None Alone Two

2.

A breeze lifts the hay, strumming it along the bars. No harp could sound so small. The straw somersaults, falls down. It dies with the wind.

I poke at the straw with a toe. It is the only thing that has moved in this little world for a while. Near silence in the corridor - I don't even know if there's anyone else here. Probably not.

Another gust comes in through the high gap in the thick grey wall. It's cold. I shiver, and pull scabby knees up to my chest. They groan as ancient hinges between battered boards.

At the end of the corridor the door scrapes the slabstones. My head perks up like a little pekingese, then drops its tangled mass of hair as it realizes no one is coming. All that's left is me and my hair, me and my hair, quivering in the crisp drafts. And the straw, of course. It stays by the toe, leaning upon its calloused support in quiet petition. It doesn't want to move, either.

There is a definite noise coming from beyond the door. It is not so much of a noise as a low vibration, like that before an earthquake when things unbalanced start to shake, their shifting foundations falling away. I feel the approach of some power. A shot of adrenaline races through my system.

I find myself grasping the bars. In their smooth shape I feel the movements of the entire building, a hum deeper than before. My eyes dart to my hands as they sense a sudden jolt. When I look up, he's there in front of me already, his eyes on mine. Ashamed, I look away, but he has caught that; in fact, he already knows.

The melodious hum is here, too overpowering to be ignored even when I turn my head away. "I told you before," I say, closing my eyes. I don't want to hear it. That part remains unsaid, but it remains understood.

This is the waiting period for an answer that doesn't come. Little more than a buzzing stirs the air, likely the muffled heart inside my chest beating its lethargic drums. I strain my ears for a sound, a sign, anything besides that drone of wind and vibration. Words would be helpful - at least I would know what to do, I think.

A clear answer rarely comes, and when it does, it is usually not what I want. I get lost that way: Where is it? I’ve got to find it. Without this my quest will not be complete. That’s when the quest turns into two more, and suddenly I am running sideways on a bunch of pursuits –

“Dear one,” he says, just once, only softly. Even still, my bones rattle as another gust of wind fills the enclosure.

My eyelids flutter open. He stands a few feet away. Over his arm is draped something like a long cloth. I try to focus my eyes on it, but somehow it shifts colors and loses recognizable form. Only in the peripheral can I see it as a tangible thing.

“Yes?” I ask, peering from narrowed slits, my eyes darting between him and the nearly invisible cloth. “Can I help you?”

            No answer to my question. It is almost too much. I leap up, staggering a little on tottering feet. “Look, you told me to do something, and I did it. What else do you want from me?” The shouting bounces across the room, rebounds and slaps my ears.

He still stands there, the appearance of his face the same as it ever was. When the piercing dies down in my head, he speaks. “Do you remember what this means?” He indicates the seal on my heart, faded now, but still undeniably his.

“I’m part of your kingdom,” I say. My shoulders creak as they shrug. “It’s just like any other mark, a point in my history. Here, the scar from that last battle.” I bend over my arm and point. “Oh, and this one, this one is my favorite.”

I freeze and look up slowly. His expression is the same as always. “Is that what you believe?” he asks.

But he knows the answer, so I don’t give him one.

“My Lord, I don’t hear anything from you anymore,” I say instead. “I might as well talk to this wall.” As I turn to face the grey surface a cool breeze finds my neck.

“My dear one, sometimes you see me and sometimes you don’t. At times you hear me, and at others you don’t.” It is only now that I realize the charged, cool air is coming from him- has been coming from him- just like the unending energy oscillating back and forth in a pattern established before telling.

I’m on the floor, sitting down again. “I don’t understand,” I say, looking up at his face. “Why?”

“I have been here this all the time, dear one, right here with you. I am always seeking you, but you have forgotten what you once believed. You have sought everything but me.”

The strumming breeze elicits a response from the bars. Their melody joins the ringing in my ears as if it were balm over scarred tissue.

Nothing he says is false – it’s ever-true. What brought me here was one of those side missions; interesting, as usual, perking my curiosity, as always, but not fulfilling. Chasing that instant satiation into a rat trap is one of the most habitually damaging things I do. It is what has brought me here, too far from him and this close. This is“his” story, not mine, if I appear for even a second in the great summation of the ages.

“My Lord,” I say, sinking into the straw, “can you forgive me for everything I’ve done. Or not done?” I am ready for a lecture about my constant running off, a scolding that pertains to where the clothes he gave me went to.

“I can and I have,” he replies. "My dear one, do you realize why I have given you my seal? It is more than just citizenship in my kingdom or its privileges and responsibilities, although it includes these things. The fact remains that what you do or do not do cannot exclude you permanently from my kingdom, only from the blessings you receive therein. What you believe however, is a different matter.  Can you understand this?"

My head bobs. I feel warm. Upon a second glance at my body all the scars are washed and wrapped. I am wearing the cloth he cradled in his arms, a long robe more resilient than those I had worn before. I see its form as faintly as a sunbeam through leaves, but its glow covers all.

“When did you do this? I didn’t see you.” He does not appear to have moved at all, but I suspect otherwise. And the strange part is, I am okay with not knowing how he had done this, knowing just that he had. "But why?" I ask. "Why would you do this?"

“You allowed me to show you when you believed. I always want to help you, but it's when you stop struggling and trust me that you can fully experience the good things I have for you. Take for example the clothes you are wearing. You could not see them so well at first because you were not focusing on those things of which they are made."

"What are they made of?" I ask tentatively.

He smiles at me with unbelievable compassion. "Hope, faith, and above all, love. Now, dear one, are you ready to come out from behind those bars? I want to be with you.”

I hesitate a moment, my hand on the latch. To be locked up here or to go out to face the world beside my Lord? “I don’t have the key,” I reply. “How will it open?”

“You could have opened it any time you wanted, dear one.”

I push open the door with a tentative nudge. It swings wide, clanging against the cage.

“Do you want to come out of there?” my Lord says. “No one forces you to.”

Looking behind one last time at the small cell with its dismal grey wall, I make a motion to move forward while my head remains backward, almost.  This won’t do.  I close my eyes and turn around.  I take one step toward the corridor, and then another, where upon the threshold, I am face-to-face with my Lord.

“If you want to believe, come with me,” he says. “Know I am with you, always.”

At that I take a step forward and the bars fall behind.

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