Chapter 4
Sometimes, if I allow myself time to think, I become upset over things that most people are never bothered by. Like florists, or lepidopterists. They're in the business of beautiful dead things. I'll let the thoughts swarm, grey and massive, to the point where rage thrums in my palms and locks my jaw.
Who the hell are they to kill and call it art?
Over A Year Ago (Fall 2012)
Callie Torres sat hunched over the polished wood of a pew with her hands folded in front of her. Her knees marked indentations into a maroon suede-covered kneeler. The bent edges of the thick books resting in their wooden holders on the back of the pew in front of her pressed comfortingly into her forearms. A lone candle flickered harmlessly amongst the unlit others in the concave portion of the wall to her right. Her gold rosary was woven intimately around her fingers as she took each beaded mother of pearl between her thumb and forefinger and began each prayer anew.
She wished there was a confessional box in the hospital's make-shift chapel.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
It had all started with a joke. She and Addison were comparing their schedules for the following week, and Callie had hinted that she had tricked their coworker into giving her the better shift. When Addison had asked her how, she said there might have been a bit of manipulation involved, even though she knew the other person would wind up failing miserably at the shift she had offered up in exchange. Addison had laughed and exclaimed, "Hail, Master! Did you do all of this in the garden, too?"
It was meant to be innocent, as all jokes between friends are, but to Callie, it stuck for reasons completely unrelated to the situation. The unspoken implications led her to immediately flee to the neat rows of benches, hoping it would melt the guilt off of her.
That's where Arizona found her. She was standing in the entryway, leaning heavily against the side with her arms crossed, focused on the dark hair and defeated posture of the first year she'd had on her service last month.
It had been a long shift. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot and everything was a little fuzzy around the edges now that she had been up for almost 36 hours straight. As a surgeon, she was depressingly used to it. She knew she wouldn't find sympathy from anyone here.
Moments before, she had stood in the back of the elevator with her shoulder blades pressed against some health poster behind her. As the elevator began to close, her eyes had caught the familiar silhouette of the woman in the pew across the hall. In a split second she had made the decision to hop off, causing the doors to jerk and retreat before slowly sliding to a close behind her. It was a cautious trek she made to the mouth of the chapel, and now that she stood there, she couldn't tell whether or not she should leave Callie to her thoughts.
It was a hair flip that did her in, oddly enough. A quick flick of the wrist to toss a stray curl out of the younger woman's face revealed, if only for a moment, a wet trail of vulnerability marring her cheek. It was then that Arizona stifled a yawn as she stepped slowly in, turning and shutting the large double doors as quietly as she could to give the two of them privacy.
She marveled at the quiet as her boots glided along the carpeted aisle. There was a small tray of water at the corner of the bench Callie sat in. She observed it with open curiosity as she slid in beside the other woman.
"It's holy water," Callie mumbled into her locked hands. Arizona sat up straighter once she heard her speak and winced at the groan of the wood beneath her. So much for quiet.
"What- oh," came Arizona's stuttered reply. The water in the tray. Of course. "What do you do with the holy water?" she asked innocently. She could've sworn she saw Callie's brow furrow, though a moment later her face was void of expression. She chalked it up to her imagination.
"Well, it's a little different depending on what type of religion you practice. Like, I'm Catholic, so I dip my finger in it once I get to the pew and kneel. Then I do the sign of the cross."
"Ah," said Arizona softly, truly understanding only part of the explanation. "I knew it existed, but I guess I never really knew what it was for. Just purification rituals in all those horror films I watch."
Callie allowed the smallest of smirks to grace her lips. Arizona grinned as she watched it happen, grateful she could give her some sort of reprieve, even if it did come in the form of her own ignorance.
"Do you…" she paused, licking her lips slightly before sitting forward, trying to get in the brunette's view a bit better. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Callie's eyes immediately flicked down from the cross behind the altar and to her folded hands. The rosary that lay tangled in her fingers was one she had inherited at the age of seven, just after her first communion. She only took it out in dire circumstances.
It had been in a coin bag in her purse for the past four years.
"I'm not sure," she whispered. She leaned forward, letting her lips crush against her folded fingers as she held them still in front of her. Her mind flashed back to some study in college that stated how pressure to a person's lips subconsciously comforts them. She knew she must have seemed strange to Arizona then, but she didn't know how much she minded. "I'm not sure, if I explained myself, that you would necessarily understand."
Arizona nodded kindly. "I get that," she said. "I didn't even know what holy water was for, after all."
Callie laughed lightly—just a few exaggerated breaths that moved her shoulders. Arizona smiled at that, scooting just close enough for Callie to brush her knee against her own, if she had wanted to. She studied the other woman before offering more of her time.
"Maybe," she said, "if it's too complicated for someone to understand, maybe someone hearing it can be enough to lighten the load? At least," she added hastily, "for now."
Hands unfolded. A heavy sigh seeped passed full lips as the weary woman slid back in her seat, hand fisting around her rosary and raising it to her heart. Callie's eyes remained closed for a while as she mulled over what to say. Explanations only went so far when you didn't have all of the evidence. Could she say what was bothering her anyway? Would it make any sense?
She blinked her eyes open and rested them on the wooden cross hanging on the far wall before them. Arizona couldn't help noticing that when Callie locked her eyes onto it, she seemed to look passed it, as if she were somewhere else entirely. The other woman licked her lips and took a small breath before choking out her words.
"Addie called me Judas."
The words floated, dull and wet, in one of Arizona's ears and out the other. Her expression didn't change, while Callie's seemed to get harder.
"Okay…" Arizona drew out softly, "and who is Judas?"
Slumped shoulders and a defeated release of air was her first response. Arizona watched Callie's profile in earnest. It hit her then, however inappropriate, that the gold light in the room did wonders to Callie's appearance. Or maybe it was the heaviness of the space? Perhaps it was the invisible weights on the other woman's shoulders that made her captivating. Whatever the reason, Arizona's heart couldn't look away.
The thought wedged itself between her arteries and throbbed.
"The story of Judas," Callie began with a sore throat, "is a short one. Judas was presented silver coins in exchange for revealing who Jesus was. He took the offer, and approached him amongst the crowd in the garden of Gethsemane. The soldiers then used the information to capture Jesus, which led to his crucifixion. Judas was one of his followers. It was the ultimate act of betrayal."
Once Callie finished, Arizona studied her quietly, mulling over the information she received. "But I don't understand. How did he reveal him? Just by speaking to him?"
Arizona watched as a shadow seemed to pass in front of Callie's face. There was something deep and dark about the pause she took—something private and all her own. It was a feeling Arizona knew she would never understand.
"He said 'Hail, Master!' And then…he kissed him." Something caught in Callie's throat, but she cleared it. If Arizona didn't know any better, she would think she was swallowing shame. There was an unfathomable heaviness to her tone as she whispered, "All the power in the world tied up in one kiss."
The room was quiet for quite some time after that. Callie was shivering slightly, though Arizona didn't find it particularly cold.
"That story haunts you, doesn't it?" she asked. Callie's eyes darted over to Arizona's; they were sharp and steady as she studied her. In that moment, Arizona couldn't help but be taken back to a time when she had gone along hunting with her father and brother as a child. A stag had leapt before them in a small clearing in the woods. Before bounding off again, it had stopped suddenly and looked at her in the silence before her father pulled the trigger. It's black eyes were still with fear and knowledge.
Callie's eyes looked a lot like that right now.
"You know," the blonde whispered, shifting slightly in her seat so she could better face the nervous woman to her right, "I'm not religious. I didn't grow up attending any sort of important building on specific days. But as a child I had a friend that was Jewish, and her mother told us a story once that has never left my mind. I can't remember names or details, but I remember the gist of it.
"It starts with these two women coming to a king, each claiming that the baby they brought with them is theirs. He's not even a year old yet, this boy, so he can't speak for himself. Well, as the two women are arguing before the king, he comes up with a solution. He pulls out his sword and he says, 'The quickest way to solve this problem is by splitting the baby in two—that way you can both have equal parts of him'. One of the women agrees that that's fair, but the other woman cries hysterically, begging the king not to do it. She says she could never hurt him, and that if that was the only solution the king could come up with, then she would let the other woman have him. That's how the king knew to give the boy to her."
Callie nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. She rubbed a stray tear away before it could fall from her cheek. "The Judgment of Solomon."
The two of them sat facing the front of the room, studying the view in detail: the golden thread stitched into the runner on the table, the stained wood of the cross that was nailed to the wall, the flickering shadows cast from the candle Callie had lit earlier. Neither of them said a word for a few minutes as the room's thick atmosphere blanketed them.
"Whatever Addison meant by calling you Judas," Arizona voiced, "I doubt it was to hurt you."
Callie nodded solemnly next to her. "I know. And the baby in your story was alright, in the end."
Arizona gave a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah," she whispered. "Right."
A few more moments passed in silence before Arizona's eyes began to close of their own accord. She shook herself slightly before clearing her throat and gathering her purse from the ground.
"Well," she said as she made to stand in the aisle, her hand grabbing the edge of the pew for support, "thanks for letting me sit with you."
Callie gave her a genuine smile. "You can sit with me any time."
Arizona smirked. It would have been a full smile if it hadn't been for the abnormal double-pumped palpitation her heart had given at that precise moment. She shook off the nagging feeling that was sinking in her stomach.
"Have a good night, Callie. Get some rest."
She looped her thumb around the strap of her purse as she walked purposefully down the aisle. Just before she reached the brass bar on the door, a gentle interruption from behind stalled her.
"The King was bluffing, Arizona," Callie spoke from her spot on the bench. "He was never forced to use his sword."
A cold chill snuck up on Arizona's unsuspecting skin. She looked down, just to make sure she was still clothed. As Callie's words slipped over her, she felt them strip layers away. She felt so exposed…
She gulped back guilt as her hand hesitated centimeters above the handle.
"Was Judas poor, Callie," she replied over her shoulder, "or did he just crave silver?"
Silence screamed in both of their ears.
Arizona bit her lip as her eyes watered. Later, when she had climbed into bed with the lights off and wrapped herself in her duvet, she would convince herself that it was because she was tired.
She grasped the metal rod and pulled, leaving Callie behind in the chapel as she strode across the bustle of doctor's to the elevator—toward home.
—
I guess at the end of the day, professions are professions. The man buys a bouquet of 'I'm sorry's. The butterfly is spread open beneath pins and needles in a glass case. For sentiment. For science.
After all, the petals—the wings—are beautiful.
