the chariot. 8 of 22.

December 30, 2010 Posted by the writer

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.”

About the writer

gretchen's brain is preoccupied with words.

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