the chariot
The days between leaving the only job I had ever known and attending the Spiritualist church remain some of my most uncertain. I felt the anger taking over that I had been warned about by teachers, the sadness.
I spent a lot of time on top of my apartment building. The alarm meant to sound when the rooftop access door opens never worked. I knew that it wouldn’t from the first day I escaped twenty-seven stories up to see if life appeared different from that height.
The night before I attended mass I stood with the toes of both my feet spread out and over the ledge. One fall forward is what I told myself.
One fall forward. A new type of courage.
But you wouldn’t let me.
A Spiritualist ceremony consists of two parts. The second part is what I was interested in, the part delivered by a Medium. My ears have always been open. I was interested in finding another.
When I walked into church the following day, Anthony stood on the alter, staring down the center isle, looking right into me with navy eyes. He is braver than I am, stronger. That does not mean he has ever doubted the reliance between us.
He called my name and everyone in the pews turned to look.
“I have a message from your father.”