In To The Altar Oliver said that he was contemplative. Contemplative of course means thoughtful, introspective but it can also refer to a person who devotes his life to prayer. Given that Martha Williamson writes SSD, I don't think it is too far a stretch to say that Oliver's contemplations were also prayerful. The following story examines the contemplations of Oliver in To The Altar. The reflection begins on Monday night and hopefully will include each day of that life-changing week concluding on Saturday. There will be dialogue between Oliver and Joe included in the chapter about Thursday's events. I hope you enjoy my take on Oliver's struggle during TTA. The characters belong to the mind and heart of Martha Williamson.
CONTEMPLATIVE
MONDAY
The DLO is empty. It is late. Oliver sits at his desk. He is just sitting there – thinking – thinking about her – contemplating the two of them.
This deeper musing involving her started when she was gone for three months. The DLO seemed so empty without her. He was empty without her. When she returned he grabbed her by the wrist, spun her to him, and kissed her with all the passion and longing that he could express to someone who wasn't his wife.
Huh – and there it is. Where are all this longing and passion and joy going? Is he truly in love with her? Is marrying her a commitment he is ready to make? Is asking her to spend her life with a human antique fair to her? Could things stay the same – for a while?
He sits clicking the pen someone left on his desk. He doesn't really like pens that click. He prefers the quiet turn. He tosses the pen onto the desk and continues thinking.
At first when she came back he was just happy that she was there – with him – back at work in the DLO. Every night there was something new about her for which he was thankful to God. He could not have withstood the transition to this new godforsaken space without her. She even made that tolerable. All he has to do is think of her putting that hammer through the wall and he laughs. Who is this man that laughs thinking of such careless destruction? But she doesn't measure things and he is very measured.
At first there is the simple joy of dating – of nights sitting in a porch swing, holding hands, laughing at nothing in particular – of dinners together – of hesitantly trying just a bite of a new dish from her plate served to his lips from her fork. It is the sparkle in her eyes and the smell of her perfume.
At first it is all the little things that he has never experienced with her. And that is enough.
But somewhere along this path with her, somewhere between meeting this audacious blonde at a coffee cart and this quiet night in the DLO, she becomes something more than a colleague, more than a friend. They are no longer "just" anything. To continue as they are would be like trying to keep a raft steady when the current is carrying them both forward.
A part of him wants to blame this current dilemma on the contents of a badly ripped and mangled box. But he asks himself if the timing of her discovering that package and then of his discovering her wearing it is a divine delivery in and of itself. He has always trusted the timing. He was already pondering marriage. Why doesn't he trust this?
He was praying about their relationship long before he saw her standing there. Was her standing there providential? "Dear Father, is finding her in that dress a sign from You? Oh God, I do not know." Nevertheless he does not believe in coincidence.
Yet they are two very different people.
He is introspective. He isn't certain how to talk to God about her now. Tonight, as many nights recently, his thoughts are a mixture of talking to God and talking to himself. He has boarded the raft with her. He isn't certain he is ready to go downstream. However, today's discovery in the DLO feels as if his raft is loosening from its moorings.
That morning she had doffed her shoes and gone flying out of the DLO. That alone was a prime example of his conundrum; barefoot at work is something Oliver O'Toole would never be. There was a time when an employee running barefoot through the post office would have mortified him. Somehow she is adorable; she is irresistible. But he must speak to her about that. Especially since they are – are – dating? Going steady? He is back to brooding over the matter again.
He thinks of her headed in the wrong direction with an undeliverable package. She the rule breaker resists the protest of the rule keeper. Yet far too much to his delight, she is on tiptoes in those bare feet, leaning into him, whispering in his ear – a wisp of her hair against his cheek, a hint of her perfume. He is rendered helpless. She intoxicates him. If she only knew that it took him a good fifteen minutes to hear a word spoken in that parking meeting for thinking about the way he feels when she is that close to him. He leaves the meeting thinking diagonals won the day whether they did or not.
Sitting at his desk he realizes that he is smiling. He can almost feel her against his side now. He remembers every goodnight kiss, every lean in and bump to his shoulder, every time she looks at him as she looks at no other man. When she is that close to him he feels alive and not dead. As far as he is concerned everyone else can go away and hurry. He is Oliver O'Toole and he is happy, truly happy. Truth be told he loves her flirtations. He is having fun and she is the source of that fun. He needs no instructions, no book on how to have fun. All he needs is she. Why should he question their future?
But he does question.
Would she one day find his rules too confining? Would he one day find her flirtations manipulative. They are two different people but are they too different? When she first comes to Denver he see her as a strong-willed, injured, doubting, technophile. He with a slight measure of arrogance sets out to prove to her the value of the written word, tradition, and faith. He does not considered what she will do to him or the degree to which he deeply needs her.
The smile leaves his face again. He sighs and rises to walk to the mini-fridge to retrieve a Yoo-hoo. He isn't ready to go home to that big empty house and he allows himself to ponder going home to her. If she were there he wouldn't be standing in an empty, dark DLO drinking alone. They would go home and be together. They would cook dinner and clean the kitchen and talk. Afterward he plays records – vinyl LPs - and sits on the couch and reads a book with her curled beside him and then….and then….she joins him with an electronic device….
He shakes his head.
He walks over and sits on the stool in front of her workstation – gently wiping her desk with his hand. His eyes turn to the mirror across the room from him and he sighs again.
That flirtatious moment in terminal on his way to a meeting about parking spaces is light hearted – easy – all good. His gait back to the DLO speaks of a man who has taken a break from all his musing and pondering. He prays only one sentence, "Thank you for this lovely woman who brightens every room and warms my life."
But then he finds her. He finds the object of his affection giving him something truly to ponder.
He is unprepared and he is always prepared. He is speechless. In that moment neither Shakespeare nor the Bible crosses his mind. Words don't matter. Only she matters.
Sitting here now he admits to himself that he could have turned and slipped away. Turning away never crossed his mind. For once since Holly he stopped thinking. The swift current of his heart pulls him to her.
He realizes that he was forward and he is never forward. Hands that are always cautious with her button her dress with ease and confidence, resting for a moment at her hips. He feels no shame, no insecurity. That moment of intimacy with her is not uncomfortable for him. He is at peace.
Shush – don't break the spell. He can't take his eyes off her reflection in the mirror. He wants to stand there just looking at her. He loves her blushing cheeks. His eyes fill as he sits at her portable desk thinking of her standing over there. He shifts the bottle of Yoo-Hoo to his left hand in order to rub his eyes with the fingers of his right as if they were wet from fatigue. The image of her does not leave him nor do the tears. She never seemed more innocent or vulnerable to him. He feels completely protective of her.
Let time stop. Leave us alone. Give us this moment.
She wants to assure him that it isn't what it seems and he muses on how he teases her with his words and his smile and his own twinkling eyes. But then she turns and he looks down – taking her in all the way down to the hem of the garment. A bride stands before him.
And now he can't forget – he doesn't want to forget. If seeing her in a used wedding dress, standing in the DLO could have this affect on him what would seeing her in…in….
And there it was again. "Oh God help," he says aloud. And he means it.
He tosses the empty drink bottle into the recycle bin and hears it clink against an empty Kombucha. They couldn't even share the same taste in beverages. It is time to go home.