Cherish: A Still, Small Call

Thankfully, Andy didn’t tend bar on Mondays. He could be alone with his throbbing head. On days like today, his apartment was a haven, high above the world. He could sleep in, and he was content to be alone.

When he finally rolled out of bed, the sun was high, streaming through the windows and gleaming off the snowy rooftops below. He squinted. It looked crisp and cold, and he was glad he didn’t have to go anywhere. He put on a couple of his favorite albums, sipped some tomato juice, and then whipped up bacon, toast, and coffee.

Ah! He put his feet up and settled in to read. He skipped lunch but ate supper. Leftovers and a glass of wine were always good on a day like this. He rinsed his plate and admired the sunset. The view from this high was always beautiful. Tonight, the reds were spectacular. They were like fire. The brightness made his head ache, and he closed his eyes. He put down the dish towel and leaned against the counter. It was peaceful.

But when he opened his eyes, he sucked in a quick breath. Something was wrong. The sunset was too bright – far too bright.

He put both hands on the counter to steady himself. Were the clouds really on fire? In dream-like slow motion, fiery tongues ate away at the tops of buildings.

He shook his head and wondered if anyone else was seeing this and perhaps photographing it. No doubt he would see it in some magazine next week: “The Phenomenon over Chicago on February 28.”

He closed his eyes again, but the image still appeared, as if seared into his eyelids. And the effect grew. Panic sent his heart racing. Was he losing his mind?

He stumbled clumsily into a chair and pressed his fingers into his lids. But try as he might to stop it, strange things kept happening. Now he felt exposed and vulnerable. It was as if he had opened up and breathed in something soft.

His mind cast about for explanations. He knew it wasn’t drugs; he didn’t do drugs. They scared him. His drug of choice was always alcohol, and he knew he wasn’t drunk.

He stood, clung to the counter, and waited for the room to stop spinning. He had to clear his head.

In the dream (it was a dream, wasn’t it?), Andy suddenly felt, more than heard, a voice — a firm, yet tender and gentle voice. It reminded him of the time he’d once held a baby bunny at a petting zoo, cupping it gently but firmly so it couldn’t escape.

Somehow he had become the bunny. The words in his head were like the words he had spoken to his captive: “Ssssh! Settle down. It’s all right. You’re okay. I’ll let you go in a minute.”

Settle down? Something was playing with his mind. How could he settle down?

He squeezed his lids tighter and rubbed his forehead. And as much as he didn’t want to hear the voice again, he strained to hear it. He HAD to hear it again. He had to know what was going on! What did all of this mean? Who was in his head?

His heart was pounding. Maybe he WAS losing his mind. Or maybe it was just a dream — a very vivid dream. Is this what it was like to be on drugs, he wondered? If so, why would anybody ever want to do drugs again?

In a rapidly spinning blender of mixed-up emotions, a peculiar thought startled him — one that didn’t make sense. Even so, he heard himself whisper, “God, is that you?”

The minute the words left his lips, a flood of what he could only describe as the softest tenderness imaginable so overwhelmed him that tears welled up and poured down his cheeks.

He attempted a nervous laugh. God? God had never been a part of his life. What could God possibly want with him? God was in churches; he didn’t know anyone who went to church. But… that wasn’t totally true. His Grannie went to church. And he and Molly had gone with her once, long ago. He tried again to shake the feeling.

Maybe if he moved, the sensation would go away. For some reason he grabbed his keys from the end table, palmed them for a minute, and then yanked open the door. He left the apartment and stalked down the hall. In the elevator, without knowing why, he hit B and rode all the way to the bottom.

He felt calmer now that he had done that, but it made no sense. The only thing at the B level was his storage unit.

Walking to the unit’s gate, he undid the padlock. Then, he stood looking at the collection of possessions he had decided to keep instead of throw away when he’d moved in. Everything was boxed and stacked. It was just extra junk. He really should get rid of some of this.

On an impulse, he set aside a couple of boxes, and when one of them tipped precariously, he pulled it back, thinking to put it on top. Unlike the other boxes, this one wasn’t marked. Curious, he decided to open it before he stacked it again. Inside, he saw what he hadn’t known he was looking for: a Bible.

Vaguely he recalled the time Grannie had taken him and his sister to church. She had insisted that they each needed a Bible to carry. She had bought one for Molly and him at the dime store. He couldn’t believe he still had it. He had never opened it.

Now he sat on the floor and turned the pages. Nothing jumped out at him. He wasn’t sure why finding it had been important. Shaking his head, he set the Bible aside, closed the box, and stacked everything as it had been before. Then he locked the gate and carried the Bible upstairs.

In the empty hallway, he inserted the key to his apartment. He tried to snicker to gain control. But something sobered him. Instead of making light, he said, “Okay, God, I’ve got the Bible. Now what?”

As the door opened, the answer came, but it was not logical. In fact, it was preposterous. He was to go back to school.

“I don’t think so!” he said more loudly than he meant to. His voice echoed. It seemed like he was shouting.

But the thought of school would not leave him.

This was crazy! He wasn’t school material. Where could he go to school? He had virtually flunked out of high school and had definitely flunked out of college. Nobody would accept him now.

He tossed the Bible onto the sofa. This was silly. He wasn’t going to think about this anymore…he thought.