The Brandywine Prophet

7.6 Marionette Strings

Sarah stumbled into a silent night.

It was anger that propelled her slippered toes one step at a time through blackened slush from tire treads left by those who believed her husband’s lie. It was anger that kept her blood warm on the trek between houses, despite the midnight chill and the ominous gaze of the theater’s silhouette.

She understood everything. Twenty years ago, God was the foundation for William’s change. Now, when Will’s desire to “create” superseded his desire for faith, he set a trap for God. In the name of Faith and Creation, William built his stage and he demanded miracles. Then, if God ignored the bait and refused to show, Will would have a reason to doubt again. He would say “I told you so, Sarah! Twenty years ago I told you there was no God and now I have proof!” He would lose himself in that abyss... but Sarah wouldn’t follow him this time.

She knew it wasn’t fair to delve into the assumptions of where “God’s silence” would drag her husband, but that’s what the human brain does; it seeks out history to determine the future. What else was there?

Sarah held one bit of pessimism as absolute truth; one small world-view that her husband didn’t share. In all of his cynicism and cut-and-dried views on society and the world, William still believed that people could change. He cited himself as an example.

There was a time--back when she still lived with her parents--that Sarah believed in the complete reversal of one’s habits and addictions. But life pointed out the naiveté in her romanticism; humanity was one massive case-study that proved no one is capable of change. We’re capable of stopping, but not quitting. We live our lives in an ebb and flow of “stopping” until our biology or physiology is intrinsically altered. But when change is left to willpower alone, failure is imminent. Sarah’s mother proved the point every day with her failed diets and merry-go-round of skinny promises. “I really mean it this time! I know it’s unhealthy! I’m going to change!” Then two pounds, five pounds, ten pounds of success and she would snap, “One candy-bar isn’t going to hurt, honey,” and “quit” turned back to “stopped” until a heart-attack at sixty-two ended her urges by ending her life.

All Sarah needed was a single example to the contrary and she would be able to cast away the blight on her otherwise loving worldview. For years she thought her husband was the counter-example. But now she knew that William was born a liar, and he would die a liar.

And if Will’s truth was temporary, then so was his sobriety. Twenty-four years of marriage couldn’t change that.

Sarah sniffled her runny nose and recalled Kay’s comparison of the madness to a contagion. “The only way to escape it is to pass it to someone else.”

She wiped her nose on her bare arm, stepped to the porch, and kneed open the front door.

“Where’s Janie?” She asked and removed her slippers, now white with hardened beads of snow.

William sat on the piano stool and plucked away at the computer keyboard. “I told her she could take a shower and watch TV before bed. Were you catching up with Kay?”

“You lied about the music.” She didn’t wait for a reaction, but circumvented William’s little command station and walked to the kitchen.

“Honey, it was a joke!” He stood and followed, a caricature of old papa-redneck in waffled long underwear with a tomato-red nose warming itself behind a cartoon mustache. “It was a silly promotion for the Christmas show! Janie and I--”

“I don’t want to hear about the ways you involved our daughter in your stupidity. You lied to me.” She yanked a stockpot from the cupboard by the oven with a clang of falling pans.