The Five Lives of John and Jillian

by Greg Krehbiel

  Sean pulls out a deck of cards and suddenly I get all spooky.

  He chided himself for the bout of superstition and turned his attention back to Sean. He was touching the cards one by one, as if to focus his attention on each, or to get inspiration on their meaning. He hadn’t said a word. John watched in silence for a long time.

  Suddenly John noticed a man at his side. It was the same fellow he’d noticed before, who’d been looking around the room. And now John noticed that he was a priest.

  “I wouldn’t do it,” the priest said to John. “I could tell there was some kind of evil going on here — above the hum-drum over at the bar, I mean,” he said with a wink and a nod towards the meat market section of the Green Turtle. “The four of diamonds doesn’t fool me, young man,” he said to Sean. “I know what those cards are, and I know that you’re getting yourself into more than you bargained for.”

  The priest looked sharply at John.

  “Here’s what you don’t know,” he said. “If you do this, you’re opening a door in your soul, and you won’t be able to control what’s on the other side. It’ll start to control you.”

  John was tempted to laugh at the priest, but he worried more for Sean than for himself. He expected Sean to get angry, because from his experience modern paganism was mostly no more than an angry reaction against Catholicism. And here was the proof. This priest was butting in to their business, saying Sean’s little card game was part of some evil plot. But Sean looked up from his cards, regarded the priest with a kindly expression and said the last thing John expected.

  “Listen to him, John,” Sean said, sliding over on the padded bench and offering the priest a seat. “This is exactly what I came here to tell you. I had no intention of reading these cards for you until I warned you, like the good Father did just now. These cards are like an icon of your relationship with Jillian. You’re about to open a door to another world. If you continue, you’re going to see changes in your life. Maybe they’ve started already.”

  John remembered that this wasn’t the first time someone had read cards for him.

  “You may start to have uncanny intuitions,” Sean continued, “strange dreams, or odd thoughts. They’ll come unbidden. The safest and most rational thing for you to do right now is to ask me to put the cards away. And I think you know what else that would mean. But what would that say about your philosophy? If there’s nothing to fear from these cards, what does it matter? But if there is, then your philosophy is wrong.

  “I’m here to tell you that your life is about to change. Turn away from this,” Sean gestured to the cards, “or you enter a new reality. I’d be happy for you if you did, and I’d welcome you with open arms and help you find your way. But the good Father is right. Once you open that door, it’s hard to get it closed again.

  “So what will it be?” Sean asked.

  John hesitated, and it seemed for a moment that the room grew quiet and all eyes were on him, or as if the whole world had stopped and time was unable to move forward until he made his decision. Heaven and earth waited and watched to see which future they would take, and which reality would prevail.

  But then he laughed and looked around the room. People were still eating, joking, flirting, or trying to drown their sorrows in a lonely beer in the corner. He knew that outside the wind still blew and the traffic continued on its merry way, and that whether or not Sean turned over a card and pretended to read “meaning” from it made no difference at all.

  Could anyone truly believe that reality changed because of such a small thing?

  “It seems to me that it’s an even bet either way,” John said. “If I ask you to read the cards, maybe I believe in your magical power, or maybe I simply want to see a fancy card trick and laugh at the whole thing. And if I ask you to stop, maybe I’m afraid of the spookies, or maybe I think it’s too silly to bother.”

  “Then don’t do it,” the priest said suddenly, as if replying to a hidden signal. “If not for your sake, then for mine —to please a superstitious old Irishman, if that makes you feel better.” And then he turned to Sean and earnestly said, “Can you put the cards away, my friend? As a favor to me. Can you do that for me?”

  Sean looked at the priest with genuine affection, but with some regret and a little condescension — as a man might look at a drunk on the street corner, knowing what he might have been. John looked on in amazement. Every bad suspicion he’d had about Sean had turned out to be wrong, and now he wondered what Jillian could possibly have against him. He seemed like an honest, decent man.

  “I can do that Father,” Sean said at last, reaching for the cards and putting them carefully in the box. “I’ve made my point, and there’s no need to offend you.”

  The priest nodded thankfully. “No hard feelings then?” he asked.

  “None at all, Father. Sit with us and have a beer. We can tell Irish jokes until it’s time for morning prayer.”

  The priest laughed. “I’m not young enough for all that, but thank you kindly. No, I need to drink my prune juice and take my medicine.” He stood up with a twinkle in his eye and a visible sense of relief.

  “You’re a good man, my pagan friend. God bless you.” He reached into a pocket in his sweater and set two business cards on the table.

  “Thank you Father,” Sean said. “And God bless you too. Next time let me buy you that beer. I’m sure you’ve got some kind words for me.”

  The old priest’s eyes seemed to glisten. He nodded, smiled at them both and walked away.

  John looked at the business card on the table. The priest’s name was Fr. Miller, and he was from the local Catholic parish. St. John’s.

  Sean and John sat in silence for a while, nibbling at their fries or sipping at their beers. John felt a tinge of regret that he wasn’t going to hear the reading, and despite the mental fortress he’d erected after years of practiced materialism, he wondered if he didn’t feel a slight draft blowing through that opening door.

  Chapter 6: Deeper In

  The open window in John’s apartment let the cool, autumn air blow across his body as he lay sleeping. A neighbor was getting an early start on the adjoining patio, pruning a small rosemary bush she hoped to keep inside all winter. The scent drifted into John’s room and stirred his memory. The driveway of his parent’s home in Pennsylvania was bordered with rosemary. That was where he and his father used to play basketball. His mother loved those bushes, and every time the ball slipped out of bounds the familiar scent filled the air — as well as fear of maternal reprisals.

  “What are you doing, son?” John’s father asked as he poked his head into the bedroom.

  “Just trying to figure something out, Dad,” John said, looking up from one of the many books stacked on his desk. He had gone straight to the library after school and came home, precariously balanced on his ten-speed bike, with books under each arm.

  His father was wearing gym shorts and had a basketball in his hands.

  “What is it?” his father asked, coming in and looking at the titles. He saw A Primer on Physics, Elementary Physics, College Physics, Physics for Math Majors, and Newton’s Revolution.

  “Heavy stuff,” he said.

  John smiled. “We were talking at lunch today about how cats always land on their feet. I’m trying to figure out if a cat can spin around in midair. Kirk said it can, but I said it can’t because of conservation of momentum.”

  John’s father nodded thoughtfully. “The important thing to think about,” he said, “is what would happen if you strapped buttered toast on its back. That’s what I want to know.” John laughed. “But seriously, what’s the big deal, son?” he asked. “You don’t take physics until next year.”

  “I know. I hate being wrong, or not knowing why I’m right.”

  His father laughed. “Get used to it, kiddo. You can’t know everything. C’mon. Get your head out of those books and let’s shoot some hoops while it’s still light.”

  John smiled and set the
books down. He could always come back to them later. He already knew that Kirk was wrong. He had to find the right way to explain it at lunch tomorrow.

  The newspaper deliverer slammed the door of his car, startling John out of sleep. He sat up, wide-eyed, and looked around, realizing that he wasn’t going to get to shoot those baskets with his dad. A sharp, acidic feeling filled his nose and an old ache returned to his stomach as he shook his head and lay back down on the pillow.

  * * *

  “What happened with the kid in the car?”

  It was John’s best pal, Al. He hadn’t seen John since his adventure with the would-be radio thief, and even though the cuts and bruises had long since healed, Al could see the fading scars. John gave him a quick run-down of the essentials as they changed for their monthly racquetball game. He left out all references to Jillian’s choice of spirituality, and Al’s encouragement warmed John to the role of story-teller.

  “Cool,” Al said when he got to the part about meeting the old boyfriend at the party. “Is she good-looking?”

  “Very. But the whole thing’s pretty weird. Later I got together with Sean for a beer, and ...”

  “You what?” Al interrupted, incredulous. “You’re moving in on this guy’s girl — who you met because she played junior medic on you — because you chased some guy through the woods — in your dress clothes — and then you go have a beer with the ex? Were you trying to get into another fight?”

  John laughed and shook his head. “It’s even weirder than that.”

  “I’m all ears,” Al said, setting down his racket and showing no interest in leaving the locker room until he heard the whole story.

  John filled in the rest of the details as they sat on the locker-room bench and talked, forfeiting the first ten minutes of their court time. Al stared, wide-eyed, suppressing his laughter and astonishment as well as he could.

  “You know I’m Catholic,” Al replied as John finished his story and they started to make their way to the court, “but it’s a shame about that priest. If I were you I’d be dying to know what those cards said.”

  “I am. And what’s the big deal about tarot cards? What was that priest afraid of?”

  “I don’t know. The devil or something. Evil spirits. Catholics can be awfully weird. Ever heard of the infant of Prague?”

  John shook his head as they filled their water bottles at the fountain and went into the second court. It smelled like a dirty sock, but it looked clean enough.

  “So what are you going to do? And what about that guy with the radio? Did you call the police?” Al asked as they warmed up with a few light volleys.

  “No. No police. What would I tell them? They’d probably write me a ticket for stupidity, or give me a lecture about ‘taking the law into your own hands.’ Anyway, Jillian and I have been out a few times. I’m taking her to dinner again on Friday.”

  “You’re not!” Al dropped his jaw and let the ball go past.

  “I am,” John laughed, picking it up and serving again.

  “Can I get the next table and listen in?”

  * * *

  The steady morning routine had taken somewhat of a new twist over the last week or so. The newspaper couldn’t draw his attention away from reflecting on his dreams. And what dreams! He woke nearly every morning with vivid memories of spectacular adventures. At first he suspected some change in his diet, or stress at the office, or noise from the neighbors, but eventually, and perhaps a little reluctantly, he decided it must be the new ideas he’d been pondering.

  I’m opening up new areas of my mind, he joked with himself.

  Last night’s dream had been more of an elaborate memory. John had been sitting alone in a corner of the high school library, pretending to study. It had been a month since his father had died, and he still didn’t have the heart to hang out with his friends before school began. The library had become his quiet place of refuge.

  The sound of footsteps approached his table. He looked up enough to see a pair of saddle shoes, white, lacy socks, and a pair of cheerleader’s legs. He wasn’t in the mood to make it easy on anybody, so he looked back into his notebook, trying unsuccessfully to read his notes from Biology.

  “Hi, John,” Gayle’s voice said. The captain of the cheerleading squad had recently become one of the most active in promoting the new Young Life club. Her family was from the Philippines, and John thought she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

  “Hi, Gayle,” John said, looking up.

  “Can I sit down?” she asked, and John nodded. “I’m awfully sorry about your dad. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Thanks,” he said, “but I’m okay. It’s just life.”

  He could sense that she was priming herself for something — taking a deep breath, steeling herself to fulfill her God-given mission. “Do you ever wonder what happens to you when you die, John?”

  This was the third time someone had tried to give him some religion since his father died. “Yeah,” he said sarcastically. “I know exactly what happens. You go to Hell and suffer under the wrath of God forever and ever. Isn’t that right?”

  Gayle was used to sarcasm when she tried to share her faith, but she didn’t expect it from John. He had a reputation as a nice guy. “Not if you believe in Jesus,” she said, confidently.

  “But if you don’t, you go to Hell. Right? Isn’t that what your religion teaches you? Frankly,” he said, setting his pen down and looking at her seriously, with thinly veiled anger, “I don’t want to hear any more talk about salvation until somebody’s honest enough to admit what it is we’re all being saved from. Do you believe in Hell, Gayle?”

  “Y- ... yes,” she said.

  “So if somebody dies and doesn’t believe in Jesus, then they’re in Hell, right?”

  “Did your father ...”

  “I don’t know,” he interrupted, “but I want to hear your answer. Do you really believe that your pal Jesus will send people to Hell forever and ever, with no chance of reprieve? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you believe that. Because if you can’t, why should I believe in this salvation you’re selling?” He was speaking a little too loudly, and the librarian gave him a sharp look.

  Gayle tried to look him in the eye, but she couldn’t. She looked down at the table for a long moment, and then her shoulders started to shudder. John immediately felt remorse for venting his anger and frustration on her. He walked around to the other side of the table, taking the seat next to hers. He gently put a hand on her shoulder and apologized. He expected her to push him away, but she put her head on his shoulder and cried.

  That was sixteen years ago. John spent a long time that morning thinking about the dream and remembering Gayle. He sipped his coffee contemplatively. Within a week she had quit Young Life, but she and John were soon going steady. They stayed together until John’s first year in college, when her parents moved back to the Philippines. They had tried to stay in touch for a while, but it was hopeless, and they grew apart. He hadn’t heard from her in years.

  * * *

  The next Saturday John and Jillian drove to Philadelphia to take John’s mother to lunch. After picking her up from her modest two-story, they found a local hotel restaurant with a $5 lunch fajita special.

  Jillian and Liz, John’s mother, immediately fell into an easy rapport. Jillian asked about details of John’s childhood. She even seemed to care about the name of his doctor.

  Liz told several stories that John had never heard before — often things about his father.

  “You loved him deeply,” Jillian said approvingly, then glanced over at John. “I think a child has a special blessing when his parents love each other.”

  On the drive to Pennsylvania John had been rehearsing ways to introduce Jillian to his mother, or to bring up common interests. He’d dreaded this meeting more than a root canal, but it was all for naught. Now he wondered if the danger didn’t lie in the other direction. If Mom liked Jillian that much ..
..

  He looked away to try to regain his balance. The hotel had clearly seen better days. From the outside John had noticed that a few windows were boarded up, and sections of the exterior needed paint. He supposed the hotel made most of its income from the restaurant, which contrasted fairly sharply with the rest of the building. The carpet and furniture in the restaurant looked new, and it was well decorated and bright. The walls and ceilings were hung with well-tended plants that gave the room a clean and inviting look.

  Overall, lunch was a little too pleasant for John’s tastes. The fact that he genuinely liked Jillian didn’t ease the uncomfortable feeling that he was walking into a well-laid trap.

  But the lunch served another purpose. John had never known his mother to open up with anyone the way she opened up with Jillian, and he learned a lot about her as they talked. He had known that she was raised Roman Catholic and now was only nominally religious, but she had never explained why she left the church. Liz and Jillian shared their childhood experiences as they tinkered with their fajitas. Both had been terrified by the nuns and priests, stifled by the routine of Catholic piety, and exhilarated by the liberty of growing out of it all when they got older.

  “It was like the gates of Heaven had opened and I could escape,” Liz said. “I found things more to my liking on the outside.”

  Jillian smiled, but John couldn’t help feeling shock at his mother’s irreverent language. Escaping from Heaven and liking it better outside? Even to his unbelieving ears, that was a bit much. “Mother,” was all he could say, but Jillian shook her head.

  “You weren’t taught by vindictive nuns,” she said. “They acted as if they had God all boxed up in their cathedrals to do their bidding — according to their rules. When you find out that God has the arrogance to do as He pleases, without permission from the pope, it’s quite a surprise.”