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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November 1st
Baltimore, MD
I wasn't sure if I should come to visit you today, my dear. Telling stories can be hard. It helps me that you listen with such incredible patience. You never even complain about the sound of my voice (which I've always hated). And you'd never think to interrupt me no matter how long-winded I get. But stories about Crow are the hardest of all for me and I worry that they're just as hard for you. So last night, I went home and closed my eyes like those black and white rabbits who pray that they'll never wake up in the morning. Overnight, those rabbits can magically forget the horror of the day before but then they start all over again piling one anxious moment onto the next until they have a mountain of awfulness to sleep beneath.
So anyway, when I got up this morning, I decided to flip a coin to help me make up my mind. Heads or tails. Stay or go. See you or not.
After a surprising amount of indecision, I closed my eyes and cast my lot with Heads. Then I flipped the coin and let it bounce across the floor.
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After all the clattering had ended, there was no face staring back at me. No Heads. Just a meaningless back side that gets labeled as Tails even though there's no tail anywhere in sight. So, here I am. Speaking words that I know you won't really hear.
When I finished my story yesterday, you stretched out your arm and pointed at me. Or that's what I thought you did. But maybe it was just a muscle contraction. Just a little twitch like you were practicing for the fun of rigor mortis someday soon. Or maybe it was an accident or you just pointed close to my direction. I guess it shouldn't matter, but small mistakes add up, you know. Mine more than anyone's. Just think of it like this. If you point at a star in the night sky, you can miss your target by light years. Just a fraction of a fraction of an inch and the arrow from your fingertip travels forever and hits nothing. Nothing that extends to the end of the universe and then maybe circles back around and tries all over again to hit something. It tries desperately to find meaning as it goes along.
There's a point in all of this, my dear one. I swear there is. Unfortunately (for you), it's taking me forever to finally tell you the truth. It's just that stories never seem like lies when the words first come out of your mouth. Then you realize that you've been talking about yourself all along and the lies become apparent. Glaring even. You wonder if they're just as obvious to someone who doesn't speak, doesn't see, and doesn't react in any obvious way. Do you know where I'm headed with this, Charon? I doubt it, but please be patient for a little longer. I need to tie off a few more loose ends before I stop. No need to worry. Just a few more lies and then finally the truth or as close to the truth as I'll ever get.
Please remember, dear, to love your life (to love all your life) and hate that it has to be left behind.
