How would God respond to making a mistake? Would planets collide or mountains slide into the sea? Or would the ledger of all life simply remain out kilter until a series of small events forced that ledger back into balance again? It's probably the l...
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the day of the funeral (5 years before today)
The limousine driver was ready hours before he was needed. He was too excited to sleep much because this was the first time he had been asked to pick up a grieving family and bring them to the church for a funeral. So, he arrived at work before dawn to make sure everything was perfect. By 7:00AM, he had already washed and waxed the limousine and vacuumed the inside of it twice. He had even checked to make sure the ashtrays were empty even though his boss never allowed anyone to smoke inside them.
Next, he laid his lint-free black suit across the front seat of the limousine. With the palm of his hand, he pressed out any tiny wrinkles that remained. When it was also perfect, he unrolled the thin, patternless, purple tie he had been told to wear. At its widest, it was barely two inches from side to side. The tie was a funny shade of purple (almost a pastel) and it struck him as an odd choice for a funeral, but the Director had insisted.
"No deviations," he was told.
When the tie was tied, he thought it looked more like a noose than an insignificant detail that might soften the initial shocking moments that a person feels when they realize that the events of this sad day were set into motion hours before.
After his morning checklist was complete, the driver would have to wait until 9:30. He would pass the time by imagining that it was actually possible to see the "dammed wisteria vines" growing before his eyes. The vines were everywhere in Baltimore and by early May he was tired of seeing their lush purple blooms. They reminded him of the color of his tie.
And he hated wearing ties.
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Buddy's 12th year
20 years before the funeral
Buddy never really thought about how wisteria vines were choking other plants. She just loved looking at the full purple blooms covering every square inch of North Baltimore. When she was very young, she would marvel at the tiny delicate spring flowers but forget about the crinkly remnants later on. As she got older, she said she knew that the "world's best mysteries" were hidden beneath those blooms. She told her sisters that her hair was like the wisteria vines. "Please don't comb out the purple." And she told them that the vines made the perfect place to hide her "smart, smart, smartest thoughts." Her words seemed like crazy things a twelve-year-old might say. Oh, maybe a bit crazier, but mostly just different.
But then she saw pictures of the tiny town of Warren, Maryland.
Warren was just a few miles north of where the Quislings lived. A hundred years before, it had been a mill town filled with mill workers. It became notable only because it had disappeared under a torrent of water when Baltimore demanded that the town be flooded to provide drinking water for the city. At its peak, Warren had fewer than a thousand residents. At its depth, it was a forgotten town hidden under the blue-gray water that fills Baltimore's tubs, glasses, and toilets.
