An Unfortunate Confrontation

"Wow," her mother commented as the gray door of their '90 Grand Marquis clamped behind Faith.  "You're on time."

            Faith smirked, albeit good-naturedly.  "And you without your Nobel Peace Prize."

            The mother smirked back, a near perfect replica of her daughter's, as she backed the tank of a car out of the OLRA parking lot.  "I left it with all my other ones," she bantered back.

            The two looked at each other and shared an uncommon comfortable smile.  As much as Faith appreciated the quiet moment with her mother, the silence scared her.  If someone didn't say something quickly, her mother might bring up her ridiculous notions of supernatural powers.

            So she rushed to fill the gap in conversation.

            "You know, I ran into Sister Mildred today."

            Faith neglected to explain that she had actually, physically ran into the loud, obnoxious nun.

            "Really?" Though Jackie kept her eyes on the road, the interest in her voice was evident.

            "Yeah."  Faith rolled her eyes and crossed her arms atop her seatbelt.  "She wants me to sing in the choir."

            Her mother let out a chuckle over Elton John telling Faith that Daniel was traveling tonight on a plane.  "I can bet that was a short conversation."

            "It was," she replied.  "I start music ministry on Wednesday."

            Jackie paused, sending her daughter a disbelieving glance.  "You agreed?"

            "Yeah.  I sing alto," Faith said matter-o-factually, as if the practice of her joining church choirs was purely routine.  But then her voice lowered.  "Seems I don't have a death wish, or I would have told her 'no.'"

            Jackie smiled, bemused by the concept.  "Ah, one of those.  I was starting to wonder." 

The Grand Marquis made a right turn onto their long, winding driveway with the speed of a veteran, and Faith silently congratulated herself as she watched the multitude of pine trees fly by.  A few more moments of small talk, and using homework as an everlasting excuse, she could disappear into her room for the rest of the evening, unscathed.

"You better make sure she doesn't find out that you play piano," Jackie said.

            Without warning, Faith's face turned a shade more crimson that usual.  She momentarily panicked as the car made a halt in front of their house. 

Piano?! 

For years Faith had taken piano lessons, and for years Faith dreaded having to play in front of audience, be it an entire auditorium of strangers or two close family members.  No matter how much she prepared herself, when the time came to perform, something happened.  It started out as a small stomachache birthed of nervousness, and then she began to sweat.  Her hands clammed, and she forgot her birth name, as well as anything she had even learned about playing piano, including what notes to play.

            Faith had no idea why it happened or how to stop it.  All she knew was that if humanity needed her to be a piano player to ensure its very survival, humanity would have to mourn its loss and prepare for its complete annihilation.

            Unfortunately, sometimes her need to hide her talent was overcome by her great desire to play in complete solitude, and sometimes those periods of complete solitude inquiring parties, both large and small, would find her.

            Faith hauled her backpack, laden with books into the house.  "Trust me, mom," she said.  "I will be doing everything in my power to make sure Sister Mildred never finds out I know anything about the piano." 

As her mother turned away, the girl humored a battle plan in her mind.  Maybe she could pretend she'd never seen such a piece of equipment.  She'd gasp when she walked into the church, and look the massive instrument up and down with wide eyes of wonder.

            Wow, she'd say to Sister Mildred.  What does your strange American culture call this extraordinary piece of architecture?

            Is it an ottoman?  A word processor?  An espresso machine?

            "Faith!"

            She jumped at her mother's voice.  From the sound of it, Jackie had been trying for several moments to gain her daughter's attention to no avail.

            "Yeah?" Faith asked curiously as she let her book bag drop with a thud onto the kitchen floor.

            Jackie took a deep breath and expelled it.  "I still want to heal you," she said.

            Faith felt her stomach plummet.  Stupid, stupid, stupid!  Why hadn't she dashed into her room?  Why hadn't she used her time to plan an escape?  Faith in turn, heaved her own sigh.

            "And I said I wasn't going to let you," she made clear in a quivering yet final tone.  "We've been through this."  She went to make a break for it.  "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

            But Jackie got up, blocking her path.  "Faith, you are not leaving until we have this settled."

            "It is settled, mother."  She would have much preferred to use a much more descriptive noun at the end of the sentence.

            But Jackie held tightly to her daughter's small shoulders.  "Oh, no, you don't.  No more hiding from this.  I won't allow it."  She lightly shook Faith, staring her in the eyes.  "You have to face your life. And take responsibility for what has been offered to you."  Jackie softly tsked, disbelieving the fight her daughter was giving her over such a grand proposal from the Lord.  "Just sit back and look at the chance you've been given.  Do you think God offers to heal people through their mothers every day?"

            Something in Faith exploded at her mother's continued insanity.  "I AM taking responsibility!" she nearly screamed.  "This is my life, and my choice whether I want you to put your hands on my knees and chant over them."

            Jackie sighed, frustrated.  "I am not going to chant."

            "Well, whatever you're going to do, I don't want it," Faith begged, feeling tears building up in her stomach.  "I don't want it.  And if you don't stop talking about it, I don't know what I do, but it'll be something we'll both regret."  Faith's scared eyes caused her mother to let go off her shoulders.

            It was a move she shouldn't have made.  Taking her chance, Faith dodged around her mother, ran down the hall as quickly as her legs would allow her (which wasn't very fast at all), and locked the door behind her.

            "Faith!" Jackie called after her daughter.  Torn between screaming in anger at her child's sudden behavior or running down the hall after her, all Jackie found she was able to do was collapse into a blue velvet chair at their dining room table.

            She allowed her troubled face to fall into her awaiting forearms that would serve a makeshift pillow.  Jackie traced her reflection in the well-polished surface of their mahogany table, feeling as though she was trapped in a nightmare of her own creation.

            Scrunching her eyes closed, Jackie prayed as her loneliness reached its peak.

            God had warned her that becoming his follower would be a task far from the ordinary, but he'd never told her that agreeing to serve him would be to put her relationship with her daughter in jeopardy.

            Jackie rested her face against the cool surface of the table and closed her eyes in prayer.

            "Please, God," she whispered.  "Give me the strength not to give up."

            Because even though allowing herself and her daughter to forget the entire business of miracles and healings seemed the most painless choice, something told Jackie that something greater awaited them.

* * * * *

            Hidden safely behind her locked door, Faith expelled a long, relieved breath of air.  Patting her cheeks flushed from the exertion, she leaned against the door and slid down onto the wooden floor of her bedroom.

            She had done it, and as her reward, hours and possibly an entire night of peace would be hers.

            She rested for a moment, and then looked up into her room.

            When Faith found what awaited her there, she gasped and let out a long, loud scream.