MARIEL

6~ Phil Jameson's Shelf of Trophies ~

Fr. Jerome was tired. Strangely, however, since the coma, he had felt younger. His memory had improved, the constant aches and pains of old age had diminished, and he felt as if he had had years retracted from his age. Despite this, he was emotionally drained. It was the closest to apathy that he had ever felt, and he wished he could feel otherwise.

He recognized that he still had faith, especially since Mariel had assured him of his return. However, whatever God had in store for Mariel did not mean it involved Fr. Jerome... in this lifetime. While he did not believe that he had many years left in his life, the possibility of not seeing his son within those final years still devastated him.

Now, life felt like a repeat of his earlier years. Lonely.

He was blessed to have his congregation. However, even they seemed to have, gradually, distanced themselves from him. After Phil Jameson had petitioned the other clergy members on an attempt to remove Fr. Jerome, the attitude of the congregation had shifted towards him. It was not hostile, like Phil, but an attitude of pity. He understood. After all, he was old, had rendered himself comatose due to a car accident, and then had lost his son to suicide. 

Yes, he could understand why they pitied him.

But, Fr. Jerome did not want pity. He wanted answers. No one could give him answers. Even Fr. Paul, whom he had tried to contact after Mariel's death, had not spoken to him.

It is what it is, they say. Or, perhaps, his apathy spoke.

Tonight, he sat in front of the television. Casually, he flipped through the channels. He usually left the news on the TV while he journaled, or cleaned, but the news was depressing tonight.

'Strange weather occurrence in Israel the other day!'

'In Russia, over 50 people dead, over one hundred wounded, in what some people are calling a government organized massacre.'

He had flipped the channels, noticing the footage, and then had settled on a channel with old movies. Quietly, he watched. It was an old comedy with Jimmy Stewart and Katherine Hepburn. These movies were comforting to him, and he was able to lose himself in a world where the only problems that existed caused laughter. Not pain. Not sorrow.

Not death.

Fr. Jerome closed his eyes, and then he felt something against his leg. Hearing a brief meow and a soft purr, he opened his eyes and smiled. He leaned down and watched as the fluffy, calico cat rubbed against his calf.

The cat's name was Harlow. After Mariel's death, the priest had decided to get a cat. He could not be alone in a house that had once been filled with the memories of their life together, and he had always wanted a pet. A few months after he had buried Mariel, he had found the eight week old kitten online, fell in love with her, and had immediately contacted the seller for the purchase.

Obviously, the cat did not fill the void that Mariel had occupied. However, Fr. Jerome found that having the ability to bond to something had highly increased his mental state for good. Now, when Fr. Jerome worked at the church office, he would bring Harlow. For a while, the cat protested the journey to the unknown destination but, eventually, she grew accustomed to the routine and treated it as any other day at a different home.

Fr. Jerome bent down and lifted Harlow onto his lap. He continued to watch the movie with half-investment as he stroked the top of the cat's head. After a few moments had passed, he suddenly felt the urge to read his old journals. The old priest kissed his cat on the nose and then stood.

Harlow followed as Fr. Jerome went to the bedroom and retrieved the journal he had written throughout Mariel's youth and into his adulthood. When he returned to the living room, he saw that his cell phone's screen had brightened from a missed call. Often, he felt excited when he received a phone call. He liked knowing that people thought about him, especially people from his congregation.