Three for the Price of One

At the end of the day I recline on a wide and silver raft, bobbing in the ocean’s surf. Content. Occasionally I open an eye to admire the rainbow sherbet sky. It would be perfect if only—

            “Thirsty?”

            I scramble up on my elbows. Survey all around me. Who spoke?

            A cup of Chick-Fil-A lemonade appears in my hand. What the—

            “Are you comfortable?” The raft inflates slightly.

            “Do you feel safe?”

            Eyes wide, heartbeat nudging my bathing suit top, I nod.

            “Look. Someone’s waving at you from the beach.”

He’s in a creamy linen suit, a soft blue shirt underneath, heading my way. The surf mist stirs the hair that frames his face, coaxes it to curl. He reaches for my hand. I scoot to the edge of the raft and pinch at his fingertips. He pulls me to standing. Walks through the ocean froth beside me. To the shore.

            There’s a low table set for two on a jewel-toned tapestry. He kneels and dusts off my feet before I step onto the carpet.

            “Care for a glass of wine? Some bread?”

            “Will it taste like . . . Like your—”

            He smiles. “Don’t worry. It’s wonderful.”

            After we eat, drink, he reaches for me again. “Shall we dance?”

            And we do. He holds me close. The smell of him is clean sweat and ocean air. I enjoy the feel of his strong palm in the curve of my back. Notice the knots of scar tissue. In the center of both hands.

            “May I dip you?”

            His eyes. What in the world color are they? Every.

            “Yes. Please.”

            Twirl. Sway. Dip.

            I rest my head in the valley of his chest. Mouth I love you. 

            I sneak a peek at his face. His gaze is serious.

            “Don’t just love me. Be in love with me.”

            When we spin, all of me buzzes.

            “There’s someone I want you to meet,” he says into my hair.

           

“There are many things I do,” the Spirit says as I stoop to pick up a pretty shell. “Teach, convict, comfort. But most of what I do could be considered revelation. What would you like for me to reveal, my child? Anything but that thought you just had.”

            The cross. I had asked to see Calvary. Needed to.

            “Beloved, you hold up your hand to shield from your vision dead animals by the side of the road. Cover your head with a blanket when a lion stalks a gazelle on television.”

            I whimper. And nod. “I know. But just give me a glimpse, five seconds maybe. That’s all I need.”

            “All you need for what?”

            I brush my fingers over my collarbone. It feels a tad sunburned. And then it doesn't.

            “You know,” I said. Of course he does. He’s God. One of the trio. Nothing escapes their comprehension.

            “Yes, but speak it anyway. Words are how you make sense of things. For yourself and others. Say it for you.”

            I squinch my face. “But it’s awful.”

            “Not to me.”

            I gaze down the beach to the left. No one. I look to the right. Everyone seems to have gone inside. I shiver.

            “Move into the water,” the Spirit says. “It’s warmer there.”

            I wade in up to my knees. Lower myself into the bathtub warmth of it. Beside me, the water stirs.

            “Have you ever seen a person die?” Spirit says.

            “No.”

            “And funerals frighten you.”

            I nod.

            Warmth and weight rest across my shoulders, a yoke.

            “You’re not Thomas, you know.”

            I turn toward where I think he is. Blink several times before my salt water drops into his.

            “But I am.” A breeze brushes my face and I’m sure he told it to. To dry my tears.

            “You believe," he says. "Without seeing. Without touching scars.”

            “Yes, but I want to believe more.” 

            “Ah. Then you are like the possessed boy’s father.”

            I huff. “I wish I was him,” I say. “Or one of the disciples. They witnessed everything. The healings, Lazarus emerging from his tomb, Calvary, the empty grave.”

            I face another direction, unsure of where the Spirit is now.

            “After all they saw, they weren’t afraid. Ever again. They told everyone. About Jesus. I don’t. Not like I should. I’m a scaredy cat.”

            Ripples are everywhere now. “I heard something once,” Spirit says, “that you may find useful. ‘Comparison is the thief of joy.’”

            I think on that as my eyes take in the peach-colored seam of light on the horizon.

            “Some think you very brave,” the Spirit says. His voice sounds like the wind now. “They believe your faith considerable.”

            I grind my wrist into my nose. Swish my hand in the sea foam.

            “They’re wrong. I don’t have a mustard seed, probably not even a mustard atom.”

            “Child, words are powerful, spoken or written. Consider how mine have endured.”

            I splash water onto my shoulders. Walk my hands back along the ocean floor until my hair floats behind me and the sea kisses my chin.

            “Hold your breath,” the Spirit says.

            I puff my cheeks out and am pressed under the waves then quickly buoyed up. I grin. Wipe water from my cheeks.

            “Look there,” the Spirit says. “Above you.”

            A bird flies overhead, not a seagull or pelican though. I squint. Is that a . . . The evening’s waning light outlines the dove in silver. I follow her flight as she traces a circle in the sky.

            Inside my head Spirit’s voice is soft, personal. “This is my daughter, whom I love; with her I am well pleased, no matter what she thinks.”

            I search the water’s surface for the place I’d last seen ripples. I spin, seeking. The sea is smooth now everywhere I look. Like a page. I feel suddenly lonely so I dogpaddle toward the shore. When my knees scrape bottom, I stand. Shudder at the chill of the night air. I race to my beach towel. It’s neatly folded even though I’m sure I left it in disarray. I wrap myself in its embrace. It’s warm, very. Like someone was inside it, just a moment ago.

(I'm not sure I love-love this piece so I am providing an alternative below.)

He is risen!

The Woman in Red--Part V

I waited on the shore with the others, as Dan had instructed. Thankfully there was no one I knew. No one with a pointing finger to shout, “Unclean! Unclean!”

            When the boat appeared on the horizon, a shout arose from the crowd.    

            "Rabbi!"            

            We pressed forward, a solid mass. A single, throbbing creature. For a moment, I considered flight. In the other direction, toward hill country and home. After a life of loneliness, the assault on my senses—shouts and creature calls, manure and perspiration, jabbing shoulders and elbows—overwhelmed me. Plundered the very air from my nose and mouth. In a panic I searched the faces of those nearby. Could they hear the pounding of my heart? Should I flee before my condition was revealed? I shook my head, almost violently. No, I hissed under my breath. Be strong and courageous. This is the day, possibly the only opportunity I will ever have, to accomplish the one thing that might bring me joy. I reclaimed my breath and set my face like flint. Forced my shoulders back and made my way toward the water’s edge.

            As the boat drew near, some entered the lake, no doubt desiring to plead their case first. The noise level increased and nearly deafened me, more cries of distress than anything. Blind were led. Lame limped or were bolstered or carried. A filthy boy, his eyes wide and roaming, his mouth ringed with spittle, twisted and writhed within the circle of his family.            
            Finally the boat came to rest on land with a gritty sigh. The horde of humanity converged on the vessel at all its points.
            "Master! Teacher!" the people cried.
            "Over here, Sir," a woman's voice said. "Please. If you but—"
             "Step away," one of the men inside the boat said. "Back off so we can disembark. Make a way for Jesus."
           I focused my gaze on the greatest healer the world had ever known, or so Dan's  note had said. He looked like any man. Could he possibly be different? Special? I considered the throng, pawing and pushing to get close to him. How might I, a woman alone, create an opportunity to speak with him, to tell him my plight? I bit at my lower lip. There were so many ailments represented here. Everyone of us needed him. Every one. Why would he listen to me?
             Suddenly the group parted. A man in pristine robes stepped through.

            “It’s Jairus, from the synagogue,” someone noted.

            Up ahead I watched the man collapse at the rabbi's feet. The hands he raised to the teacher were both elegant and trembling. Tears rinsed his contorted face.

            “Please, my Lord,” he said, his voice coarse with grief. “My little daughter is dying. I beg you. Please come lay your hands on her so she will be healed and live.”

            I whimpered. His little girl? Is dying? Oh, Lord! Go with him. Save her. I will . . . I do not . . .

            I watched Jesus do as I said. He moved away from me to follow the man called Jairus. In that moment, I felt hollow.

            Soon after, I was swept along as the crowd surged in pursuit of the Master. As it carried me with it, a thought occurred to me. It is not necessary for him to see me or know who I am. If I but touch the hem of his tunic I will be healed.  I stretched out my arm toward his cloak but fell short. A moan escaped me. Again the crowd heaved so that I was pitched up and forward. Suddenly one of the tassels affixed to the edge of his prayer shawl brushed my fingertips. Immediately it stopped—the fountain of blood from within me. I’m healed. Everything inside me knew it, felt it, declared it.

            I held the fingers that touched his garment to my lips, then my chest. I am free. I dropped to the dust. Hid my face in my hands. Wept and worshipped. It is finished. I reached upward. Attempted to hold heaven.

            All around me people pushed and shoved, crushed against, and grabbed at me.

            “Move it, woman. Get up!”

             “Who touched me?”

            Through the din I recognized his voice. Deep. Commanding. My breath caught. I cowered. Watched his disciples survey the area. I straightened. Hurried to the Master. Groveled at his feet. I clutched the edge of his garment. Laid my cheek against it.

            “My Lord, forgive me,” I said. “It was I. Sir, for twelve years I have bled without ceasing. I spent all I had on many physicians and yet my condition grew worse, not better. Then I heard . . .”

            When I dared lift my gaze to his, I gasped. At the depth of love and familiarity in his eyes.

            I gestured weakly toward Jairus. “I saw that you were going to help his . . . And surely her need is . . .”
          I covered my mouth, to stop the words, but the rabbi nodded for me to continue. 
          “Sir, I have not touched anyone in . . . And no man would ever . . . I thought, if I could only . . .”

            My words dried up even as my eyes and nose ran hot. Sobs convulsed my frame.

            The Lord rested one hand on my shoulder. Stilled my shaking. He cupped my face with his other. Warmed me through.

            “Take heart, daughter,” he said. “Your faith has healed you.”

            He extended his hand to help me up, then disappeared with his disciples.

            I spun around. Attempted to locate him again, to no avail. Frustrated, desperate, I labored to keep in the front part of the group. I cringed when I felt the packing between my legs loosen and fall away. I glanced behind me, at the bodies, at the road, but I saw nothing. The evidence of my suffering had vanished—trampled by sandals and bare feet. With a sigh I moved toward the edge of the group to take a sip from my wineskin.  I stood on tiptoe and shaded my eyes to see if there was any sign of the Master in the distance. That’s when I thought I saw— Indeed it was— I bunched my tunic with one hand and waved with my other. Broke into a run.
          "Ada! Dan!" I shouted. "Wait for me!"