Purgatorium (58 page)

I stare at the coin in the necklace, trying but failing to remember again. I look down, shaking my head despondently. “Why do you make it so hard for yourself to remember? Is it your mother’s death you’d rather not think about? Or is the pain of what your father did too much? Your mother is dead. Your father left and that sucks but it’s also life. Or is thinking about your wife and child being dead holding you back? Nothing’s ever perfect. Ever fair. Doesn’t mean you have to carry all that weight on your own. Did you ever just once, stop and pray? Put your needs aside and let it go? Just let go. Let go of all of it.”

I think of being alone, feeling empty inside.

“I know. It hurts a lot, doesn’t it?”

I look up.
Barachiel
is mirroring my father. “I wish I could say it gets easier.”

Wearing his face doesn’t soften my soul. My father was a man of immoral value. He made me who I am. My upbringing caused me to act this way. He left me after my mother died. He is to blame, not me.

I stand up, enraged by this apparent chastisement and disrespect. I run over to tackle Barachiel. He stands still, unmoved, absorbing the impact of my body like a wall. I feel his hands wrap around me tightly, holding me fast. I struggle to release myself but
Barachiel
tightens his grip.

“That is what the demons do! They get inside your head! They remind you of the bad memories and leave out the good ones. Just to make you feel like you’re worthless! You need to find the silver lining in your past memories. People make bad choices and good choices, but how you learn to deal with those choices is what makes you who you really are today.”

I continue struggling to get out of
Barachiel’s tight embrace
. “Now...you are training for a marathon. Currently, you can run 12 miles. You increase the distance you run on your long-run day by 7/10 mile each week.”

I concentrate, trying to block out Barachiel’s words, not wanting to remember the story. Though no matter how hard I try to block it away, I can’t. I start to slowly remember.

I open my eyes and see that I am young boy again. I shift uncomfortably on my bed as my father reads to me aloud. His body leans against the wall by the nightstand light, casting dark shadows over the rest of the room.

“In how many more weeks will you be able to run 26 miles?” my father asks calmly, watching me closely.

I try valiantly, but cannot contain my simmering emotions. I begin tearing up.

My father waits, silently. “I don’t know!” I yell, frustration finally overwhelming me. “I give up!”

My father asks, “Giving up so easily?”

“What do you want me to say, Dad?” I moan. “I cheated. Okay? Is that what you want me to say?”

My father takes out a book from his bag. He opens the book to a dog-eared page and clears his throat. “Every passion has its destiny,” he reads, carefully modulating his voice to capture the profundity of the words. “The ultimate is not to win, but to reach within the depths of your capabilities and to compete against yourself to the greatest extent possible.”

My father pauses, looking over at me to make sure I am listening. “When you do that, you have dignity. God has given me the ability. The rest is up to me.” He pauses again, now reciting with his eyes closed, “Believe. Believe. Believe.” My father closes the book. “Do you know who that quote was from?”

“No,” I say.

“Bill Mills,” he responds. “Bill Mills ran the 10,000-meter run at the 1964 Tokyo Olympics. He ran that race in just under twenty-eight
minutes
and twenty-five seconds. Best moment of his life. He became the only American ever to win an Olympic gold in the event. He coined the phrase ‘
Après moi, le déluge
.’ That means ‘After me, the flood.’”

“What does that have to do with me?” I ask, exasperated.

“He achieved his goal because he never stopped trying, never lost his grace,” my father says. “And why is grace better than hope?”

I recite the words my dad always liked to preach. “Hope is for people who do not already live in grace.”

He smiles, passing the book over to me. “I picked this up for you. I want you to take this book and every night you and I will read one quote.”

I lift the heavy book, feeling its weight and the smoothness of its spine. “Hopefully, there are many words in here that will enlighten you, perhaps more than I ever could, son.”

My father looks at me with a kind smile that lasts only a second. I smile widely, looking up at my dad. This is the first time my father has ever opened up to me.

My father quickly changes the subject. “We have a long ways to go so let’s keep going.” I
watch
more intently, listening as my father tries to teach me how to find the answer. Watching my father, I feel this was another moment we shared.

I
watch
in my mind as the memory fades away.

Suddenly I see that I am back on the rooftop. I embrace
Barachiel
tightly, as if he were my true father. I look up at his face and see he has changed back to look like himself. I slowly let go and step away from him.

“It’s easy remembering the bad from the good until you finally start remembering the good!” says
Barachiel
enthusiastically. I feel confused as to what I must do.

“It was never about the answer,” Barachiel says. “It was about remembering the steps you had to take to try and solve it. The answer was in here,”
he says,
putting his finger on my forehead, “all along. You take your mind for granted. Now think of the moment when you thought your father hit your mother.”

I close my eyes. I hear Barachiel whispering, “Picture your childhood house and let the memory take you there.”

I open my eyes and look around to see that I am outside my family’s house. I see my hatchet in my hand. I hear a scream coming from inside followed by a thud. I drop the hatchet and run to the door. He will not get away with this, I think to myself.

I look inside to find not my mom on the floor, but her record player. The pieces of what is left are scattered across the ground. I look over to see my father holding on to my mother while she is crying. I don’t walk in and decide to keep myself hidden. I listen to their conversation while being unnoticed by the both of them.

“I am so sorry,” he says to her. “I will fix it up. I promise to you. I don’t mean to get so mad.” My mom continues to cry, not letting up. “I just want the best for our son. He is all we got. I can’t be easy on him. He may hate me now but he will understand when he gets older. At least I hope he does. I really messed things up this time, haven’t I?” My mom looking down and nods.

My dad says, “One day that anger will not bring you a second chance with him. He will get older and leave us and not come back. I don’t want that to happen. I will go talk to him,” he tells her. My mom raises her head back up to him as he says, “Without you...I don’t know what I would do.”

My mom kisses him and says, “Good thing I am not leaving you any time soon then.” They kiss again as my father looks over at me. I quickly run back to the hatchet.

I try to turn my attention back to the log. I pull the hatchet up above my head again and swing it down awkwardly. It glances off the log, slips out of my hand, and falls to the ground. I hear the back door open. Turning, I see my father walking out with the broken record player, towards me.

He looks at the dropped hatchet and continues walking directly up to me. My father picks up the hatchet, grabs my right arm, and shoves the hatchet back into my hand. He doesn’t say anything to me as he puts the log back on the stump.

He holds my hands tight around the hatchet and lifts them up. My father swings our arms and the hatchet down. The log splits in half.

“Now, keep doing it just like that.” My father takes another log and stands it in place.

I lift the hatchet up by myself, swing it down, and the hatchet cuts it straight through. “That a boy!” he yells in excitement. “How about a few more, then can I get your help with something?”

He shows me the broken record player. “Mom said this thing has some powers that needed to be saved, pronto. I was hoping we could do it together. Maybe once we are done, we can use it to turn back the clock. Start repairing other things.”

I look up at him and nod, knowing what he truly meant. “Well okay then,” he says with a relieved tone. “Let me get some more wood and I will show you a few moves that will make it easier for you.” He starts to walk away and stops. Turning toward me, he puts his hand on my shoulder. He keeps his head down and doesn’t say anything. But I didn’t need to hear what he had to say because I already knew. He pats me on the shoulder and nods to me. I nod back.

My father then walks around to the side of the shed and starts stacking all the rest of the wood. I am about to lift the hatchet up again when, suddenly on my left, I catch a glimpse of a bright orange glow. I turn my head to look.

The sun is going down across the field, lighting up the top of the wheat and catching the wispy clouds above, turning them gold and pink. I gaze out, breathing in deeply, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the moment. My eyes are drawn to the sun’s magnificence. I stare into it as it starts dipping below the horizon. My eyes are fixated. I feel myself being blinded by its amazing splendor. The light shines over my eyes and in that light I see Barachiel walking towards me.

The light fades away and I realize that I am back on the rooftop.

I hear Barachiels voice. “Your father is no saint but he isn’t all sinner either. He loved your mother. Loved her enough that when she left, a part of him left with her. These are your words that I am repeating to you, not mine. I don’t know your family or you but the conversations we have had many times leaves me to believe that your father was a good man once. You were a good man once. Instead of running away from the problem, run towards it. Don’t let your father’s sins be your own.”

I look over to Stephanie, nodding to her. Letting her know that I understand what they want me to do. Barachiel, still walking towards me, says, “In two days your heart will stop. Tomorrow they are expecting us to go over a strategy for the race. Find your peace in running again. That will not be the case. Let today be your Genesis, tomorrow your Exodus.”

Stephanie chimes in, “We want you to run it tomorrow.” I look over to her in complete shock, knowing I am not ready yet. “It is the perfect time to do it. We would catch each one of them off guard.” She looks to Barachiel. “It would give us enough time to slow them down so they won’t interfere in any way.”

I look at both of them and think, I am not ready. I panic trying to let them understand. I turn away from them, hoping they get the picture.

“What is a soul survivor to you? To me, it’s still a quitter. Just a soul that knows only to survive. No chance of risk. Just safe. I never really cared much for the terms ‘soul survivor’ and a ‘lost soul.’ Both sound so hopeless. But did you know there is another choice? I bet your demons forgot to tell you about this one. How about this time instead of being a soul survivor, you try being a soul believer. A soul that is destined to fight for what he believes in.”

He walks to the telescope and puts his fingers on it. I see a smile peering out as he looks back to me.

55 Minutes

“God gave you a brain and look what you use it for. You wasted it away on questions that don’t matter when you should be asking yourself just one question: WHO AM I? Are you a writer? A runner? An inventor? A gambler? A mathematician? A husband? A father? Fighter? Cheater? Smoker? Drinker? Quitter? Believer?” Barachiel pauses. “It doesn’t matter who you were. All that matters is who you are now. So, who are you?”

I don’t know, I think. I feel cold envelop me. Stephanie hands me back my book. “You dropped this,” she says. “We were lost souls until we met you,” she explains. “You showed us how to find our grace again. Don’t let your sins bring you a lifetime of pain. There is a return. You said that.”

Something as wise as that, coming from my mouth seems so off to me. Like it was another man saying those words. A man I want to be again. But how do I become that man again?

“Tomorrow is the day you will believe that again. They know you know now. They will come for you, and when they do, we will be there to keep them distracted. And when you finally cross your finish line, I hope you find inspiration to finish your book. I can’t wait to see how it all ends.” She hands me back my flask. I take hold of it, not knowing if I am really ready.

The silver reflects an image of me. My reflection speaks to me. “They know you’re not ready. They are playing you for a fool.” I regain back my senses and push her away from me. In a heated argument with myself I think,
They are saying this is my only shot at this.

My image speaks again. “Don’t believe their lies. All they want is to make you play by their rules so
they
can be the ones that will come out the victor. Your life is on the table being gambled away. Your demons are all in and the lost souls have showed their hand to you. If you bet big with your life tomorrow, you will lose everything. Wait just one more day. You have two days left, let tomorrow be the day you gather your senses. Get your head right. Because what you do now will reset your life back.”