Listen [rachel]

Listen

What does it mean to listen to others, to listen to myself? What does it mean to listen to God?

--------

Jess and I stop walking halfway across the bridge. The painted yellow steel beams rise straight up next to us, looking like strips of candy buttons I might have bought at the neighborhood pool years ago. “Maybe it doesn’t matter if Jesus was a historical figure or not,” she ventures. Almost defensively she continues, “The principles don’t change—love, sacrifice, honor. Maybe I sound like a heretic but that’s what I think.” We are talking about the deaths of mothers. As we start forward again, she remarks, “I don’t usually have conversations like this.”

--------

Marie and I anticipate our meal. The waiter fills the water glasses. The cool breeze makes it feel like we’re at the beach, and the tiny rows of lights come on overhead. Jim and Pete complete the foursome. I watch as they share food from each other’s plates. I see the smile in Jim’s eye, lighting his handsome face. Pete picks up the tab. I remember him saying not long ago, “I feel depressed when I’m alone.”

---------

With the car in park, we sit in front of her apartment.

“I don’t want Him around all the time. I need time to myself.”

I think she’s getting annoyed. “But what if He just loves you that much?”

“He’ll be with me when I need Him, just not all the time.”

---------

I hang up the phone. She laughed a lot tonight and asked many questions. I remember this one, “Are you going to send me something for Mother’s Day? I miss you.” I let my head rest against the steering wheel. The motor is off. The tears come easily and I let them. Then I walk several blocks though it’s dark. I want the air to un-redden my eyes before I go inside.

My hands have been shaking, too little sleep for the last few nights. I just had to finish the essay on time. I know I need to rest, but the sun is bright and the breeze is soft, so I walk to the post office. I choose the brightest packaging, pink with little white swirls. I kiss the book, place it inside and slip in the card labeled “Mom.” Only a month and a half, and I can go home. I feel the tears starting again.

---------

Just when we think the hammer will fall, He smiles and calls (to him, to her, to me)

“My Love—“