by J. M. Paul
But, since I was on the road and no one knew my location besides the three people I was traveling with, I felt I could somewhat let my guard down. The trip was a godsend, and even though I would proceed with caution, I wanted to enjoy the experience as much as possible. I knew I would never have another chance to take to the road for three months for the sole purpose of taking pictures. It was a dream come true.
Carly glanced over her shoulder and gave me a blinding smile before she turned back to the boys. “We’re ready.”
As we waited for the elevator, we all fiddled with our camera bags.
Carly assessed the guys both dressed in jeans and dark T-shirts. “Where are you two hotties taking us?”
Milo ogled her every curve with a sly smile. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, nena. Pleasuretown, Ecstasyville…you name it, and I’ll drive you there in style.” He jerked his hips forward twice when he said drive and winked at Carly.
She giggled in return.
I threw up in my mouth a little.
Bax gaped at me over Milo’s shoulder, his eyes wide in mock horror. I snorted a snicker, which caught Milo’s attention.
“You wanna ride the train, too, Libby? This engine has more than enough stamina to go round. I can chugga-chugga choo-choo all night long.” Milo wiggled his eyebrows and hips at me in suggestion.
I busted out in loud laughter, and I heard Bax chuckling as well.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I asked through barely contained amusement. It felt foreign yet good to joke around. I couldn’t remember the last time I had openly done so.
The smile dropped from Milo’s face, and he scanned between Bax and me. “What?”
“You can chugga-chugga choo-choo all night long?” I said through bouts of hilarity as I shook my head. “How do you ever get laid, talking like that?”
Milo’s back went straight, Bax chortled louder, and Carly smiled as she continued to stare at Milo.
The elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and we filtered inside.
“Screw you. I get laid plenty. The chicas can’t get enough of the dragon.” Milo stabbed the button for the lobby.
“Your references to trains and dragons”—I chuckled again—“isn’t working for you, Milo.” The statement came out with a boldness I normally didn’t possess. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
I snickered as the lift’s doors closed loudly, and we started to descend.
“Uh, my virginity’s long gone, chica—like, hundreds of times ago.” He sniffed.
I raised my eyebrow.
“I lost it when I was sixteen, and I’m now twenty-one, so…you do the math.” When I didn’t say anything, he asked, “What about you? Since you seem to be the sexpert, how old were you when you lost it? Was it good? Was it bad? I bet it was dirty.” He leaned closer and had a snide look in his eye.
The humor that had been written on my face and in my eyes died immediately. The soft, light feeling in my chest from a moment ago was quickly squelched by a one-hundred-pound brick. The air whooshed from my lungs, and my stomach dropped along with the elevator. I felt as if someone were crushing the weight of a car on my shoulders. I blinked several times and tried to bring the lift back into focus, but everything seemed to swirl around in my head.
My silence brought the attention of Bax and Carly. Their blurry images turned toward me, watching me, waiting for me to answer. My head felt as if it were spinning.
“Uh, Lib?” Milo leaned over me.
Horrifying yet familiar images flashed in my mind at his nearness.
Dirty hands, pursed lips, and fury.
I broke from my haze and jerked back against the wall. “Don’t touch me.”
“I…I didn’t touch you.” Milo’s voice faltered, and he retreated as he raised his hands in the air in an innocent gesture. His head moved back and forth from me to Bax to Carly, his eyes wide with alarm.
“Libby?” I heard Bax’s voice, but I couldn’t pull out of my head enough to answer him.
He repeated my name several times, but it fell on deaf ears. I was drowning in the hate that had been my only companion for longer than I cared to remember.
“You’re okay, Libby. No one will touch you,” I heard Bax’s gentle voice whisper.
He shifted a little closer to me, and unlike Milo, Bax’s presence brought me a sliver of peace. The soothing words along with his warmth were enough to pull me out of the dark place I had fallen into, and I blinked with awareness.
Milo stood in the corner, shifting his dark eyes between me and Bax, while Carly held the elevator doors open with her hand, peeking at me through her eyelashes. Two businessmen stood just outside the confines with confused expressions. They were probably trying to decipher why we weren’t getting off the elevator and out of their way.
My mind snapped back into motion, and I stood straight from my slumped position against the wall. I sent Milo a fast apologetic expression and sent a grateful one to Bax before striding out of the cramped space, as if nothing had happened.
“What was that?” I heard Milo softly ask Bax.
“Let it go, Milo,” Bax answered before he caught up to me.
We walked side by side without speaking until we exited the hotel.
“You okay, Libby?” Bax asked just before Milo and Carly pushed through the door, stepping onto the side street and joining us.
“I’m fine. Sorry, I just…I overreacted to nothing. I’m not sure what that was. Sorry,” I said again so that the group could hear. I lowered my head and watched as my boot scuffed the pavement below my foot.
It was silent, except for the traffic driving by on the street.
Bax cleared his throat. “I thought, since we ate Milo’s customary food for lunch, we could eat ours for dinner. I read online that a place in the Strip District has the best burgers in town. Does that sound good to everyone?”
We all agreed with a nod of our heads.
“Cool.” Bax led the way to the parking garage. “It looks like the District has some pretty cool photo ops, and then I figured, if we’re not too tired and the light’s good, we could head downtown and grab some pictures.” He kept talking as we got into the van, and then he put an address into the GPS.
As we drove down unfamiliar streets, Bax and Milo talked baseball—Pittsburgh’s team was projected to do well this season—and Carly and I remained quiet. She sent me quizzical glances I couldn’t tolerate, so I turned my head and watched the landscape zoom by without really seeing it.
A few days later, I sat on the cushioned pew in the middle of the nave. With my head lowered, I closed my eyes and let the atmosphere of Boston’s The First Church of Christ, Scientist—also known as The Mother Church—seep into my core.
What was meant to bring peace, assurance, liberation, and healing instead brought me unease.
A lifetime ago, this type of setting had been as familiar to me as my home. The inside of a cathedral had once been my safe haven.
But life was unkind and had a way of stealing the things that were important. And everything that had meant anything to me—except photography—had been ripped from my hands by a selfish act.
I bounced my leg against the bench. My damp hands shook, and I clutched my camera hard, making my knuckles turn white.
I shouldn’t be here.
If anyone could be struck dead in the temple of God, it would be me. Someone with a spirit that was as dark as mine didn’t deserve to be in a place of worship. Not anymore.
I inhaled a deep breath that brought the smell of dust and wood, and I opened my eyes and raised them to the pulpit.
It was grandiose in scale and like nothing I had ever seen. Every feature inside the building drew attention to what was more of a stage than a podium for a pastor, priest, or whomever to lead the searching to their savior. It was raised with two sets of stairs on each side and had a hollowed railing circling the perimeter.
I found the structure odd. The cold gray stone felt like a barrie
r between the saints and the sinners. Maybe that was exactly what it was. The obstruction kept the leaders of God protected from the tainted souls.
Behind the pulpit was an overwhelming large wall lined with pointy copper-and-silver organ pipes, variant in size.
I could only imagine the money that was needed to build and maintain a place this ostentatious. The small church I had attended years ago would more than likely fit inside this building’s restrooms.
Leaning my head back against the seat, I let my jet-black hair dangle down the backside of the wood, and I stared at the ceiling. It was round and had small petal-shaped windows outlining the edge. It was formal and seemed like a ceiling I would see in a state capitol building, not a place meant to bring solace.
I lifted my camera, adjusted the zoom, and snapped a picture.
When I lowered the viewfinder, I felt a warm presence to my right. My gaze flashed in the person’s direction. When it landed on familiar eyes, I immediately sat straight. It was stupid of me to let my defenses down and sit in such a vulnerable position.
“Hey.” Bax sat down next to me at a safe distance.
“Hey.” I pulled the sleeves of my black hoodie further down my arms and twisted the cuffs in my fingers. My camera hung from my neck and rested against my stomach.
Bax kept his attention trained toward the front of the structure. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I studied his profile before I adjusted my eyes toward the organ pipes. “Very. But it’s a little overdone, in my opinion.”
I focused on the stunning circular window between two large pillars and the pipes. The window reminded me of the sun, as if the Holy Spirit was shining down on all who came to seek assurance.
Bax angled his head in my direction. “Why do you say that?”
I shrugged. “A church is meant to be comforting and welcoming, not overwhelming and intimidating. It’s about people’s relationship with Jesus, Allah, or whatever deity they follow, not about who has the most money.” My eyes swung around the structure that held hundreds of pews, then swept up across levels of balconies, and landed back on the ornate pulpit and organ pipes. “This place seems to worship money.”
“I don’t know about that. It might be lavish, but I’m sure people find the nourishment they’re seeking.”
“There’s not even a cross in here,” I pointed out. Bax opened his mouth to more than likely argue, but I raised my hand before he could. “Agree to disagree.”
He was reluctant but eventually nodded.
We fell into our musings for several seconds, minutes—I wasn’t sure how long—as we sat, mute. I started to pray for the serenity I hadn’t had in over five years. My devotions were interrupted by a click of a camera’s shutter. I turned in time to see Bax lowering his lens that had been pointed in my direction.
“What are you doing?” Heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. You, here, like this”—he swept his hand in the air—“you looked…” He cleared his throat. “It seemed like the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Like you were a million miles away.”
“I was.” It came out in a whisper as I studied the sunshiny window.
“Want to talk about it?” His question was simple. The tone and meaning behind it was not.
He didn’t want to hear the half-truths or white lies I usually spewed to people when they asked me about my life, feelings, or past. Bax was asking for the honesty buried so deep in me that I wasn’t sure it even existed anymore, except for in my nightmares.
I barely knew Bax, but he saw me. As hard as I tried to hide myself from everyone, Bax was able to see through my facade.
Looking into his hazel eyes, I noticed secrets and hurt swirling behind his irises that I hadn’t detected before—or I’d never inspected. Maybe broken and damaged individuals recognized one another, and our pain spoke volumes to others when our mouths couldn’t.
I didn’t want to talk about anything, but something about this place, Bax’s soothing nature, and the hurt that clawed at my chest like bear claws had me gushing words before I realized what I was doing.
“I grew up, going to church. It was one of my favorite things. My family and I would go to the early morning service and then drive forty-five minutes to this rickety mom-and-pop restaurant out in the middle of nowhere. They had a buffet every Sunday. And it wasn’t the scary kind where the food made you cringe. Everything was fresh, well prepared, and delicious. They had these to-die-for homemade apple fritters that my sister and I would fight over. Paula, the owner, would come in at three in the morning to roll the dough, slice the apples, and then mix them with spices. I begged her for the recipe, but she smacked my shoulder and told me to mind my own business.” A small grin grew on my lips at the thought.
“Anyway”—I shook my head to clear my mind of those reminiscences—“my parents brought me up to be a good, God-fearing person. Bright and shiny. And I was. I used to glow so brightly.” I sighed. The recollections I rarely let myself relive started to wet my lashes. I blinked the tears and memories back. “Then, I suddenly wasn’t any of those things, and since everything fell apart, I haven’t stepped into a religious building.”
“Why?” Bax whispered.
My eyes roamed the room, watching people meander around, take pictures, or sit to pray. Tourists stood in groups, and others were alone. A few laughed; some cried.
“Tragedy changes a person. It takes their good parts and twists them so tightly that the colors of their soul bleed out until nothing’s left but black. Or white. The lucky are left with white because they can eventually add color back into their lives. But the people who are cursed with black, they are permanently shattered. Nothing can repair them.”
A small boy ran down a row in front of us, screaming, as his dad chased him.
“What color were you left with, Libby?”
Bax knew I was one or the other—black or white.
What gave me away?
I lifted a chunk of my long dyed hair. “Black. I’m definitely black.” I let the dark tendrils slither through my fingers and onto my shoulder as I studied Bax. I’d expected to see pity, disgust, or maybe sympathy from him, but all I saw was understanding.
Damaged recognizes broken.
Why am I suddenly noticing the demons swirling in Bax’s eyes? Have the shadows always been there, or have I been too self-absorbed to see them? Or, since I have opened up to him a fraction, is he, in turn, letting me see him for the first time?
The corner of my lip lifted into a sad smile, and I directed my interest back to the pulpit. “My family wouldn’t even recognize me anymore.” I scratched my ear.
“Why’s that?”
“I was raised to be a good Christian girl. I promised my parents so many things.” I fidgeted with the camera strap around my neck. “I’ve broken almost every oath I made to them. The last several years have made me question God and his reasoning for what my life became. I pray, and I’m faithful, but I don’t attend church anymore. I don’t feel my body needs to be inside a building in order for me to be considered a good Christian.”
I rubbed the middle of my forehead and closed my eyes. Bax didn’t respond, somehow knowing I needed the peace.
After several minutes, Bax shifted toward me. I was surprised my first instinct wasn’t to flinch away from his proximity.
“I agree; you don’t have to be in a building to be faithful. But, Libby?” He waited until I focused my attention in his direction. “We’re adults now. The kids we used to be compared to the adults we are now? Most parents don’t recognize us. They raised us with the best morals they could instill with their time. Then, they had to let us go to become who we were going to be. If it’s not something they envisioned, well, it’s not our faults. It doesn’t make you, me, or anyone else a bad person for being who we are or who we were forced to become because of a situation or circumstance. We’re all trying to survive in this crazy world, and if we have
to lose some of the glow we once had as a kid to get through the day as an adult, that’s okay.
“But don’t let the darkness you feel rule your life. We’re all searching for ways to be happy, and however that’s achieved, it doesn’t matter. People will judge us whether we’re bright and shiny or dark and twisted. Just find what makes you who you are or who you want to be, and embrace it.”
He slowly raised his hand in my direction, making me well aware that he intended on touching me. When his skin rubbed against my fingers and loosened my fist, a pleasant heat spread up my arm. Bax placed an object in my palm and then closed my fingers over it.
He stood, examined his watch, and then took a step backward, into the aisle. “I’m going to find Milo and Carly. Take as much time as you need, but we should probably get to the Public Garden if we want decent light.” He flashed a slight grin and then walked away.
My mind reeled at my positive reaction from coming into contact with Bax. I tightened my fist around the small object in my hand, and then I slowly loosened my grip to see what he had given me.
Another weathered penny, heads-up, sat in my palm. It was the second time he had given me one when I needed reassurance. Pennies obviously had special meaning for him if he thought it would bring me peace. I made a mental note to ask him about them.
I grabbed the camera from around my neck and scooted off the bench and onto my knees. The lighting was dim in the middle of the nave, but it would work for what I wanted. I set Bax’s penny, heads-up, on the faded greenish-gray cushioned seat. I squatted further down, placed my eye against the viewfinder, adjusted the zoom and focus, and snapped a picture of the cent.
I wanted to document the location where I had started to think that maybe it was okay I was broken and that maybe I could someday find a way to heal.