by Paul Cwalina
There was a rolling thunder that climaxed with a muted boom.
Then he looked me dead in the eye and said, very slowly and deliberately, “D’ey dropped d’eir stones.” He continued, “D’ey dropped d’eir stones and d’ey dropped d’eir anger and vengeance with dem.” Then he put one hand on my arm and pointed at me with the other. “That’s what you must do, my friend. You must drop your stones. I hear how you talk about dis woman whom you believe wronged you. I can see and smell the venom dripping from your mouth when you speak of her. You want to cast dat first stone, yes? I tell you, though, put down d’ose stones you are clenching in your hands.” He took my hand and said, “How can you shake someone’s hand if you are holding those stones? How can you extend a helping hand if your hands are full with stones? How can you hold a woman’s hand if you are still carrying d’ose stones in your hands?”
And a light bulb came on in my mind. Chelsea. He’s talking about Chelsea. He’s right....I hadn’t been able to love or appreciate Chelsea because I hadn’t let go of my anger over Sarah.
The first loud clap of thunder boomed. It shook the restaurant and a long streak of lightning reached from the cloud to somewhere on land or sea in the distance.
My cell phone rang. “Sorry, Pastor. Let me check this.” I pulled the phone from my jacket pocket. It was just Diane, so I hit the ‘ignore’ button.
“Go ahead, you can answer it,” the pastor said. “I know you are a busy man.”
“That’s okay. If it’s important, she’ll leave a message. I’ll call her back.”
“Okay. So, do you understand what I’m saying, my friend?” he continued.
“I think so...I really do,” I replied, as my mood seemed to lighten.
My phone rang again. Diane, again. What is her problem? Leave a freakin’ message. Take the hint. I pressed ‘ignore’.
“Please call her, my friend. It must be important.”
“No...thank you, Pastor, but it’s alright. Please continue.”
As I finished the sentence, my phone rang, again.
“Oh, please, my friend. Answer. It must be important.”
“Fine. I’ll try to be quick. Sorry,” I said apologetically.
I got up from the table and answered the call upset. I didn’t even say ‘hello’. “Diane, what’s your problem? I’m in a meeting,” I said as I walked away from the table.
All I could hear was the sound of a woman crying, almost hysterically.
“Diane?”
She said something, but I couldn’t make out what it was through the sound of the crying.
“Diane...calm down. What’s wrong?” But she still couldn’t talk.
“Diane. You have to stop crying or I won’t be able to understand what you’re trying to tell me. Are you okay?” I said, forgetting all the past tension that had been there between us.
Still fighting through tears, she finally managed to say, “You filthy piece of slime! You selfish, arrogant piece of slime!” She let out another burst of crying.
Great. What the hell did I do now? I’m not even in the same country anymore.
“Diane. What did I do? What’s going on?”
“It’s my fault. It’s my fault. I should have known,” she said, calming down just a bit.
I was getting frustrated. “Diane, what the hell is going on? What happened?”
“Chelsea is dead. She killed herself.”
The words didn’t quite register. They seemed far too weighty to be said so succinctly. A unique life is over; all of its worth and effect on the world around them is suddenly gone and it could all be summed up in six small, lousy words? Nevertheless, I immediately felt my body change. I’m sure I lost all color in my face. My hands and arms began to tingle and I could feel the sweat build in my palms. My legs were like jelly. “What are you talking about?”
“They found her this morning. She overdosed on some kind of pills. I don’t know what kind. They didn’t tell me.”
“I don’t understand. Chelsea is dead? My Chelsea?”
“Don’t you dare call her ‘your Chelsea’ you piece of slime! You never loved her. You never respected her. You treated her like dirt,” she said with such anger that the words were like knives being hurled at my ear through the phone.
I backed into a high pub-style chair and rested on it..
“What is wrong, my friend?” Pastor Zee asked softly.
I looked right through the pastor and didn’t answer him. I turned my attention back to Diane.
“Diane, why? This doesn’t make sense.” I couldn’t organize my thoughts. I could see Chelsea laughing with me at the museum. I saw her dancing and singing in front of her mirror.
“It’s my fault,” Diane said, much calmer now, but still sobbing. “She gave me signs last night and I didn’t pay attention. I didn’t pay attention. It’s my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“She invited me over for dinner last night. She went all out. I mean she made lobster, some kind of pasta, three vegetables. And I mean not canned peas, you know? She made everything herself from scratch. She must have spent the entire day shopping for and cooking this meal. It was just decadent, you know what I mean? She had two real fancy desserts. We went through two bottles of really expensive wine that she said she felt like splurging on. Oh, my God, what did I do? Why didn’t I see it?” She started crying hard, again.
“Take your time, Diane. I’m here.” My thoughts wandered, again, as Diane collected herself. I remember the time getting caught in the rain with Chelsea. I thought about what Diane told me about how hard she falls in love. I thought about being only the second man with whom she had ever been.
“Then after dinner, we just talked the rest of the night. All about you, of course. The time two of you got caught in the rain ...the weekend you took her to Maine for lobster. You broke her heart. I told you not to play around with her. I begged you. She told me that she kept waiting for you to ask her to marry you.”
“What? She never said anything like that to me.”
“Don’t be an idiot. No woman is going to tell you to ask her to marry you. Anyway, towards the end of the night, she said she wants me to have a painting of hers. She said she just didn’t have any room for it and hated to see it sitting in a closet. Now, I see why she was giving it to me. She had plenty of room for it. Then me, like an idiot, as I’m leaving, I made a comment about this necklace she had hung on her wall like piece of art.”
“Yeah, I know which one you mean.”
“She said she didn’t wear it anymore and just put it on the wall because it looked artsy and unique. Well, she just took it down and handed it to me and told me to take it. I made a joke about how it looked like I went to a yard sale in her apartment. I must have had too much to drink. I should have known what she was doing. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’ll never forgive myself...” Her voice was swallowed up by another fit of hysterical crying.
I didn’t know what to do. I knew I was incapable of comforting her and I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that Chelsea was dead. Before I could ask about a funeral, Diane came back on the phone.
“I don’t know what they’re going to do about a funeral. Her parents retired to Florida. She considered this city her home since then.”
“Make sure you tell me when you find out.”
“Are you out of your mind? You’re the last person that family will want anywhere near her funeral. Here’s some news for you: they’ve always hated your guts because they saw the way you treated Chelsea. They tolerated you for her sake. So, just stay the hell away. And stay the hell away from me. I just called because you should know. Don’t try to contact me after I hang up. I want nothing to do with you, anymore. Goodbye.”
And with that, I was completely and utterly alone in the world.
Pastor Zee came right over to me. “What is wrong, my friend?” He placed his hand on my shoulder.
“I just got hit by a stone,” I told him, be
fore elaborating.
Chapter Seventeen
The following morning Pastor Zee showed up at my door. He held what looked to be a large cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and a small brown bag.
“Good morning, sir,” he said.
“Good morning, Pastor. Did we have an appointment?” I said, squinting at the first light to hit my eyes.
“No. No appointment.”
“Ok...well, come in.”
He said ‘thank you’ and walked in and right through the living room to the kitchen, where he put down the coffee and pastry bag. “You like croissants?” he asked.
“Sure, thank you,” I said and reached into a cupboard for plates and cups and grabbed the butter. “Are we splitting that coffee?” I asked.
“No, no. Dat’s for you. I don’t drink coffee. Da water is for me,” he said
He pulled the croissants out of the bag and I pushed the butter dish and knife toward him. I pulled the lid off the coffee and took a glorious sip. Not many on the island seemed to drink coffee, probably because of the heat, so it wasn’t as available as I was used to it being back home. “So, what can I do for you, Pastor?” I asked.
“Do for me?” he responded. “No, no. I am here for you, sir. You received very, very bad news yesterday and you left before we could talk about it. We need to do dat. You should not be alone with dat burden.”
“Well, nothing can be be done about it now. Nothing can be changed or undone,” I said with a false sense of strength.
“Yes, yes, yes. Dat is certainly true,” he admitted. “But you have a choice as to how to deal with what happened, yes? Let’s talk about dat.”
“i suppose. Let’s go out onto the deck.”
I slid the door open and allowed Pastor Zee out and followed right behind. We set our drinks and croissants down on the table and adjusted our large white plastic chairs. I positioned one in front of me to use as a foot rest. Below, vacationers were beginning to make their way onto the beach with their umbrellas and chairs, while workers carried boxes of alcohol and supplies to the beachside bars. Two sailboats were on the water and there was a cruise ship in the distance. The burning sun shared the sky with a handful of small, scattered and harmless clouds. A cooling breeze was rising and falling in waves.
I hated every bit of it. I was sorry I suggested going out into the open. I felt exposed. I was naked in my shame. I wanted to go back inside and hide. Chelsea was dead and it was partially my fault. No. It was my fault. I stewed in that in silence as we sat there for twenty minutes. Pastor Zee patiently waited for me, slowly eating his croissant and sipping his water.
I finally broke the silence. “I shouldn’t have been intimate with her,” I said softly.
My voice shocked the pastor into putting his water down and turning toward me. He was eager to run with it. “Why do you say dat?”
“She seemed to take that more seriously than any other woman I’ve known. I knew that and I knew I didn’t feel the same way and I didn’t care in that moment,” I babbled. “It was precious to her and she gave it to me and I treated it like just another transaction.”
“Yes, men today like to tink dey can disconnect parts of a woman from her heart, but dat is impossible. It is all connected to her heart and her heart is connected to her mind and everyting to her soul,” he counseled. “A woman is not an a la carte menu.”
I wasn’t quite buying that. “I’m not so sure about that, pastor. People seem perfectly happy with being physical just as a way to have fun for a night. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Oh, my good sir, yes there most certainly is,” he said seriously. “It may be hidden and hard to see in the moment, but it will most certainly show up later on in many, many ways. You may lie d’ere after doing dat --- committing dat sin, if I may --- and you look around and say, ‘See? Nothing wrong. No problem.’ But I assure you, just as you plant a seed in the ground dat you cannot see until it breaks through the ground, you have started a process that will lead to pain and deep-seated anguish later.”
That’s ridiculous. “Look, pastor, obviously women have no problem with it. It’s the norm.”
“Do you really tink so?”
“I know so,” I said and then added, “Trust me.”
“I see. And you really tink dat d’ese women are anxious to do dat, or do you tink they are preyed upon while their senses are numbed by alcohol or other issues?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, pastor. Have you been to America, lately? Women are just as willing as men to hop into bed whether it’s for a night or as the end of a date.”
“I see. Tell me do you really tink dat deep down in a woman’s heart dat is what d’ey want? Or do you tink dat d’ey see dat men have grown so weak, so self-centered, so short-sighted and d’eir minds so warped by pornography dat d’ey feel d’ey have little choice; dat d’ey must take what little d’ey can get from a man’s heart if d’ey have any hope to get da affection d’ey desire? Dat d’ey have been led to dis state?”
What is he talking about?
I didn’t respond, so he continued, “God created woman as a companion, not as a playting or an accessory. He also created da very special gift of intimacy to help us ‘go forth and multiply’ and commanded dat it be reserved for marriage. I know dat today dat sounds so foreign, but d’ere are many, many consequences for those who do not understand dat.”
I turned my head away from him and stared out into the ocean. He was cutting a little too close to home.
He kept lecturing. “D’ere is a design to dis world and every single ting in it. D’ere is a natural order and flow. In our arrogance we believe we can go against it, too stupid to realize dat we are but specs of dust without da power to change dat order and flow or to go against it without consequences to ourselves and d’ose around us.”
I remained silent as he seemed to invalidate my entire life up to that point, as well as my worldview. I hadn’t the strength or the words to argue. I was sure I would dismantle his arguments the next time I saw him, but I couldn’t respond in that moment. The morning slipped away and he said he had other members of his flock he needed to counsel. He refused to leave, though, without my assurances that I would be OK.
He left with the promise that he would be back the next morning.
I decided to give myself a little more than a week before heading back to see Chelsea’s grave. I wanted to make sure the funeral was over and her family was out of town. Pastor Zee spent as much time with me as he could that week without completely neglecting his flock. In the times that he was unavailable, there was always a phone call from Edmond or Lydia or Lydia’s husband. I guess I wasn’t as alone as I thought. Their time and comfort, though, still couldn’t take away the pain or the sense of emptiness.
Other than my chats with Pastor Zee, I can’t remember what happened over the next several days. I don’t remember eating anything. I just remember trying to pass time before I could go home.
When a week had passed and I was sure the funeral had already taken place, I planned my trip home. I wasn’t sure how long I was going to stay back home, so I packed all of my clothes, except my suits. Edmond was on the island for a couple of days, and gave me a ride to the airport. He picked me up at seven the morning of my flight. During the ride, after we had exchanged some small talk, I wanted to address my concerns about my position at the resort.
“Edmond, I need to talk to you about something,”
“Yes, Mister Mayor,” he said.