PART OF THE PLAN

I have these moments I'm steady and strong, I'm feeling so wholly and humble. The next thing I know I'm all whirl-wheeled and weak and I feel myself starting to crumble. The meanings get lost and the teachings get tossed, and you don't know what you're gonna do next. You wait for the sun, but it never quite comes, and some kind of message comes through to you ... some kind of message comes through.

The words on the page blurred in his mind. The tiny, parchment letters blended together until the words ran into nothing. He rubbed his eyes. He had been staring at the pages of the Bible too long, working vehemently on a sermon he might never preach.

And it was cold outside. Not just chilly or dreary, but cold. Wet rain blew like ice pellets against the rectory window. Who knew? It might actually be sleeting outside. There is a first time for everything, after all. He ran his fingers across his wrinkled brow and stared at the bright light of the lamp. He didn't quite have the energy to get up and go outside. To walk in the cold wet rain, to feel the icy pellets on his skin. He didn't quite have the strength to go to his Mama's that night. But he was expected. They would all be disappointed, so he'd go. But his heart wasn't in it. His heart blocked by the heavenly gate.

This was one of those moments. No. Not the steady strong. The weak moments. One of those nights he could feel himself crumbling. He had those moments every once in a while. Wasn't everyone entitled to at least once in his or her life? Admittedly, he'd had those moments more than once, more than twice. It was beginning to be a daily habit. Weak. Crumbling. And no one was there to see it happening. To pick up the pieces. Or should he say, she wasn't there to see it happening. To pick up the pieces. To build a future in his Eden.

It had been nearly a year since she had left. No word. No hello, how are you? No I am sorry for leaving you. I am sorry for loving you. I am sorry you can't love me back. Nothing. Just gone. And now he was crumbling. The day had been long. His hands were cold. And he yearned to hear her voice, to see her dark eyes smiling. To touch her soft skin. He yearned to watch the Christmas lights dancing in her eyes. To just be near her, to know that she was ok.

Often times he'd look up at the sky at night, walk the beach and pray. And always, as he witnessed the twinkling plight of the stars overhead, he'd tell himself that somewhere, she was watching the very same dancing stars. Somewhere she was listening to his heart. Still knocking. Or so he told himself in the darkest hours. He told himself, his message he pounded into his brain over and over, that it was right. She had to leave. It was for the best. He had no right to hold her here. That was his message to himself, even if he didn't always believe it. Always? More like never.

And it says that you love when you can, you can cry when you have to. Be who you must. That is a part of the plan. Await your arrival, simple survival. And one day we'll all understand. One day we'll all understand. One day we'll all understand.

He pushed himself up off the chair, away from the desk. It was time to go. Mama would be waiting. Ricardo. Maria. Benjy. Tonight would be about survival. Not about the sermon he might or might not preach on Sunday. Not about the hole in his heart that she had left. She She had left. A whole year and it had not begun to fill. As much as he'd like to say it was himself, his lack of devotion to the church, but it was always her. So many people wanted to draw lines, blur the truth. It was Gabi or the church. But all he ever saw was how distinct his ...love... for Gabi was, with our without the church.

It would be about survival. He slapped the Bible closed, pulled the chain on the light a little too hard. The chain clanged loudly against the lamp. And he strode out the door, collar still in place. It was his only true protection. His prison. Have you ever heard of someone who has been in prison so long, they are not capable of living in normal society? He felt like he had been in the prison confinements, the safety of that collar, that if he took it off, if he let the man inside out again, God Forbid, he couldn't survive. He'd crumble. Maybe one day he'd have the strength.

I had a woman who gave me her soul. But I wasn't read to take it. Her heart was so fragile and heavy to hold and I was afraid I might break it. Your conscience awakes and you see your mistakes and you wish someone would buy your confession. The days miss their mark and the night gets so dark. And some kind of message comes through to you, some kind of message shoots through.

The wind was so icy and bitter as he strode along the sidewalk. The rain was stalling, drizzling just enough to be damp. He needed the concentration, the bitterness that the wind shot into his soul. It made him jolt back to reality. Yes, he had Gabi once. She was his, that night in the dust and debris, she had given him her soul. She loved him then, and him alone. There were no doubts, no second thoughts. No other loves, no other obligations, no collar. It was all, and nothing less. But just for that one night.

As much as he lived the moments over in his mind, he played it again and again, tried to erase those memories through use, he could never let go. For that one moment she was his. His. And then he'd let go, began to draw away, ebb back into this solitude behind the counter. Her heart was so fragile and heavy to hold.

Her heart was so fragile and heavy to hold. And he had no right to take it, break it, or touch it ever again. He had given up that right the very moment he told her that he wouldn't tell Ricardo about them. His mistake, forever etched in his soul.

And it says that you love when you can, cry when you have to. Be who you must that is a part of the plan. Await your arrival, simple survival. And one day we'll all understand. One day we'll all understand. One day we'll all understand.

He rubbed his hands together vigorously, trying to hold what little warmth was there on the brisk night. His steps took him fast to Mama's. He would block out the past. Block out that heavy heart he still carried in his hands. Sometimes, when he looked at his hands, he literally felt the weight there, saw how fragile Gabi had been. And sometimes he thought he had made the right decision all along. Don't pursue her, let her go. Let her go.

And then sometimes, he saw that heart and felt himself dying inside. Wondering why, after all this time, he couldn't let it go. Give it back completely. But he never wanted to face the true answer. She would always be a part of him. She would always stare up at the same stars every night, and she would always be in his heart, knocking on his heavenly gate awaiting his move. He was sure of it. If only he had given her the slightest hint of a future, if only he had simply told her he still loved her that fateful night when she had left, he .... If if if. If only so much time hadn't passed. If only he had the strength now to tell her. If only ...

But he hadn't. And that was reality. He stopped outside of Mama's house, saw the twinkling Christmas lights lining the window. And in his heart, blocked by his heavenly gate, he knew that somewhere his Gabi was watching the twinkle of lights as well. His Gabi.

He took a deep breath, knocked once on the door, before pushing inside to the welcoming warmth, the jovial Christmas spirit and family hugs. There would be no sermon Sunday. No heavenly gate in his heart.

If only so much time hadn't passed ....

There is no Eden, no heavenly gate.