Everybody's Daughter (10 page)

Yochanan gave a confused look. “My friend, each moment the sun moves up or down, as I get to know you, I know less of you.”

Michael smiled. “I can see why you say that.”

There were only a few more people left chatting with Jesus. “Have you ever spoken to Him?” Michael asked.

Yochanan shook his head.

A few minutes later Peter came over. “My brother, come with me.”

“May I come too?” Michael asked.

“The Rabbi requests only this brother.”

A hand on Michael’s back startled him. “The Rabbi will speak to you as well.”

The woman smiled, her long hair falling halfway down her back. Her light blue eyes distinguished her from other women in this time. She spoke with confidence, her body language assertive, unlike the average female in Jerusalem. “What is your name, brother?”

“Michael.”

“I am Mary. Some call me Magdalene.”

Michael stared at her.

She smiled. “How long have you been following the Rabbi?”

“A long time.”

“How did you hear about Him?”

Michael studied her narrow face with its high cheekbones. The wind rustled the bangs over her eyes, and he noticed her lips were small and thin. “My friend told me about the Rabbi teaching in the hills. I wanted to hear Him speak.”

She waved her hand around at the crowd. “It was wonderful to see the many children here, listening. He was very pleased today.”

“Can you tell me more about Jesus?”

She looked at him with a curious expression. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything, everything. What is it like to watch Him, to listen to His words, see Him among the people?”

“You listened to Him today. He is drawn to the weak, the sick, the oppressed. His message is simple and clear, easy to understand. Love each other, respect each other, help one another. He always warns of those who say they believe but cloud His message with their own desires for power and gold.”

“Do you think the Rabbi will let me speak to Him?”

“Michael, you can speak to Him whether you stand with me on this hill or with your family in a far away town. I will see if He is finished talking to your friend.”

She walked up the steep incline and disappeared behind a tree. Michael sat beside a rock, the same one used by Jesus as a podium only an hour ago. He leaned against it for support. He pondered Mary’s words.

A hand reached down and hoisted him up. Jesus handed Michael a cloth. There were faded spots of red all over it. Michael examined and touched it. It felt soft yet worn as he put it close to his face to breathe in its scent. The feel and smell gave him a warm, sanitizing sense of peace.

“Let this cloth cleanse your soul from the troubles of the past and invigorate your heart,” Jesus said. “Why do you burden yourself with so much that you cannot change?”

Michael felt the strength in Jesus’ tone. “I don’t know.”

“I will talk to you the way you can understand. My Father understands our failures. Pray to Him. Be aware of those who stand before you in beautiful and big places and repeat my words with their hands out for gold and silver. They do not represent me. It is not important where you pray to my Father. These are the most important ways you can be with my Father.”

Jesus’ expression was stern, yet filled with sympathy. “Walk with me, Michael. There is much good happening in this world, even from those who hurt you. You need to open up your heart and find the good around you.”

Together they walked side by side up the hill. Jesus led him behind a tree and into a deep cave. Despite being several yards inside the mountain, a light illuminated the massive area.

Michael passed a man who sat on the ground, talking to a few apostles. “I loved picking her up,” he said to them. “She had the most wonderful smile. We would take trips to the river. She was a gift…”

His voice faded but Michael recognized it was Yochanan’s, his face glowing as he told his story. Jesus led Michael deeper into the cave, passing images of men and women, children chatting and playing. Many lives were being played out before him.

“Michael, let me talk to you man to man. You have spent a good part of your life in worry, fragile from what you believe will happen in the future. You seem to want to live in the days that have passed instead of the one you have now.”

Jesus led him into a structure familiar to Michael, one he recalled during his days as a young man in Richmond Hill. Michael leaned against the wall. There in front of him was a scene he had played over in his mind so many times before.

He was mesmerized and stared as he was taken back to his bedroom on the third floor of the house he was raised in. It was there he sought refuge from his father’s wrath so many times.

The crammed room was the same as he remembered. A single bed pushed against the wall, a dresser, a record player, one small window, and a tiny black-and-white TV resting on a metal chair, its rabbit ears drooping to the floor.

He was twenty-two and scared, racing up to his room in fear. He slammed his bedroom door shut, preparing for another verbal battering. He spun his favorite record, yet not even the strains of Bruce Springsteen’s powerful voice and resounding lyrics from the song
Badlands
could build a wall around him from the mental mauling on this day.

The muffled conversation downstairs between his family and relatives added to his anxiety as the sound of Jim’s footsteps stomping up the stairs made his heart palpitate painfully.

Michael lay on his bed motionless – much like his mother had the last two weeks before she wilted away from breast cancer. Unlike his mom, he was able to see and move his arms and legs.

The closer the sound of Jim’s thumping footsteps became, the tighter his hands clenched the top of the wooden bed frame, as if he were clinging onto a raft in an ocean storm. Despite the lack of air conditioning and ninety degree heat, he closed the only window in the room and covered himself with three blankets.

Maybe he won’t see me. Maybe he’ll leave me alone. I hope Aunt Ginny calls him back.

Michael loved his mom’s sister, Ginny. She understood him, loved him, and listened to him without judgment. Aunt Ginny gave him his first memorable toy, a Casper the Friendly Ghost doll that talked. It still lay underneath his bed. He reached desperately to touch it.
Yes, Aunt Ginny will talk to him. She’ll stop him from coming up the stairs.
Yet the creaks grew louder, tingling his spinal cord and back of his neck.

Slam.

Jim pushed the door open so hard it ricocheted off the wall and back against his shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Michael closed his eyes and held his breath, still clinging to the hope that Jim would leave the room.

Jim grabbed the back of his neck, pulling off the blankets in one motion. “Get up. How dare you come up here and listen to that music. Your mother is dead. Is this how you show your grief?”

“No.” Michael trembled, shaking his head. “It’s not like that.”

Jim stomped over to the record player and turned the music off. “You don’t care.”

Michael swallowed hard.

Jim yanked on his arm, forcing him to sit up. “How could you relax at a time like this?” He shoved him so hard that Michael fell back on to the bed. “I said get up,” he shouted, his face contorted in anger.

“Okay, okay. I’ll…come down. I just need a few minutes alone –”

“What is wrong with you? You act like this is just another day. How could you not even be upset over this?” Jim’s neck and face turned a deep red. “How? Answer me.”

Are you kidding me? How could you even say such a thing? Of course I’m upset. I loved her too. I’m not going to break down in front of you or anybody else in this family just to prove my love for my mother.
Michael wanted to say all that out loud but he restrained himself.

Jim let out a furious growl and hovered over him, arms folded, lips stitched together in rage. “You don’t want to be part of this family, do you?”

Michael kept staring at the ceiling, mentally willing his father to leave. He knew that it didn’t matter what he said. The old man would disagree or ridicule him. Again, he remained quiet.

“I’m not going to waste any more time talking to you,” Jim yelled. He stormed out of his room, whacking the door a couple of times with his fists. “He doesn’t care or have any respect for what his mother went through, Ginny.” The cruelty in Jim’s tone slammed into Michael’s soul, shattering his spirit. “He doesn’t care about anybody but himself.”

“Kick him out, Dad,” Connie said, walking up the stairs. “He has no heart. He didn’t even cry when Mom died.”

“He’s so cold,” Jim said. “He’s thoughtless and selfish.”

As he’d done many times in the past, Michael put his emotions in lockdown mode, working hard to block out Jim and Connie’s continuing conversation. “Kick him to the curb, Dad,” she said. “Teach him a lesson.”

This time Michael surrendered.
I don’t want to live an
y
more.

He waited until everyone in the house left. He stood up and made his way downstairs, stopping in the kitchen before heading outside. This was going to be the day.

He headed directly to Forest Park, a nice wooded area filled with brush – a perfect place to die alone.

The sun’s rays cast its light onto the quiet of the green grass near a tall oak tree – his final resting place. He pulled out his suicide weapon from his pocket – a knife – the same knife he’d used many times over the years to enjoy grilled steak. It would now be his swan sword.

Two men jogged up the hill and briefly interrupted Michael’s plan with their loud chatter. He waited for them to be out of sight, holding his breath in anticipation. He held the knife a few inches away from his heart. “Dear God, please forgive me.”

A man on a bike rolled by, startling him again, his boom box blaring the song
Badlands.
Its final verse, a rallying cry to confront the challenges of life, shouted with vigor.

Michael listened to the words and repeated them several times in his head.
For the ones who had a notion, a notion deep inside, that it ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive…

He looked at the steak knife in disgust and threw it to the ground. “No.”

I won’t let them beat me. Never. I’m not leaving until God tells me it’s time to go. And only then will I say goodbye.

Hurtling back to the present in the cave, Michael backed away, embarrassed.

Jesus pushed him back forward. “Michael,” He said. “Move on.”

“I’m sad that I ever thought to kill myself. If I had done that, Elizabeth would never have been born. I know in my heart that she is destined to do great things.”

“Yes, she is. And she will. ” Jesus stared at him as if deep in thought before He spoke again. “Life is wonderful. Embrace it.”

Michael nodded and followed Jesus through a dark tunnel.

“Sometimes when someone has hurt us,” Jesus said, “it is expressed through anger and a need for revenge. This is part of being human and part of having the free will my Father has given to all mankind.”

Michael absorbed Jesus’ words and wondered what lay ahead for him in this part of the cave.

Jesus pointed. “Look and listen. Most of all see what is before you and hear with both ears.” He walked backward and faded into the darkness.

Michael swallowed a lump in his throat as a vision of his mother, Rebecca, appeared on the cave’s wall. She wore a plaid dress that had seen better days and a white apron, stained with chocolate. She looked tired and sad. In front of her stood a teenage Connie, her head high in defiance with both hands waving at their mother.

“It’s not going to be a long party,” Connie said.

“I told you, no.” His mom wiped her brow and shook her finger. “No more parties. We can’t afford the gifts.”

“This isn’t like the other parties. This one’s important,” Connie said, raising her voice. “Cindy’s my best friend. She gave me concert tickets to see David Cassidy for my birthday. I have to get her something just as nice.”

The dark shadows under his mother’s eyes were more pronounced as her face flushed a bright red. “Why can’t you understand what this family is going through?” The blue veins popping out of her neck looked like a necklace, choking the life out of her. “We don’t have extra money to buy gifts for every stinking birthday party you get invited to. I’m not going to give you hard-earned money to squander away on concert tickets, albums, posters, or whatever you girls waste money on these days.”

Connie stomped her foot. “Why can Dad waste money on cigarettes then?”

His mother banged her fist on the table. “Your father deserves to treat himself. He works hard to put a roof over our head and feed this whole family.”

“It’s not fair.” Connie’s eyes filled with tears. “Michael gets to go to his ballgames with his friends all the time.” She yanked on her pink blouse. “I don’t even remember the last time I had a new shirt or pair of jeans and now I can’t even go to a party.”

His mother poured confectionary sugar into a bowl. “Stop your whining.”

Connie wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. “What are you making?”

“A cake for daddy.”

“Nice.” Connie pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “So there’s money to buy stuff to make a cake for him.”

“Connie Kathleen Stewart, that is enough.” His mom took out the hand mixer and plugged it in. “If you kids don’t behave tonight, you can all stay in your rooms. I will not have your father upset on his birthday.”

Connie’s lips turned white from puckering them in anger. She fought to hold back more tears, yet they flowed down her cheeks.

As Michael watched the scene on the cave’s wall unfold, he realized Connie was probably holding back what they all wanted to say to their mother. Sure, the old man put food on the table; he never let them forget it. Threw it in their face every chance he had. Told them more than once, they should be happy with what they had. Money didn’t grow on trees. However, when it came to his cigarettes and liquor, there was plenty of money for him.

“Mom, please.” Connie let out a loud sigh. “She’s my best friend. She’ll be mad at me. Just this one last time. I promise I won’t accept any more invitations.”