Authors: Eric Shapiro
It was a jolting, tender shot. And I love her. And I think I’ll have another when I see who’s awake.
Last Day –
2:24PM
I’m having trouble squaring how He taught us so much about action with the fact that I can only think in miniature steps.
Certainly a confrontation with Jolie is essential.
And certainly it’d be excessive to pull her from the dance by her hair, so I take her by the hand as though we’re friends, then I lead her toward the hallway, even shaking a little bit to the music to show that I’m into it.
Before I did so, she was dancing with Theodore, a pairing that would have seemed satirical if anything in the world were still funny.
When I have her alone, in the hallway off the living room, I sense excitement rising up inside of her, as though I’m about to kiss her privates, privately.
But when she sees the look on my face, she’s smart enough to ask, “What is it?”
It’s not too late to check back in. Phone in the drawer, right where I found it. Jed never the wiser as to where we are. Sundown. Us down. Destiny articulated.
Yet I’m holding the sun up with both hands. “Has he ever had you?” I say to her.
And then I try to read her face, which is as legible as Sanskrit scratched into the dirt.
“Don’t lie to me,” I say to her, as if that will inspire a surge of truth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I do her the courtesy of making it clear: “Have you ever let him fuck you?”
Now she’s legible: eyes wide, mouth open. “What the fuck are you asking me right now?”
“If you keep delaying--”
“You’re asking me if I fucked him?”
My breath is getting to know her eyes.
“I’ll know it in your face if you’re lying to me,” I bluff.
“You’re scaring the shit out of me right now.”
“You’re scaring the fucking shit out of me. Where the hell are you right now?”
“What? With you.”
“I mean in your head.” I poke my own head with my finger, making blotches appear before my eyes. “You’re off somewhere else.”
She’s now gonna do what The Leader never has: she sets about abandoning me, tries to walk away. But like-that my hand’s around her elbow: clammy (both).
“Like being fake or something,” I go on.
“We’re involved in something special here. If you can’t give in to it—”
“Now you even sound like him. And smell like him. In your breath!”
She tries and tries to get away.
“I would never do that.” She starts to cry. “You know he’s like a father to me, and you know what my real father did!”
Those last words breaking down, all boo-hoo-hoo, which is what I say:
“Oh, boo-hoo-hoo. So now I’m supposed to not say anything, right?”
“Let go of me.”
I’m roaring now: “You’re so fucking transparent!”
“
Let go of me!”
Right on cue, here comes The Leader. Fear rips through me: calves to backs-of-lungs.
I let go.
“You have to talk to him,” Jolie cries to Him.
She turns the corner. If she resumes dancing this time, I’ll be impressed.
The way The Leader looks at me, it seems inevitable that the bullshit meter is going to have to relax a notch. How long can we keep on veiling the tension? Pretending to mistake His madhouse for a well-oiled machine?
“What’s going on here?” He asks me.
Where does one begin...
“She’s crying?” He asks me.
The obvious: stated.
And then He lets me down by punting.
“Jolie!” He says, and He starts to go after her.
“Don’t go after her,” I command Him.
He spins back toward me. “What demon is inside you, Matthew?”
What demon isn’t?
“I’m going to ask you a question now,” I tell Him.
“Anything, Matthew. I don’t understand--”
“Do you...” (Just breathe.)
The Leader’s eyes are orbs.
“...keep secrets from us?”
“Truly, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Truly, you do.”
“You’re hurting me, Matthew.” And His eyes are moist. “You can’t know how your behavior is making me feel.”
My lungs produce a windstorm of breath.
“I have nothing but love for you,” The Leader says.
“Do you hide things from me?” I ask.
Partial translation: I don’t love you back.
The Leader touches my wrist. I try to resist, but I meet with His strength.
“Come with me now,” He says to me.
I try and try to get away.
“What are you going to do?” I ask Him.
But we’re going toward the living room, toward the others, and it’s obvious.
“You can’t have them,” I say. “I’m asking you a question.”
“We’re a family. Come on.”
I roar: “This is private!”
****
“That’s private,” I said to my cousin Brian, as he undid my belt buckle and began to lower my pants.
“It’s not private if I show you mine, too,” he explained.
Everything in my head knew it not to be right, but the way his words came into me, they somehow kept managing to make me stop protesting.
Till it got to the point where there was one me inside, screaming for him to stop, and another me outside, acting like I liked it.
Last Day –
2:28PM
The Leader:
“
Turn off the goddamn music!”
Everybody stops dancing, which was what Jolie was doing when we came in: not dancing. She’s gone from the room, actually. Score one for her sanity, I guess.
The music doesn’t stop immediately. It pounds on, its rapture a farcical thing.
Beth crosses to the stereo and fiddles with it. The Leader watches her hands, as if trying to will them to touch the right buttons. At long last, she achieves overwhelming silence.
Our eyes all make contact as His yell still echoes through us.
“I’m sorry,” He says. Another first. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be abrasive.”
The Leader looks around.
“Where is Jolie?”
All eyes start searching with the exception of mine. Wherever she is, it beats being in my sight.
“Somebody go to her room.”
It’s Paul who does the honors.
We wait. The Leader realizes that His hand’s still clamped around my wrist. He lets go. My wrist crunches. It would hurt bad if everything else didn’t.
“We’re having a meeting,” He says. “Something’s wrong in this house.”
“Yeah, I agree,” I whisper.
“Please be quiet now,” He orders.
All of us wait for Jolie’s reappearance.
After an eternity, Paul returns with her in tow. Jolie’s eyes meet only the floor. Her face bears blotches like the ones in my head.
“Jolie, are you all right?” asks The Leader.
Everybody looks at her. The attention makes her seem to shrink.
Jolie nods once, says, “Thank you, yes.”
After nodding His approval, The Leader says, “Please, now, let us all form a circle.”
We have ourselves another first: a collective moment of hesitation.
“I apologize again for raising my voice. I promise it won’t happen again.”
That does it. We’re a circle, jerk. Everyone joins hands. Since I’m still next to Him, His hand’s in mine. My wrist bites itself at His touch, a kind of allergy.
“I know that everybody was enjoying the music,” He says, “and I hope that that enjoyment not only continues, but grows larger and fuller as the evening nears.”
Nods of understanding occur atop stiff necks.
“But, alas, we have to conduct a bit of work. It appears that Matthew has a question for us.”
My volume knob is way low: “For you.”
He looks at me. His hand twitches. I sense He’d like to squeeze mine harder.
“If it’s for me, well, then, it’s for me, and I’ll be happy to answer it in front of the whole group.”
Oh, forgive me if I haven’t introduced myself: I’m the Center of Attention. And as The Leader has known well for years, I so hate being myself.
“I’m not sure you want to do this this way,” I say.
“Matthew!” (Wow! Could’ve done without that!) “You are a wise and capable assistant. But I am certain that I want to do this this way.”
I give Jolie a rueful look. My girl. She cries. This goddamn place.
“Do you...” I begin.
But my words short out.
“It’s okay, Matthew. There is love in this circle.”
Still, nothing. Just a boy and a bunch of shakes.
He then says: “I’m sorry, how thoughtless of me. Would you like to stand beside your lovely wife?”
The mention of our union makes Jolie cry harder.
“It’s okay,” I say, shaking my tired head.
And I guess I now find myself checked back in. ‘Cause what’s a boy to do but take the silly order? I suck in so much air that I hope there’s enough left over for everyone else.
“Do you,” I say, “relate to Jolie...with your body?”
I’m pretty sure the sweat on my palms isn’t mine.
Jolie is the next to express herself, though she does so in sobs instead of words.
“Oh, Matthew...” says The Leader.
Here He goes.
“Oh, Matthew. What pain you have put within my heart. Can you feel it running through your hand?”
Again, I give a shake of my head.
“I can’t feel you,” I say. “I don’t know you.”
“You don’t what?” His words are fired through with concern.
“I don’t know you.” I try to clear my throat, but whatever’s in there feels painted on. “Please, what is the answer?”
The Leader looks at Jolie, who by now could use a bucket at her feet.
“It was our understanding,” He says, “that Jolie was to lay only with you.”
“That was our understanding,” I say.
“And she has laid...only with you!”
Relief tickles at me, but so what? The fuck else would this guy say? Am I to be the kind of kid who’s awed when the weatherman predicts the sunrise?
The Leader looks at Jolie: “Jolie?”
“I would...” She’s shaking. “Never lie to you, Matthew.”
“Nor would I,” says The Leader.
I view my hand, tucked inside of His. Looking mighty white.
I pluck it. He retracts His.
“Are those acceptable answers for you, Matthew?” He wants to know.
“I think that I need to get some rest,” I say.
The Leader nods. He’s coming at me. Slow: a glide. His lips kiss my forehead, not minding the sweat.
Barking out a sound of relief, The Leader says, “I think everybody could use some rest. We’ll need energy for the journey.”
I look at Jolie.
When she looks back at me, my heart (for once) could stop.
“So let’s everybody go to our rooms,” He says. “We’ll resume for the Eternity Chant at four. There is a time for togetherness, and a time to be alone.”
Edgar Pike’s Journal
June, 2011
Monastery? Could I bear it?
Last Day –
2:48PM
But alone, for us, means alone together.
Which makes me think that He’s maybe not lying. Why else would He allow us to be in our room conversing? Or does He just not care?
Does the coming journey supercede the drama?
Maybe, in His mind, the journey supercedes the order, too.
Which makes me just a kid who’s been freaking out. Delusions of Grandma dancing in my head.
I smile.
This as I meditate. Jolie’s in the shower. Was He who taught me how to meditate, and now the practice is helping me calm down.
Was that a trick? He taught me how to be calm so I wouldn’t question Him?
A soft cloud rolls over the thought.
I’m empty.
Nothing.
Nobody.
Like everyone else.
Calm – the – fuck – down, Matthew.
If you view the scoreboard, you know the following:
Jed: proven liar. Said he’d stay forever. Didn’t.
Leader: a petty fuck, sometimes, and annoying, but come on – What’s the guy ever done? Made it so my girl would die forty seconds before me? Am I fucking kidding?