But Now I See

Dusk was falling on the Oklahoma countryside as Leo pedaled home from her shift working at Persephone’s Burger and Pizza Palace. The smell of an unclaimed carry-out order of mushroom caps and Arti toast wafted from her bicycle basket. She would eat the deliciousness outside, sitting atop the western-facing solid wood picnic table, watching a sinking sun as a steady wind whipped across the tall prairie grass.

How quickly these first few weeks in her new home passed. She carried with her a sense of accomplishment. Northeastern State University accepted the community college courses she’d taken at Ronnie’s insistence, without Jake’s knowledge. She was on her way to a degree. Not only had she signed up for a few classes, but she had also secured a volunteer position at the animal shelter. Now, thanks to Judy, she was gainfully employed. Everything she earned would go into the new account she set up, one without Jake’s name attached to it, one he could not touch, or so the attorney she found through a legal aid flier on campus told her. She had an appointment to start the divorce proceedings next week.

She biked steadily, absorbing the waning light. The unincorporated district called Sleepy Hollow, little more than a whistle-stop appeared. Several blocks later, she passed through the drowsy community and was on the other side. One thing Leo appreciated about rural Oklahoma was as quickly as they rose, small towns disappeared. The landscape was all-encompassing, unlike the sprawling suburbs of big cities, where flat stretches of wide asphalt stretched for miles, tying concrete buildings and concrete lives together.

She shifted the bike into first gear and began a steep ascent, breathing in long, deep air draws as her pace slowed. She was not far from home. A house and a patch of land that already felt familiar enfolded and accepted her.

At first, the isolation was more than she could bear. Though just several miles from campus, she initially felt every inch of that distance. She’d never lived alone before. But as she systematically worked her way around the exterior of the roundhouse, brushing the river stone, washing windows, pulling weeds, and then attending to the interior, cleaning each area, a sense of belonging developed. In one of those still pockets, something unexpected happened. She now had a distinct singular image of her mother, one she knew to be true.

It happened the first time Leo climbed the step ladder at the base of her bed, which led to a small circular loft. As soon as she grasped the wooden rungs, she felt something jolt through her, and when she looked upward, she saw a pair of slender, bare, freckled legs moving before her, climbing the stairs and disappearing into the chamber above. Her mother. They had spent time together in this house, of this Leo was certain. The connection with her new home was now a rope to memory. Maybe more flashbacks would surface the longer she stayed in the house. Leo was hopeful.

As she crested the final incline, she stopped cycling, letting gravity take over, and sped quickly down, heading toward the base of the high hill, which led to her driveway. Yes, she had responsibilities, but her time and life were now hers.

****

Ray slipped into the last pew and scooted down, settling in the perfect spot for one who might need to exit quickly, and unobtrusively. “Tell Dad I’ll be there Sunday.” Ray surprised himself when talking with his mother a few days earlier.

Eventually, this would have to happen. He couldn’t avoid him forever, especially since, week after week, his mother faithfully relayed his father’s persistent request. “Your dad personally invites you to the service this week.” Already the early summer morning was heating up. But inside, an hour before the service started, was cool and dark.

Though the pew’s unyielding wood pressed into the backs of Ray’s thighs, he found comfort in the familiar. How many years had he sat with Hope and his mother in a congregation that felt like extended family? The chapel walls contained memories, palpable and strong. The past few nights, sleep was elusive, and even when he closed his eyes, images, and thoughts would shock him back into wakefulness. But here in the silent sanctuary, a place deeply associated with his childhood, a place of refuge in which he had found profound comfort during his formative years, he felt some of the tension dissipate. For a moment, as Ray traced the muted light and shadows cast by the stained-glass windows, he was lured into believing the world could return to the way it had been.

Ray fell into an undisturbed sleep so deep he did not notice as the chapel lights were turned up. As the parishioners slowly filled in the pews around him, a murmur like a low-voltage current passed through them. He is here. Look, be quiet, don’t wake him. They looked at him slumbering, a man now, someone they had watched grow over the years, who had laughed and played with their children among the pews. The preacher’s son, who willingly showed up and helped during their acts of service, who reluctantly joined the choir and, when encouraged by Mrs. Robertson, had shyly found a singing voice pure and true (though he refused to sing a solo, stating he didn’t want everyone looking at him) had returned. The churchgoers smiled. Welcome home, Ray. Welcome back, their silent offerings were falling around him, threads of garnered support. And still, he slept through the quietly issued opening prayer, the church announcements, mission statements, and bible verses. In a low voice, Pastor Shipworth suggested skipping the opening hymn, and the congregation readily nodded consent.

Some of them, including Mr. Ruggles, one of the church's tithe ushers, turned furtively to look behind them to confirm that Ray was still there and was still asleep. He had returned.

“Today’s sermon is titled: Redemption and forgiveness. It’s never too late to turn your life around.”

Ray stirred, his neck stiff, awkwardly wrenched on the wooden pew bench. He glanced at his watch, he’d been asleep for over an hour and a half, and during that uninterrupted time, he didn’t startle awake once. He did not have one vivid nightmare, which often his rewired brain could not separate from reality. He looked around at the assemblage who sat erect, their eyes focused on the elevated dais, which held to one side a communal table, and rising, higher still, from its center, a gleaming polished pulpit. And as his eyes followed theirs, his gaze descended on his father, who always commanded the stage.

The time Ray had been away at boot camp, performing stateside service, training, and two tours of duty, had visibly altered his father. The impact was evidenced in the tremendous weight and hair he’d lost, in the loosely hanging skin folds along his neck. The man standing before him on the platform looked like a shadow of his father’s former self. His paunchy, ponderous form was greatly diminished, and he now wore a belt cinched so tightly that folds of fabric rippled around him as he moved. The voice was the same. Ray would recognize the tenor and the cadence anywhere, especially when delivering a sermon.

His mother said he’d changed. Is this what she meant? Having taken stock of the physical transformations, Ray began to focus on his father’s words. “Ephesians 4:31 tells us, get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, brawling, and slander, along with every form of malice.” Slowly, Pastor Shipworth pulled off his glasses. He laid them on top of the pulpit and rubbed the bridge of his angled nose while intensely staring at his audience. Ray knew this look well. His father's judgmental, intractable, self-righteous countenance was the same as always. “On this, the Bible is firm. The sins of man are denounced.”

Suddenly, there was sourness in Ray’s stomach, rising, along with his father’s now booming voice. “We were taught that for all who do not repent of their sins, a one-way ticket to Hell awaits.” He let the words sink in.

****

Then with more tempered moderation, Pastor Shipworth continued, as he moved his gaze steadily along each pew, staring into each church member's eyes, “But if we read the next section, Verse 32 says: Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as God through Christ forgave you.” Finally, he looked to the last pew, the one on the far left of his vestry, the one to which his long-lost son had finally returned.

The wooden bench was empty. Pastor Shipworth stood still, dismayed. He had lost him again. The words he was planning on saying out loud, directly to his son and in front of his followers, stuck in his throat. He swallowed. Even as he commanded his congregation to bow their heads in prayer, he thought of what he had been prepared to say to Ray. Forgive me, son. Please forgive me for my sins. I was blind, but now I see.