Damascus Road

by Charlie Cole

  “Hey!” she shouted in my face. “I have never seen you like that!”

  “Like what?” My hackles were up.

  “You were going to kill him,” she said. “You were going to kill Tom.”

  “You’re goddamn right. I was defending all of us,” I said. “Tom wouldn’t hesitate for a second to kill every one of us.”

  “I’m not talking about defending us. I get that. I’m not stupid.”

  Mentally, I checked the record and found that I had not in fact ever said she was stupid.

  “What then?”

  “You were going to try to kill him no matter what he did,” Grace said. “You were insane. I saw you. It was like part of you just shut down.”

  I got into the pickup and didn’t bother to wait for her. I twisted the key and backed up. The front bumper was pressing against the tire, but I was only going a few feet. I backed up and pulled the truck off the road. When I got out, Grace was waiting for me, her arms crossed and hair hanging in her face.

  “I don’t have to justify myself to you,” I shouted over the wind.

  “You don’t seem to think you need to justify yourself to anyone,” she said.

  I had been walking to the Cuda when she said this, I turned on her.

  “I didn’t ask for this,” I yelled, jabbing a finger at my chest. “I didn’t ask for Chris to die or Ellis or any of this. I don’t know what to do, don’t you get it?”

  She was startled by my reaction. I waved her off and kept walking.

  “Jim, wait!”

  “I thought things would be better, you know?” I said. “Not perfect, but better.”

  I got in the Cuda and slammed the door, thankful to be alone. That was until Grace got in next to me.

  “Talk to me,” she pleaded.

  “Nothing’s better,” I said. “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I turned over the engine.

  “I thought there was some meaning, some purpose in me going to see my dad,” I said. “I thought that if I went to see Ellis that maybe things would change for him. I tried to talk to him, but he’d have nothing to do with it. When he died…when Ellis died, I have no doubt that he went to Hell.”

  “Oh, Jim…” Grace said. I could tell that she wanted to dispute what I said, but recognized the truth when she heard it.

  ‘I was out of my head when it happened,” I said. “I did some stupid things and got myself locked up. While I was in there, I started a fight, begging the inmates to kill me just so I could see my dad again.”

  I shook my head, trying to clear it.

  “I’m just tired of fighting it, you know?” I said, staring out the windshield. “If it weren’t for me, Tom never would have come after us. Chris would be alive. Ellis would be alive. You would be dating… what’s his name…”

  She said nothing and for once, that was probably worse. I sighed and let my shoulders slump. I turned on the headlights, and Grace screamed.

  There in front of us we saw the tornado moving forward, broad and thick and howling in all its fury. It had been moving through the sheets of rain, hidden behind the downpour until it was on top of us. For all I could tell, it was marching up the road, headed directly for the car.

  I dropped the car into reverse and hit the gas, backing up as fast as I could. The twister leaned toward us, towering over the car and advancing on us. It howled like a freight train, getting louder and louder. I poured on speed, looking over the back seat to steer, keeping the car on the road in a rapid retreat. I looked back and the tornado seemed to be only a handful of yards from the front bumper.

  “You told me you wanted me to get as close as I could to this thing,” I said. “Is this close enough?”

  Grace shrieked, and it cut through my strained humor. I let my foot off the gas and cranked the wheel over, throwing the car into a reverse 180. I hit the gas and steered out of the slide, the tornado seeming to be right outside of my window, the wind buffeting the car.

  “Go down this road,” Grace said, pointing. “We should be able to get away from it.”

  The wind threw the car sideways, and I fought to keep it from pitching over into the ditch. I clutched, shifted, and leaned on the gas. Debris was flying as we tried to get away from the twister. Rocks and tree branches swirled about the car.

  Something hit the window beside my head, and the glass exploded, covering me in fragments of glass that bit into my face, my neck. I could feel them inside my shirt collar, only to be followed by the whipping force of the rain.

  “A little break…something…that’s all I need…” I muttered.

  I tried to brush the glass off me, get it out of my ear, off my neck. It was everywhere.

  “Jim, look out!” Grace cried.

  I didn’t see the power line whipping in the wind. I didn’t notice that the pole was shifting from side to side until it was too late. I didn’t see any of it, until the pole gave way and fell across the road, blocking our path, showering the area in sparks as the power line came with it.

  Something in me snapped. I had been able to hold so much at bay. So many issues that I held back and categorized away. This power line…somehow that was what broke me. I could have seen a way to escape, the situation had been dire, intense, but not insurmountable. I could have overcome it, if it were not for the power line in our path. It was the one thing that cut off all other options. It closed the door on our situation.

  My list of people that could be responsible for my current predicament was short. I tried to listen to my friend, and he got killed. I tried to talk to my father, and he died. I tried to rectify my situation with my wife, and not only did she reject me, but I nearly got her killed, almost got slammed by a rogue tornado and then, just when I thought that perhaps there was a way out, a power line blocked our path.

  I didn’t make those things happen.

  Tom couldn’t even claim credit for those things happening.

  The only person who could have orchestrated everything that had occurred was God.

  And I had enough of playing around the edge of that particular issue. Apparently God had a problem with me. He wanted something from me, wanted something from me, and I didn’t know how to get there from where I was. So, God saw fit to slam me to the ground in some divine intervention and show me the error of my ways. He did it with Job and destroyed the man’s life to show him who was in charge. He even did it to the apostle Paul on the road to Damascus. Changed that man’s life, turned him inside out, turned him blind for a time and gave him a thorn in his side that He refused to remove, just so that Paul could serve him better. He did that there on that Damascus Road.

  I had a bone to pick with God.

  I threw the Hemicuda into a sliding stop so that we faced the approaching tornado.

  “Jim? What are you doing?” Grace asked.

  “I’m finishing this.”

  “Jim, what are you…?” she didn’t finish her question.

  I threw my door open and got out of the car and began walking toward the tornado. It was a massive coil of blackness from the ground to the heavens, and somehow in that moment it represented nothing less than the person of God.

  "What do you want??" I screamed at it.

  I lowered my head and walked into the fierce wind. It whipped at my clothes and tore at my flesh, trying to tear me apart. The howl of the storm was so loud in my ears that I almost didn't hear Grace's frantic cries for me to come back.

  The tornado seemed to stop its forward progression, though, almost waiting for me as I approached. I pushed forward, staring up at it in absolute defiance.

  He had no answer for me. Or perhaps I wasn't even worth answering. The only thing worse than absolute disdain for someone is apathy. In that moment, I felt that He had ceased to care about me.

  “What do you want from me?!” I screamed, my voice hoarse in my throat.

  The wind howled, drowning me out. I felt my shoulders slump and my head hang. There was only one way
to get the resolution that I needed.

  I took a loping stride forward, then another, breaking into a run. I ran for the tornado at full speed, arms pumping, legs pistoning. The circular winds wanted to sweep me off my feet, but I only needed to be a little closer. When I thought the timing was right and my purchase on the ground was tenuous, I jumped into the maw of the beast and let the tornado catch me up in its winds. My feet didn't touch the ground.

  There are many people, I’m sure, who have thought that something was a good idea at the time, only to find upon closer reflection that it was the most ludicrous idea ever to be hatched upon a brainpan. I was absolutely and without reserve, unable to articulate anything remotely close to the existential dilemma of that thought.

  All I thought of was that the wind was being sucked from my lungs and that I was slowly being crushed like a beer can. I wanted to black out, but there was no merciful end in sight. I was assaulted with flying objects from nails to dirt to blades of grass that sliced over my skin in razor thin cuts.

  I kept expecting the big end, the coup de grace, but it did not come. I should have known, I thought. I had lost count of the times that I thought I was dead, only to be proven wrong in varying degrees of disappointment. Instead, I felt myself spinning, tumbling, lungs aching, skin feeling like it was slowing being peeled from my bones.

  Whether it was real or oxygen deprivation, I would never know. And to be fair, I didn’t care. All my questions and recriminations were slipping from my mind, and the harder I grabbed for them to throw them in His face, the faster they evaded me.

  Be still… and know that I am God.

  Had I heard that? Was I hearing things? How did I…

  Be still, and know that I am God.

  Was this possible? What about everything that happened with…

  Be… still…

  I allowed the thought to slip away, like a lifeline. I abandoned any thought or concern for the things that I surrounded myself with. The car…the people...even Grace…how I loved Grace and yet she couldn’t love me, couldn’t see me as the man for her… it was all so impossible…I just couldn’t…

  And know that I am God…

  The voice merged with the sound of the tornado, deep and strong beyond anything human. My skin prickled, and I felt fear’s cold grip engulf me. It was not the terror of being threatened with disaster or death. Instead, it was the realization that I was in the presence of something so much greater than me. I was humbled. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes.

  Something changed then. The tornado lost its perfect circular funnel and then came apart, pieces of homes and cars and vegetation falling in every direction. I was no different, and as the twister dispersed, I realized that I was over fifty feet in the air, over a pond just off a farmer’s plot of land. The twister completely dissipated, and I fell.

  The water rushed up at me, and I had the chance to finally draw a full breath and fill my lungs with life-giving oxygen. I pointed my toes at the water and slipped through space. I hit the surface of the pond with such a jarring impact that my body buckled and slid deep into the water. It was only then that I realized that it was not in fact a pond, but rather a water runoff reservoir for the property. It was built to be deep to allow for the rainfall.

  I floated on the surface of the water, quickly losing the battle to stay awake. Darkness closed in at the edges of my vision. I was face down in the water, and I knew that couldn’t be good. Was probably bad, if I really gave it some thought. I did not have the strength to roll over or to pull my head up.

  The blackness closed in until everything went dark and I slid into it, still hearing those words in my head that quieted all the fears that I had, all the accusations and angst.

  Be still… and know that I am God.

  My grace is sufficient for you…

  I was dreaming, I was certain of it. Dreaming while drowning? I didn’t really know, so I went with it. I was tired of swimming upstream over every single thing. Dreaming then.

  There was light in the sky and not rain clouds or funnel formations. That made me happy. I didn’t need another tornado. I never told Grace, but they scared me. I remembered being with my father, Ellis, as a young boy, probably six or seven years old, and going camping with him. We saw a storm coming, and he was adamant that we should be good soldiers and stand our ground. It was only when we saw the funnel cloud start to drop that we considered a strategic retreat.

  But the clouds were gone now, and I was certain that I wasn’t dreaming of my childhood, even though my heart seemed to be pounding so hard in my chest. It was an oddly rhythmic syncopation in my chest, regular and heavy, not the staccato panic of the adrenaline-infused anxiety.

  Then I saw her. Grace. I found Grace. His Grace was sufficient for me. Grace, my wife. And she put her put her lips to mine and I closed my eyes, and suddenly, I could breathe. Sweet oxygen flooded my lungs, warm and rich, not at all like the reservoir water.

  The beating was back in my chest again, then Grace was back. Her face. So concerned as she leaned over me. No, that wasn’t it at all. She leaned back, intertwined her hands and pushed on my chest. She was the beating of my heart. She was giving me CPR, and I was soaking wet, and my lungs ached, and I felt the water inside me, bursting to get out. I pushed her back and rolled onto my side and coughed out gouts of water. I tasted the muck from the reservoir, and it burned my nostrils. I coughed and sputtered until I was finally clear and then I laid back.

  “Are you alright, Jim?” Grace asked. Her face was close to mine again, her hair hanging down over me like a curtain on all sides, so that all I could see was her face.

  I shook my head.

  “No.”

  I let out a dark little laugh, and my face broke into a crooked grin.

  "You jerk!" Grace said and slapped her hand down on my stomach.

  I groaned and laughed.

  "Ow," I said.

  "You could have been killed," she said. "You should have been killed!"

  "I know," I conceded. "But I wasn't. And I'm here now."

  "Ugh, you just irritate me so much sometimes, James," she said, pacing.

  "Grace?"

  "What?"

  "Thank you," I said.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  "I don't deserve you, Grace," I said. "But you've always been a blessing to me, and I have always been too much of a fool to see it."

  "Do you want me to contradict you?" she asked, beginning to smile.

  I shook my head.

  "I've missed out on things that I haven't seen. Haven't appreciated things like I ought to," I said. "I just didn't see it before. I've been blind to it."

  "What's different, Jim?" she asked. "One minute you're jumping into tornadoes and the next you have some newfound appreciation for life."

  "I don't know," I confessed. "Maybe it was one of those moments, you know? The...what do you call it?"

  "An epiphany?"

  I nodded.

  "An epiphany."

  "I'm sorry that I have been a terrible husband to you," I said.

  She looked at me as I sat there on the grass, soaking wet, covered in cuts and scrapes and abrasions.

  "Are you alright?" she asked, with genuine concern.

  "I'm better," I said with a smile.

  I begrudgingly decided to let Grace drive the car. Well, that's not completely accurate. She refused to give me the keys back, and I was too tired to chase her. I slumped into the passenger seat and put my head back against the headrest.

  "Home, James?" she said with light humor in her voice.

  "As you please, milady."

  She dropped the car into gear without grinding the transmission. That's my girl. She drove us back to the farm house. I looked out the window, staring vacantly at the devastation left behind.

  We drove in silence, past the devastated crops and the overturned tractor. We saw a tree by the roadside that had been completely uprooted and turned on its
top, stuffed back down to the ground. We saw barns torn apart, missing boards, missing roofs, some even torn bare of everything but the bare frame of the structure. We did not talk about it.

  She pulled up in front of the farmhouse, and I saw the spot where the propane tank had been, as well as the burned out hulk of the Land Rover. The farmer and his wife were surveying the damage. Duff and Bud were trying to rock the Suburban to get it back on its wheels. I saw Erik sitting on the front step, holding his bandaged head. He looked up when he saw us approach.

  "Did you park the car by way of Oz?" Duff asked.

  "There's no place like home," I replied.

  The Robinsons turned out to be a very understanding couple. Considering the devastation we had brought to their doorstep, they were incredibly gracious hosts.

  Caleb Robinson was a farmer by trade, the third generation in his family to till the soil and pray that the rain would come to feed the crops. He lived every day at the mercy of the weather and the sun to give life to his harvest. His face was weathered and lined. His eyes were the blue of clear sky. His hands… I had never seen anything like them. The very earth of the land was in the lines of his hands. I had seen him wash his hands at breakfast and the skin of his hands was permanently that way.

  He was married to Ruth. For dinner the first night, we had chicken that Ruth made. Before dinner, everyone else was inside, and I sat on the steps of the house, watching the sun set. Ruth came out of the house and walked past me, excusing herself in her soft, quiet voice. I scooted aside to let her pass, but the butcher knife in her hand caught my attention. She walked toward the chicken coop in her sun dress, knife in hand. The chicken that night never tasted better.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am,” I said as we sat around the dinner table.

  “You are certainly welcome, young man,” Ruth said.

  She was frying the chicken in a cast iron skillet.

  “Your new propane tank should arrive tomorrow,” Erik said.

  “Now, I did tell you that it’s not necessary to do that,” Caleb said. I could see from the way his shoulders relaxed and the frown on his brow softened that he was thrilled to hear the news. He forked mashed potatoes into his mouth and smiled contentedly.