be careful.  You’re not exactly secure in your position here, Malcolm.”

Malcolm shot Chris a go-to-hell look, even though they both knew it didn’t exist.  “She said the east.  So, if it were me, I would go as far east as I could.  There is a place on earth known as the Far East.  That is where I would go.  I believe the most influential city in that Far East land is Tokyo; that would be my choice.”  Malcolm spoke decisively and smugly.

Chris looked at Malcolm incredulously.  With the infinite wisdom of the Light within him, Chris knew good and well that Malcolm was misleading Romeo.  Although  leading Romeo directly to Juliet would be messing with destiny, deliberately misleading him was impairing destiny to the same degree, not to mention the added feature of an impure motivation.  Chris knew he was looking at a being who wasn’t long for the Light world when he looked at Malcolm.  He hoped he was given the assignment of sending him back; he would send him to Antarctica.

Chris interfered only as far as he felt he could.  “You seem to forget, Malcolm, that in requesting a voluntary return trip, he has no choice.  He is placing himself at the mercy and whim of universal flow.”

Malcolm leaned across the desk conspiratorially.  “And we all know that you can pick any place you wish.  It’s really not all that random, is it, Chris?”  Malcolm practically winked.

Chris cleared his throat.  “I have some input into the process.  But,” he hurried to add, “it is very limited.”

“O.k., then.” Romeo said.  “You heard the man.  Send me to Tokyo.  Please, sir.”

Chris looked long at the man across the desk, a man so desperate to have his plea answered and yet so completely unaware that it would be the worst thing that could happen to him.   Then he turned to the holographic map of the universe behind him, touched an area of the hologram, and brought Japan zooming into view.

Hal was lounging in the pool and thinking about Juliet.  He could see her anytime he wished, but tried not to be obsessive about it.  He knew that she had incarnated as Rosalind Kate Jackson and that she was happy in a contented but incomplete way.  She was a happy child in a loving family and did not yet feel the need for romantic love.  Yet he also knew that a being searching for a true love would feel the emptiness and hunger from a very early age.  He wished she could find that fulfillment, but knowing that she was given love and cared for eased his mind somewhat.

Hal had checked into D.C.’s life every so often, but the last time he checked, D.C. was a robust, albeit miserable 45-year-old man with twins in college.  He knew it would take several earth-years for D.C. to end that incarnation, and then several Light-beats for him to fully awaken as Romeo.  He had calculated that Rosalind would be about 32 when Romeo was ready to return.  It was a stretch, but true love would not let a few measly earth-decades stand in the way.  His work would not be needed for awhile and, thus, he floated in the pool.

A cherubim buzzed by.  Light-bugs, nothing but light-bugs, Hal thought.  Cherubims were not nearly as angelic as most earth-beings believed.  The fact that they knew about them at all was a huge mistake.  Many, many Light-years before, an Earth-bound agent had sent a fully-realized being back without having received a request for the return.  The trip should have been impossible, but a loophole caused the agent’s misprinted request to be processed, and that’s how Moses came to be floating in some bulrushes.  The loophole was sewn up by the Light immediately, but Moses was already there.  The Light makes no mistakes, so many pondered the notion that the Light had purposely designed the loophole.  It was the only possible explanation.  Yet many still saw it as a huge mistake.  Moses was so enlightened that he began to get bored with the earth-beings’ seemingly infinite ignorance.  So, he started making up rules just to make things interesting.  He decided that most of the blind people he naturally became the leader of didn’t even deserve to live, so he started coming up with reasons to have them all put to death.  If they touched the skin of a dead pig, put’em to death.  If they talked back to their parents, put’em to death.  If they worked on Sunday, put’em to death.  If they slept with someone of the same sex, put’em to death.  Basically, anyone who breathed needed to go back and start all over again according to Moses.  When the people asked who had given these laws, Moses created a being called God and blamed him.  When they asked who God was, Moses made up a story about a Master Creator who put these two people in a garden only to kick them out when they ate the fruit He had given them.  Moses knew that the Light had always been and always would be and that human life was just the incarnation of undeveloped Light working towards complete illumination.  But he was so pissed about being sent back, that he decided to throw a wrench in the works.

Those who had bothered to ask the Light knew that these “setbacks” were necessary to the learning process of the incarnate.  Humans had forgotten their spiritual purpose in the overwhelming physical task of evolving.  It was a “mistake” that had been made for a reason.  Moses wasn’t a rebel; he was simply fulfilling his purpose, just as every other incarnated being had done down through time.  The Light sent other messengers to lead the way after Moses:  Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed, Galileo, Thomas Jefferson, Gandhi, Martin Luther King — they were all teachers, depending upon who cared to be their students.  Incarnated beings were moving back to the Light, although it sometimes seemed rather slow work.

So, at any rate, Moses had started the talk of the Cherubims and Seraphims, Light attendants whose presence was not meant to be known to the incarnate ones.  Those on earth believed them to be angels.  They were; but they were worker-bee angels, and for the most part, they were quite irritating unless they were actually working on a task.

This particular cherubim buzzed near Hal’s ear.  Hal swatted at it.  “Buzz off, cherry.”

“I have news,” the insistent cherubim buzz-whispered.

“What?  Hitler’s dead?  Old news.  He’s already been sent back as an amoeba, a giant leap up for him, if I do say so myself.  Synchronizing the energy of a single cell is about all he’s capable of at this point in his evolution.”

“Romeo’s here.”  The cherubim buzzed off, disappearing into the Light as quickly as he had come.

“Hey!”  Hal stood up in the pool.  “Hey, you little buzzard, get back here!  What did you say?  Where is he?  Get back here now!”

Hal had dance-walked as fast as he could to the Return Tunnel Registrar.  He burst into Christopher Columbus’ office with an impatience rarely seen up here.  If he had been on Earth, he would have been breathing heavily and possibly even wheezing, but here the only physical sign of his exertion was his wide eyes.

“Romeo.  Have you seen him?  Has he been here?”

“Whoa, Hal!  Don’t be so demanding.  You’re acting like a regular archangel.”

“Christopher, I’m not in the mood for jokes.  This is serious.  Have you seen Romeo?”

Chris pondered the intensity of Hal’s eyes, thought for a millisecond and then decided it was best if he responded forthrightly.  “He was here recently. . . with Malcolm.  He requested an immediate return, even before fully awakening.”

“Has he gone yet?”

“No.  I’m working on the details now, but there seems to be some kind of population control movement going on in Tokyo.”

“Tokyo?  He’s not supposed to go to Tokyo!  He’s supposed to go to Georgia!”  Hal experienced the closest thing to frustration that an enlightened being could feel — a slight twitch in his left eyelid, a rare remembrance of a limiting body.  If he had not been so focused on the issue of Romeo’s return, he would have recognized his need to control the situation.  Control was a strictly incarnate need.  It was also the birthplace of frustration.  Since light-beings knew that controlling another’s actions or behaviors was strictly against the Light, they also knew that any attempt to do so would only result in extreme frustration, the ultimate sign of being outside the law of the Light.  “Where is he now?  Which way did they go?”

“Hal, you know the rules about messing with destiny.  Surely, you don’t want to risk a return trip after all this time.”

“That was the plan, Chris.  I was supposed to guide him back to her all along.  And Malcolm . . . Malcolm!  Ooh, he almost makes me human in the way I feel about him!  He knew exactly where Juliet was going.  I can’t believe he would deliberately mislead Romeo, and I will definitely bring this up to the council.  But, I can’t waste time fuming.  Do you know where they are?”

“All I know is that they were heading in the direction of the forum when they left here.”  Christopher started to say something else, but Hal had rushed out as soon as he heard the word forum.

The forum was always the most well lit place in the eternal Here.  So many beings were gathered there at any given time that the radiance of their internal light would have been blinding to a human.  To Hal it was only a glow that kept him from seeing the other beings clearly.  The idea was that wherever the Light is strongest, the need to see other beings should naturally diminish; when there was Light, who should want to see anything else?  But Hal did.  He tried to focus as best he could on the beings gathered in the forum, but could only see general shapes.  Just as he was about to succumb to a human emotion — desperation — he remembered to close his eyes and focus on the vibrations.  Each being gives off certain vibrations, whether human or a member of the Light world.  Hal became still and centered his thoughts on Malcolm’s vibrations.  His were lower than most — a sure sign of his imminent return.

It didn’t take Hal long to feel Malcolm’s presence.  He was on the steps at the far end of the pool.  Hal dance-walked there as fast as he could.  It seemed to take forever to him, but in earth-time it would have only been a few milliseconds.

“Malcolm!  Where is Romeo?”

“Relax, Hal.  I don’t know.  Who do I look like?  Mercutio?”  Malcolm turned back to the Fountain of Liquid Refreshment.

Hal flipped Malcolm around as if he had grabbed his shoulder.  He hadn’t, of course.  He had merely thought it and it became so.

“Hal!  How dare you!  And you think I’m going to be sent back.  You know how the Light feels about the appearance of physical violence.”

“Malcolm, I’d just love to have a long discussion with you about the Light and return trips, but I have something else in my consciousness right now.  Take me to Romeo or prepare to hear from the council.”

“O.k., o.k., hold your unicorns.  The last time I saw Romeo, he was in the pool trying to swim himself into an awake state.”

“Your willingness to cooperate has been overwhelming,” Hal said and then winced inside.  Malcolm’s sarcasm was rubbing off on him.  He must remember to put distance between himself and Malcolm when this situation was over.  “I’ll deal with you later.”

Hal dance-walked to the pool and found Romeo swimming laps.  Most water-play here looked like synchronized swimming — even more so since Esther Williams arrived — but Romeo’s flailing was more akin to a Labrador puppy chasing a floating stick for the first time.  Hal leapt into the pool.  The earth-effect would have been a slow-motion splash, yet in earth-time he was by Romeo’s side in speed immeasurable by human instruments.

“Romeo.  Romeo, listen to me.”

“Who are you?”  Romeo continued to flail.  “I’m busy.  Can’t you see?”

“It’s about Juliet.”

Romeo stopped abruptly and faced Hal upright in the pool.  There was no bottom.  The pool was infinite, yet no being had to even tread water to remain in one position.  “What about Juliet?  You know something about Juliet?  Who are you?”

“I was Juliet’s guide when she was last here.  We discussed your situation thoroughly, and plans were made.  Malcolm has misdirected you.  I know where you are supposed to go to meet Juliet.”

“Not . . . Tokyo?”

“Oh, for Light’s sake, no.  Come with me.  We’ve got a lot to do and not much time in which to do it.”

“From the gray-speckled boulder, 12 paces along the path, 90 degree right turn and six paces to the patch of clary sage, turn three complete circles, look directly over left shoulder and walk seven paces toward the first mountain laurel bush you see, left turn four paces, right turn three, bend down between the two large elderberry trees and wait.”

Romeo watched quizzically as Hal stared at the mossy ground.  He had returned to the earth plane several times, always at the mercy of the registrar.  He had never heard anything of this alchemist person and sure didn’t know what part of the Eternal Here this boggy quarter could be.  He was about to suggest a return to the forum pool so he could continue to awaken when the door opened.

Bernard Oxley Millwright IV emerged from his moss-roofed home.  “You again?”

“Me again.”  Hal replied.  “We . . .”  He looked up at Romeo who was dumbfounded at the miniature person before him.   “We need to see the alchemist.”

Bernard Oxley Millwright IV stared closely at Romeo, investigated him in a way he had not done with Juliet.   “He’s not even awake.”

“He will be soon enough.  And, well, there are other factors at play here.  Just trust me, we really need to see the alchemist.”  Hal emphasized the word really to impart the level of need.   He knew that remembering the way to the alchemist’s cave was not enough.  If Oxley refused to lend his fairy magic to show the way, then they would simply never find the same hill, let alone the door.

Oxley fluttered his wings and crossed his legs.  He rose to about five feet and hovered.  “Stand up, Hal.  Might as well get off your knees while we discuss this.”  He turned to Romeo.  “What is it you’re trying to do that needs alchemy magic, and why can’t it wait until you wake up?”

Romeo hesitated.  Not being fully awake, he sometimes didn’t think clearly.  “I need to . . . go back . . . and find Juliet.  I have to find Juliet.  I’ve been looking for her lifetime after lifetime.  And now I finally have a chance, but Malcolm led me astray.  I’ve already registered at the return tunnel, but they’re. . . they’re going to send me to the wrong place, half a world away from her.”

“Hmmm.”  Oxley’s wings whirred slightly louder as he moved over to just a few inches from Romeo’s face.   He studied Romeo’s face as if it held a clue of some sort.  “That’s not usually the kind of magic the alchemist does.  It would require a new and unique incantation.”  Oxley flew back a few inches.  “You’re asking for a whole lot of magic, my good man.”

Romeo paused.  He looked Bernard Oxley Millwright IV directly in the eye.  “I’ll take whatever magic I can get.  There’s no way this can be made worse.”

Romeo took the final step down into the alchemist’s great hall and looked around.  He saw the Owl and the books and the tables and the mobiles of the universe.  But there was something else he sensed.  It was an energy.  It was Juliet’s energy.  She had been here, and he could feel it.  A part of her energy was still in this place, like a perfume lingering long after the source has departed.   He closed his eyes and let himself focus on the energy, breathing her in through the very pores of his skin.  When he opened his eyes again, Maria Claricy was standing directly in front of him.

“You can feel her here, can’t you?”  She asked.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Come with me.  There’s no time to lose.”

© Deborah E. Moore – 2011

This is Installment Six of the novel Rose and Justice.   It includes Chapters II.vi, II.vii, and II.viii.  It is 4,146 words long.  As installments are posted, links for each will be added under the tab labeled “The Novel” at the top of this page.   Enjoy!

II.vi

            D.C. looked around at the other parents attending the Alabama graduation ceremonies.  He wondered if they realized how stupid they all looked, grinning with some extreme level of parental pride he had never known.  As soon as he had the thought, he felt guilty.  He knew that a good father would be smiling like he had won the lottery.  And the father of twins should be doubly excited — shouldn’t he?  Three of his five children now had college degrees.  D.C. 3 had finished college and was selling real estate in Birmingham.  Mary Jo had divorced and moved to Florida to escape Sonny’s harassment after she left him.  Clinton was a Navy lifer who sent periodic postcards from exotic, and sometimes not so exotic, ports.  And the twins turned out to be Harvard material after all; they were both graduating summa cum laude and had received full fellowships to Harvard’s Divinity School.  They seemed destined to spend their lives glued to each other.  D.C. wasn’t sure where they had gotten their brains; he was no Einstein and yet he was sure he was smarter than Sandy.  He often thought that there must be something even beyond environment and genetics that plays a part in determining the outcome of a person’s life.

So, instead of pride consuming his thoughts, D.C. sat through the commencement ceremonies wondering whether or not he really had the guts to leave when this was all over.  All five children would be gone and on their own.  Sandy would be devastated, but he couldn’t seem to muster the energy to care about that.  He knew he would either have to leave or die — and he couldn’t decide which sounded more appealing.

He really wished he had been able to care about his life.  The problem was that it had never really seemed like his life.  He had traveled through it like a ghost who is able to observe but never really experience.  At times he would have welcomed pain just to feel something.  Others saw him as a cool, distant, emotionless person; if they only knew how desperately he cried inside for just one emotion, one true understanding of love.  Everyone around him felt like strangers; he had been uncomfortable, even with his own wife and kids, for his entire life.  He was 46 years old and wished he could be 80.  At least then he knew this life wouldn’t have to last much longer.

He had often wondered about the purpose of his life.  He felt there must be one.  Didn’t every life have a purpose, like Reverend Jones at First Baptist always claimed?   Whatever D.C.’s purpose was, he felt it had eluded him since birth, that it was something he had to go in search of, and yet he was tied by circumstance to the place where he had begun.   He had fathered five children; perhaps that was the only purpose he needed.  Maybe one of the kids, one of the twins most likely, would make such an impact on the world that it would make his life worthwhile.  But even that, he thought, would not fulfill him or make his existence meaningful.  He had always felt his purpose was connected to something bigger, bigger than Cullman, or his marriage, or his kids – maybe even bigger than this life.

Sandy elbowed him when the twins’ names were announced and they walked across the stage.  He straightened up and began clapping politely while Sandy cheered wildly beside him.   She embarrassed him.  He smirked and rolled his eyes.  Then he turned to look at his wife.  She had that proud grin of the other parents, the pride he couldn’t feel, the emotion he would never have.  He stopped smirking and allowed her this moment.  It was probably the most loving thing he had ever done for her.

D.C. 3 had driven in from Birmingham for the occasion and joined D.C., Sandy, and the twins for an after-graduation celebration dinner.  Sandy had made reservations at the nicest restaurant Tuscaloosa had to offer, and D.C. about stroked when he saw the menu prices.  As usual, he said nothing and went along for the ride.  The twins continued to wear their caps and gowns.  D.C. thought they looked like overgrown hoot-owls, but again checked himself to allow others a moment they deserved.  For people who actually felt, who actually lived, graduating from college was probably a big deal and they should be allowed to make complete fools out of themselves if they wished.  D.C. had now made allowances for two real things in one day — he wondered what must be happening to him.  Was it middle-aged mellowness that caused him to suddenly accept others’ emotions?  Or was he actually starting to have compassion halfway through his life?

After they had placed their orders, D.C. settled back into his chair and looked around at the crowded dining room.  He could have taken pleasure in overseeing his successful brood, but instead he felt detached and intrusive; he was a stranger invited at the last minute to participate in an intimate family gathering.  He looked briefly at the far corner table that looked so much like his own — mom and dad, proud graduate still in gown (no cap), and appropriately proud siblings — yet he was incapable of seeing the mirror image.  His eyes moved to a middle-aged couple at another table, probably a retired doctor or lawyer and spouse, and momentarily watched them eat silently, nothing left to say after forty years of wedlock.

The third table his eyes moved to held his attention a bit longer.  Two men sat on conjoining sides of a four-sided table with their backs to the window.  A brief glance showed them to be dressed in business attire, talking intently, and a casual observer would see nothing more than two colleagues discussing the latest changes at their company or a businessman and his client ironing out the details on a big-dollar deal.  But D.C. had spent his life as an observer and looked closer than most would.  He began to notice the nuances a quick glance would overlook.  He saw two men looking deeply into each other’s eyes.  He saw gentle smiles and provocative laughter.  He saw one of the men pick up a packet of sugar to sweeten his coffee and the other man gently take it from his hands, slowly rip it open, and pour it into the cup.  The man who had taken the sugar then picked up a spoon and slowly stirred the other man’s coffee.  It was a simple act that had passed unnoticed by the rest of those in the restaurant, but D.C. slowly realized he was watching two people in love.  He was surprised that his redneck, good-old-boy, Alabama upbringing wasn’t sickened at the sight.  On the contrary, he watched the two and recognized love like he had never known it in his own life.  Two men who could be so visibly in love in a public restaurant in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, must really be in love.  Rather than being repulsed, D.C. could not contain the overwhelming sense of jealousy he felt as he watched them.  Something in them made D.C. suddenly aware of the lack of purpose he had always felt.  They had something he would never know, and if he allowed his Alabama to get the best of him, he’d kick the shit out of both of them for that reason alone.

“Daddy.  Daddy, your food’s gettin’ cold.”  D.C. 3 stuffed a half a cow in his mouth and chewed.

“O.k., I’m gettin’ to it.”  D.C. hadn’t even realized the food had been delivered.  He covered that fact like any proud southern man, by acting like he had realized it and was simply acting against the norm for reasons of his own, thank you very much.  He looked down on the well-done New York Strip steak and couldn’t remember ordering it.  He didn’t really even like beef.  But, what did it matter?  He sawed off a chunk and shoved it in his mouth.  He chewed a few times and let his eyes wonder back to the two lovers.  They were laughing about something.  One of them leaned back in his chair and turned his head.  He looked into D.C.’s eyes and held his gaze rather than turn abruptly away as most strangers would have done.  Normally, D.C. would have averted his glance, pretending that he hadn’t really been staring at all.  But his eyes seemed held by the man’s gentle look.  At that precise moment, D.C. realized he was not breathing.

D.C.’s gasps finally caught Sandy’s attention.  She screamed and began shouting for help.  D.C. 3 and the twins all jumped up and then realized they had no idea what to do.  A waitress ran over and helped by shouting, “Call an ambulance!  Oh, god, call an ambulance!”  The retired doctor turned out to be a retired lawyer whose sole focus at this moment was trying to determine if the restaurant could be sued.  The two men ran to D.C.’s side.  The one who had caught his eye pulled him up from his chair and grabbed him from behind.

“Trust me,” the man whispered in D.C.’s ear.  “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

The man wrapped D.C. in a hug from behind and began exerting force with his joined hands.  D.C. was no medical expert, but he knew immediately that the man’s hands were in the wrong position.  He was too high.  The thrusts were hitting D.C. in the sternum, stopping against bone instead of pushing any air up from below the ribcage.  D.C. began struggling to move the man’s hands downward.

The man just whispered again, “Trust me.”

D.C. heard the words ringing in his ear as he passed away from that life.

II.vii

Rosalind Kate Jackson made her grand entrance into the world in the eighth hour of her mother’s labor.   Her father giggled like a schoolgirl as he held her for the first time and ran the tip of his finger gently under her creamy brown chin.  She was lighter than his boys — more like her mother’s coloring — and yet looked somehow more African.  She was a regal queen of the Nile wrapped in a blanket, just waiting to be placed in a basket in the bulrushes or perhaps in a manger.  She was, from the very first breath she took, her father’s savior.  Phillip knew that Rose, as he would always call her, could be nothing other than his most beautiful and precious flower, his place of perfect joy, the justification for all his life had been.  After years of wondering why he had been born, he looked once at Rose and wondered why man was born to die.

He reluctantly left Rose with her mother and drove back across the causeway to check on the boys.  Their grandmother would be almost homicidal after a morning alone with all three boys.  They were decent kids, but they were kids, and mornings in general made them grumpy.  Phillip, Jr. would be twelve in a month, Paris was eight, and Peter had just turned four.  Although Marabelle now had four children, Phillip knew it felt like more to her.  With each child so evenly spaced, the last twelve years of her life had been a continuous cycle of pregnancy, nursing, diapers, the terrible twos, preschool, and then all of it over again.  Phillip did everything he knew to be the kind of man a father and husband should be.  Every Saturday for twelve years had been mom’s day off.  He took the boys marsh fishing, or to a band contest, or employed them in the building of the new deck or the room they had added to the house three years before.  With the difference in the boys’ ages, it was sometimes difficult to keep them all happy for five or six hours.  About the time Phillip, Jr., was beginning to get interested in action movies, Peter and Paris were still best entertained with animated features.  Phillip had trained Phil, as the oldest boy was called, to be a patient and understanding young man.  He was to help watch his brothers and be willing to put aside his own desires for the sake of the younger boys.

“Son, do you think I really want to see yet another Disney movie?”  Phillip had explained to his frustrated son one day not long before Rose was born.  “That’s part of the responsibility of being older.  They don’t understand.  You do.”  Phillip dried an errant tear from his son’s cheek and softened his tone.  “Hey, why don’t I pick you up from school next Friday, and we’ll go spend an hour or two at the pinball machines in the arcade.  Whaddaya’ say?”

Phillip had always been sensitive to his children’s needs and, true to his word, he was there when the school bell rang that Friday afternoon to pick up his number one son.  He knew when to talk gently and he knew when to lay down the law.  He had never spanked his boys; it seemed to him to resemble too closely the beatings his ancestors had received from the whips of their “masters.”  He valued the history of his family’s education and believed that a learned man could do more with words than any brute could do with a whip or fists.  And he believed strongly that the best way to raise responsible young men who would never lift a hand to a woman was to never lift his hand against them.  He smiled every time he looked over his boys’ report cards and noted their superior marks in conduct and citizenship.  To him, those were just as important as the A’s they brought home in science, math, and English.

Phillip walked through the front door of his home and suddenly felt his fatigue wash over him.  He hadn’t even needed to hold it at bay during his sleepless night; he simply hadn’t felt it.  Now his spirit released the hold it had maintained over his body.  He was home, and his inner core, associating this place with peace and relaxation, finally let his body take over.  He was tired, yet it was only 9:00 a.m. and his mother would be wanting to get back to her own home.  The boys would be rested and ready to rumble.  Somehow, Phillip would make it.  He knew he would feel better when he got the boys ready and headed back to the hospital, back to Marabelle and his little bud of a Rose.

Phillip kissed and thanked his mother.  He had to do so with her in motion.  It wasn’t that she was that anxious to end her sole possession of the boys; she was on her way to see her first granddaughter.

“Take your time, Phillip.  Why don’t you take a little nap?  Marabelle needs her rest and anything beyond that I can take care of.  Don’t feel like you have to rush back to the hospital.”  Cynthia Jackson whirled out the door and didn’t wait for an answer.

When she was gone, Phillip was surprised by the emotional response he had — he was jealous.  The first Jackson girl in five generations was certain to be claimed by every living member of the family.  He felt a strong desire to hold her in his arms and tell everyone else to back off — this was his girl.  He tried to stop this thought.  He knew it must be his fatigue talking since he was not prone to such possessiveness.  Yet, he couldn’t quite expunge the feeling completely.

He made the boys change from their jeans to slacks and button-down shirts and gathered all three in the large master bathroom for a small splash of cologne.  They were lined up before the vanity looking confused.  They couldn’t understand the fuss over their appearance, yet somehow, today, they liked it.  Phillip stood behind them straightening shirts, smoothing hair, and “stinking them up,” as Peter called it.  The four Jackson men were face to face in the mirror.

“Now, boys, listen to me. . . Phil, did you use deodorant? . . .o.k., listen up.  You’re going to go meet your little sister for the first time.  She’s just two hours old now.  She’s going to need you boys to look after her.  Your mama’s gonna’ need you, and I’m gonna’ need you.  Girls are different from boys.  They’re . . .well, they’re softer. . . and they cry a little bit more, and . . . well, they’re just different, that’s all.  I know you boys look out for each other, but you’re gonna’ have to look out for your sister in a different way.  You can’t pick on her like you pick on each other.  You have to be sweet to her.  Lord knows, you boys could use a little practice being sweeter.  Who’s to say but what this won’t even make you a little sweeter to each other?  That wouldn’t be so bad.  Anyway, a man’s always a better man when he’s got a woman to look out for.  And good boys are the ones who look out for their sister.  So, I don’t want you treating her like a new stuffed animal you just got for Christmas.  You are to treat her like a china doll, do you understand?  This is our Rose.  This is our baby girl.  God gave you a baby sister to teach you how to be real men.  And God gave Rose three older brothers so she’d have lots of Jackson men looking out for her.  See?  God knows what he’s doing.  Haven’t I told you that?”  Phillip turned his three boys to him and got down on one knee.  “Alright, let me look at you.  Wow, those Jackson men sure are handsome devils.  O.k., now do you boys understand what I’ve been telling you?”

“Yes, sir,” they answered in a chorus, and Phil’s voice cracked for the first time.

Phillip smiled and led his boys out to the car.  He held his eldest son back while the other boys climbed in the back seat.  “Phil, remind me sometime this week that there’s a little talk you and I need to be having.”

As Phillip drove to the hospital, he smiled.  He had always wondered if he could really face that first discussion about birds and bees and the like.  Now that he had a daughter, he could hardly wait to get Phillip, Jr., alone for a nice long chat.

II.viii

            Romeo struggled to awaken.  He knew he was back in the place of no struggle, yet he fought even against the peace to come quickly back to his fullness.  He didn’t yet know why he fought so hard to reach full consciousness, he just knew he must not loiter here.

Everything looked strange and familiar at the same time.  He was standing erect in the airy space, as if he had never actually laid down for this sleep.  He felt nothing except a slight lump in his throat.  He swallowed hard, twice, and felt it clear a little.  There were figures dance-walking in the distance that he thought he might recognize if only he could get a little closer.  He began to walk, and then run, and for the longest time he was getting nowhere fast.  He could feel a sparkling glow come from his eyes, but still felt the choking gall in his throat.  He was beginning to feel the light, sense the light, see the light, but it was only a dim candle beckoning from the distance.

Romeo ran as hard as he could, for days or months or years, he couldn’t tell.  Every time it felt like years, he ran a little faster.  Somehow he knew that now was not the time to tarry.  He was still in the phase of awakening where he seemed to know nothing, yet an intuitive whisper seemed to be urging him on.

The figures slowly moved closer and became more clear.  One moved towards him more quickly than the others, and he thought that being seemed familiar somehow.  He began to call to the figure.  He yelled with what sounded like a guttural groan.  He cleared his throat and yelled again.  He thought that maybe this time it was louder.  He continued to call out, feeling more strength each time, until the figure was suddenly standing clearly before him.

“You don’t have to yell!  I can hear you.”

“Where am I supposed to go?  I know I need to be somewhere, I just don’t know where exactly.  Please help me!”  Romeo pleaded with the figure.

“Calm down, everything in due time.  You still need to awaken fully, although you seem to be making great time with that.  You’ve been here many times before.  You know the protocol, and it will all be clear to you again very soon.”

“Please help me speed this along.  I know you can.  And somehow I know that I need to hurry.  There is no time to waste, but I’m not sure why.”

“You are right.  You must hurry and the reason is love.  Your eternal love is waiting for you back on Earth right now.  You mustn’t dally.  If we can get you fully awakened in a timely manner, we can get you back there and all that is good will be complete in you.”

“Who?  Who is it?”  Romeo pleaded.  “Was my love here?  How can I find that person?  How will I know her or him?”

“You will know her.  She is already incarnate again, and she is female.  She is waiting for you and before you left the last time, plans were made, plans to meet again.”

“Please tell me the plan.  Tell it to me now so that I don’t have to waste time on details when I fully awaken.”

“Well, it was sketchy, but the plan was that you were to meet in the East.”

Romeo paused and felt a new surge of awakening flow through his being.  “The east.  The east is the sunrise, the new light.  It is the east . . . and. . . . she is the sun.”  Romeo grew very excited.  “It is the east, and . . . Juliet is the sun!  Where is she?  Where is Juliet?”

“Calm yourself! If you get too excited, you’ll delay the awakening.  Everything in good time, D.C.”

Romeo looked confused. “D.C.? Who is D.C.?

“That is who you were in your last incarnation.”

“I . . .I don’t remember that at all.”

“You wouldn’t.  It wasn’t very memorable.  In fact, you know very little of the lives you have lived since you last saw Juliet 380 earth-years ago, give or take a few.  They just simply didn’t matter because you never reached your goal.”

“Are you saying that I have spent almost 400 earth-years looking for my true love?”

“Certainly.  And you would spend 400 more years if that was what it would take to find her.  Once you have a true love, you are never complete until you have reached peaceful perfection with that person in the eternal Here.  You will keep searching until you find.  It’s a comforting thought, really, the idea that you will indeed eventually find.  Until then, you just keep looking.”

“How many times have I gone back?”  Romeo was still not yet awake and couldn’t remember anything except that small memory he had of Juliet.

“Oh, gosh, I’ve lost count.  You’ve been all over the Earth.  You looked so hard and for so long that your last life was spent in one place.  You wanted to get out and search for her, but you were just too tired.  Funny, I never would have thought to go there for rest.  That body is so heavy.”

“Listen.  Can you help me?  Is there any way I can speed up this process and get back down there?  I’ve got to get down there.  If I remember the way time passes up here, Juliet has grown up quite a bit just in the time we’ve been talking.”  Romeo’s voice had an edge of desperation to it, a plea just below the surface of the sound that came through louder than his words, especially to someone who was reading his thoughts and paying very little attention to his verbal clamor.

“Well, there is a way.  As you know, there is always a way.  But it’s risky.  I wouldn’t suggest it as a first course of action.”

“I don’t care.  I’ll take the risk.  Just get me back there.”

Malcolm smiled smugly and replied, “O.k.  Follow me.”  Then he led Romeo to the return tunnel to register for a very un-magical return trip with bad odds.

© Deborah E. Moore – 2011