Talking With Angels

Talking With Angels

By

Jennifer Martin





    A light breeze drifted through the spruce and pines as a long line of freight cars trailed across the Wolf Creek valley and around the sloping foothills of northwestern Montana. The churning of the locomotive echoed into the early morning, sounding almost blasphemous in the peace and calm of the surrounding wilderness. Inside an empty box car, towards the end of the train, Paul Rainer strummed his guitar and sweetly sang an Allman Brothers Band song to pass the time.

    When he wasn’t playing his guitar, he slept or simply watched the world pass by from the open door of the box car. He had watched quietly as the Cascades melted away into the arid plains of western Washington, which in turn gave rise to the majestic Rockies and their small mountain valleys. Towns came and went, rivers meandered through forests and prairie grass, and Paul looked on with wonder, amazed at the world God had made.

    He hadn’t eaten in two days and was hungry. His last meal had been a discarded hamburger and a handful of French fries he had scrounged for in a dumpster behind a McDonalds in Seattle. He had thought about hopping off at the next town he came to, to try to find a meal, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to catch another ride on a train. Hitch hiking was out of the question since it would more than likely land him in jail and keep him from where he was going. Besides that, he never had very good luck at getting a ride from people. So he went without like he had done many, many times before.

    Paul set his guitar down and took his stocking cap off. He ran a hand over the black stubble on his scalp and closed his eyes. The last shelter he had stayed in had made him shave his head because of lice, or so they told him, but he didn’t really believe anything they said. Since God had given him his ministry, he found that he could trust very few people. He stretched out and laid his head down on the moth eaten green parka he had rolled up to use as a pillow. The train rolled along at an even pace underneath a big sky sunrise.

    “You’re not going to sleep now, are you Paul? The day has just begun.” Paul opened his eyes and looked up at the dirty steel roof. Lately it seemed Michael always wanted to talk.

    “No. Not me. I was just resting my eyes,” Paul answered. Michael had decided to accompany Paul on his long trip. He said he wanted to be Paul’s traveling partner, which was okay with Paul. He was sure he would need the help.

    “Really?” said Michael in a sarcastic voice. Paul sat up and peered across at Michael who was sitting casually on a wooden crate at the other end of the box car, all but hidden by shadows.

    “What do you want me to do?” asked Paul, resting his chin on his knees and rubbing his temples with his fingertips.

    “Stay alert Paul. Keep your guard up. You know how they can be, or do you need reminding.”

    “No, Michael. I don’t need to be reminded. I remember.”

    “Good... that’s good Paul.” Michael leaned back against the wall and began to hum quietly. Paul turned and watched the forests and meadows drift lazily by.



*



    Before the train came to a complete stop in the rail yard, Paul had jumped off and made his way carefully down an embankment to the side of a small river. He set his guitar and parka down and kneeled at the river’s edge, washing the grime off of his face and taking a few swallows of water. He pulled his left shoe off and began tying two frayed ends of his broken shoelace together, hoping it would last a while longer. The day was hot and growing hotter. Beads of sweat had already started forming on his brow. The dank smell of warm grass and river water sat listless in the air as he dug through the pocket of his worn out jeans and pulled out a book of matches and a discarded cigarette butt he had found. There was enough tobacco left for two or three drags. The Lord’s blessings were endless.

    Paul made his way across the small resort town of Whitefish where he had left the train, and was careful to keep his head down, trying not to attract attention to himself. He could hear them though, no matter how quickly he walked or how he tried to ignore them. People were commenting on him as they walked into stores, cursing at him as he passed them by on the sidewalk, and giving him dirty looks as they drove past him in their cars. To say he wasn’t afraid would be a lie. Paul was afraid. But he was also God’s messenger of righteousness and he had the strength of the Lord with him. He kept his head down and his eyes forward, mumbling Psalm 23:4 as he walked:

    “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

    Paul continued through town, past various shops and buildings, and headed south on Highway 93. Mountains rose in all directions, their snow capped peaks still holding on to the last vestiges of a long winter. The sky was an easy shade of blue and the sun shone down on him as cars and trucks zipped past along the road. Paul walked steadily, keeping as close to the shoulder as possible with his guitar in one hand and the other stuffed down into the pocket of his parka.

    “Paul! Are you walkin’ down the sinners road, man?” Paul jerked his head up and saw Michael walking along the other side of the highway, keeping pace with him.

    “I’m not walking down any sinners’ road, Michael. You know it as well as I do. I’m a servant of Christ and his disciple. I know where I’m going,” Paul yelled across the stretch of blacktop, squinting his eyes and giving Michael a scowl.

    “Okay, Paul. You’ve laid your burden down. I was only checking.” Michael chuckled and threw his hands up to his shoulders, palms out, as if to say no harm, no foul.

    Paul walked for the rest of the day and into the late evening. When he stopped, he was in the parking lot of a gas station on the rise of a small hill overlooking the city of Kalispell. The city lights were spread out before him and shimmered with the evaporating heat of the passing day. He found a wooden pallet next to a dumpster behind the station and laid down on it, pulling an old yellowed envelope from his pants pocket and reading the return address. It was the last letter his ex-wife had sent him and contained the last known address he had of hers.     

    Paul had to find Ann. He had to find her and his two children, Brian and Lisa. The last time he had seen them had been six years ago and so many things had happened since then. Brian would be ten years old and Lisa six. Too much time had passed and he needed to explain to them why he had been away for so long and what God had asked him to do. That much was important. He also wanted to see Ann, to ask if he could come back and if she would help him. It was all so urgent.

    Night fell and the cold came with it. Paul huddled on the pallet and had pulled the collar of his parka up around his ears. The sound of passing cars echoed in the distance as Paul dwelled on memories of his life and the pain he had endured for the sake of the cross. He thought about the visions God had sent him in San Jose and the message he had given to the people of Portland, Oregon, which to Paul was nothing less than a den of iniquity. He thought on these things and finally drifted off to sleep while a slight breeze gently dried the tears on his sallow face.



*



    Morning came and brought with it another beautiful sunrise. Paul was up early and found for breakfast a half eaten burrito in the dumpster he had slept next to. He ate while he walked and found himself in downtown Kalispell in no time. Several times, people called out to him from hiding places, taunting him. One man in particular, who was hiding in the branches of a tall tree, had screamed at him. “Do you think you’re somebody special Paul? You just wait till judgment day! You can’t mock God!”

    “Get thee behind me Satan! I’m God’s prophet,” Paul screamed back, staring smugly up into the tall elm, daring the man to say more. He continued walking and saw an old woman who had been gardening run into her house. Good, he thought, she knows how evil society is and knows when to turn away. He remembered a verse of scripture that had said something about the way of the transgressor being hard. Society as a whole had given up on God and it was Paul’s duty to set the world straight.

    Finding the address Ann had given him years ago turned out to be pretty easy. Kalispell was still small and 5th Avenue West was close to the center of town. The house was old and run down, its’ white paint peeling and cracking. Weeds covered the lawn and all but choked the front steps leading to the house. Paul knocked on the door and waited anxiously. He could hear a TV inside and saw the curtains move slightly as someone (probably Ann) peeked out of the window. The door opened slightly and an elderly woman peered around from the other side. A small length of chain ran tightly across the space between the door and the doorjamb.

    “Can I help you?” the women asked. Her eyes were curious and wary at the same time.

    “Yes ma’am. I’m looking for Ann. Ann Rainer. She’s my wife you see. Is she home?” Paul smiled and waited patiently while the women looked at him for a long moment.

    “No. There’s no Ann that lives here. You’ve got the wrong house,” she said, almost scolding him with her tone of voice. She started to shut the door.

    “Are you sure? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. I’m a servant of God. Do you know Ann?” Paul was exasperated.

    “No. Now leave before I call the police.” With that, the women slammed the door shut. Paul heard her lock the deadbolt from the inside.

    He wandered aimlessly for the rest of the day, up and down the streets and avenues of Kalispell, trying to figure out what to do next. If Ann didn’t live at that house anymore, she could live anywhere. How could he find her now? He needed help and he knew it. Society couldn’t help him, he knew that much. The only one who seemed to care these days was the Lord, so while Paul walked, he prayed. Prayer to him was as natural as taking a breath of air or drinking a glass of water. He prayed out loud too, although quietly and under his breath. Praying out loud helped to drown out the hidden people who scoffed and tempted him.

    Towards nightfall, he found a large park on the east side of town and sat down on a bench, exhausted and feeling like a failure. He strummed his guitar, playing a song he had written years ago, and watched the sun dip below the far green hills. Michael usually stayed away when Paul was singing, for one reason or another. But that was alright with Paul. Even a disciple of the Lord needed time to himself.

    Over the next few days, Paul slept in the park under the bench he had found. He wandered the city and rummaged for food where he could, mostly behind restaurants and grocery stores. Cigarette butts were always to be found. He kept his eye open for Ann wherever he went and wondered if she even looked the same as when he had seen her last. People continued to ridicule him from behind buildings and bushes, closed doors and vehicles. He was even able to hear them talking about him from the overhead phone lines that ran above the city streets from pole to pole. Society was relentless, but Paul Rainer was steadfast.



*

 

  It happened on a Tuesday. Paul had found the local food bank a week before and his hunger had driven him there that morning to see if he could get some food. There were only a few people milling about and Paul had found a spot by the nearest wall to wait for his turn at the counter. After a few minutes, he saw the counter was clear and began to walk up to it when he bumped into a woman who had just walked through the door with a little blond haired girl in tow.

    “Excuse me,” he said politely, looking down at her.

    “Paul?” The woman was looking up at him with a look of utter surprise on her face. He looked back at her for a long moment and realized he was looking at Ann. She was older and heavier than when he had last seen her, but it was her.

    “Ann?” They looked at each other, both of them in shock and not sure what to say. The little girl peeked around Ann’s leg with smiling blue eyes and giggled, gently tugging at her mother’s shirt out of bashfulness.

    Our memories have a way of fooling us into believing that people and places stay the same even after so much time has passed. Paul had been looking for the Ann of six years ago, the woman who had been twenty five and beautiful, full of dreams and a love for life. The woman who stood before him now, while she was certainly Ann Rainer, was a downtrodden version of the person he once loved. She looked worn out, her face tired and her eyes saddened, as if any hope she had for a better life had all but disappeared. It broke his heart. Paul finally reached over and gave Ann a big hug. “Ann, it’s so good to see you!”

    “It’s good to see you Paul. How are you?” she asked. Ann had begun to cry and was now wiping a stream of tears from her face. Paul Rainer had been the love of her life, the one and only. He had swept her off her feet and had given her two precious children. In an instant, a flood of memories filled her mind. She remembered his singing, how pure and sweet it had been while he had played songs for her on his guitar, and the way he used to make her laugh till she cried. It was Paul that she had taken to meet her parents so long ago, and who she had shared a part of her life with. But the man standing before her now was only a shadow of the man she remembered. His face was sunken and dirty, and his eyes, eyes that had been so bright, were now lost in hollow sockets. He had always been tall, six foot four inches to be exact, but his body seemed to hang suspended like a skeleton in mid-air, dressed in thread bare jeans, a worn out parka, and dirty stocking cap.

    “Ann, are you okay?” Paul put a thin hand on her shoulder and looked at her with concern. She nodded her head up and down as she wiped tears and mascara from her cheeks.

    “I’m fine Paul. It’s so good to see you,” she said in a wavering voice.

They walked back to Ann’s house under a mid-morning sun. Lisa hopped and skipped along side her mother playfully while Paul told about some of the things that he had seen and done in the last six years. Ann walked quietly, looking ahead and holding back tears.

    “It has been so amazing Ann, to see what God has done for me. I’m a prophet for the city of Seattle. God wants me to reveal their wickedness to them. He told me-“ Paul suddenly stopped, cocked his head to the side, and cupped his hand to his left ear, listening intently. Ann and Lisa stopped and looked at him. He waited for several seconds. “Yes, I know. But you have no power over me,” he shouted into the sky. “Not now. Not ever.” Paul looked at Ann slyly and gave her a wink. “They’re talking to me through the power lines. But they’re evil Ann. They’re not to be trusted. They don’t like me because I’m God’s servant.” Paul began walking again, muttering under his breath and Ann followed along in silence, bewildered and growing afraid. She gripped Lisa’s hand and pulled her along.

    The white house was old like so many on that side of town, weather beaten and in need of repairs. Tall grass and dandelions swallowed the lawn and needles littered the ground beneath an ancient pine. Ann told Lisa to go play inside and she and Paul sat down on two plastic lawn chairs on the front porch. He pulled his parka off and in the process, the back of his shirted lifted and revealed tiny red splotches strewn across his back. Tears welled up in Ann’s eyes.

    “I have so many things to tell you,” Paul said. “The Lord has revealed to me that I am the prophet with the seven stars around my head. I am the prophet Elijah reincarnated. When I was in Portland, I saw Satan fall as lightning from heaven.” He looked at her carefully. “It was horrible.”

    “Paul, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. You’re not making any sense to me.” Ann spoke calmly, while tears ran helplessly down her face. “What happened to you?”

Paul had expected this and was prepared for it. He glanced past Ann at a window and saw Michael peeking out at him, smiling as if to encourage him. “I understand Ann. It’s overwhelming for you. But understand, I had to leave because God called me away. I need you to know that.”

    “No, Paul, I don’t understand.” Ann felt anger welling up inside of her. “You left because you couldn’t stop drinking and I didn’t want you around like that. What in God’s name happened to you?”

    “Satan knows my weaknesses Ann. He uses them against me. Alcohol is only one tool. I had a terrible struggle with cocaine but am abstinent now. Don’t you see? It’s all going to be okay. We can be a family again,” he said. Ann stared at Paul, stunned and speechless.



*



    Brian took it the hardest of all of them. Young boys have a way of idolizing their fathers, especially when their fathers aren’t there to reprimand them or to hurt them. Brian had always been able to invent reasons for why his dad wasn’t around, and they were all noble. He was a soldier missing in action. He had a job that kept him away. He was on an important mission for the government. All of these were the product of a ten year olds imagination and they kept the world spinning, at least for Brian. But the truth is always less comforting. The truth has a way of tearing down our walls of defense, leaving us vulnerable. In its’ wake, even the best of us walk or crawl away wounded and scarred. Brian was no exception.

    He had gone to a friends’ house to spend the night the day that Ann and Lisa ran into Paul. When he came home the following day, Ann sat him down on the couch to give him the news. Brian knew his dad only from a few letters he had gotten from him when he was five and six years old. He kept the letters in a cigar box in his bedroom, along with his best marbles, some small seashells, an Indian head nickel, and other various treasures that all boys collect. Other than the letters, Brian had only a couple of memories of his father, memories that seemed more like the after images of a fading dream, or still life photographs of another life.

    “Brian, your sister and I met someone yesterday at the food bank.” Ann looked at him with concern, not sure what his reaction would be.

    “Who, mom?” Brian looked back at her warily. Her tone of voice sent up a red flag in his mind.

    “We ran into your Dad, honey. He really wants to see you tomorrow. He’s here in town.”

    Brian stared at his mom for a long moment. His mind filled with a dozen different scenarios all at the same time, each one playing itself out in fast forward. Would his dad take him out for ice cream? Would he take him to the show? What would they talk about? Would he give Brian a hug? Of all the different scenarios that ran through his head, Brian’s image of what his father looked like was the same. He would be tall, like he was in the old photo albums, and he would be muscular, with a kind face and black wavy hair. He would be wearing a pair of slacks and a button up shirt, and Brian would ask to take his picture so he could show all of his friends. In Brian’s mind, his father would look like Christopher Reeves as Clark Kent in Superman, and would be just like the kind of ‘pa’ that Michael Landon was on Little House on the Prairie.

    “What’s he like mom? Is he gonna stay here? Are we gonna be a family together? What did Lisa think? She’s too little to remember him, but now she gets to know him! Where is he now?” Brian asked Ann what seemed like a million questions throughout the day, while he busied himself with cleaning his room, doing push ups (he had to show his Dad his muscles), and reading the letters in his cigar box over and over again. Ann couldn’t bring herself to tell Brian the truth. He was so happy and excited, and she decided there would be plenty of time for tears and disappointment later on. Tomorrow would come soon enough.



*



    Paul spent the night at a shelter for men that Ann had told him about. She said she wasn’t comfortable with him staying at her house and he completely understood. So many things were happening and it would take time to adjust. The shelter was on the other side of town and Paul was up bright and early. He would be meeting his son again after such a long time of being away and he wanted to be ready. He made his way between the rows of cots where other homeless men were still sleeping, and found the restroom. He splashed cold water on his face and used the toilet. When he returned to grab his guitar and parka, he found Michael sitting on the cot he had slept on.

    “Big day ahead, hey Paul?”

    “You could say that again. Everything’s coming together now. I can see it so clearly.”

    “That’s wonderful Paul. Just remember though, you may not be able to trust them.”

    “What are you saying?” Paul glared at Michael, his face turning red.

    “Paul, calm down man.” Michael gave him a wink and then looked around cautiously, checking to make sure the coast was clear. “All I’m saying is that you have to be careful. How do you know Ann, Brian, and Lisa aren’t a part of it all? Wouldn’t it be just like Satan to turn them against you?”

    “Don’t you say that! Don’t you ever say that!” Paul yelled. He glared at Michael. “They love me!” Paul suddenly felt a firm grip on his shoulder and turned to see a large black man standing behind him. It was the superintendent.

    “It’s time for you to leave. I can’t have you waking all of these men up. Take your things and go.” The superintendent stood with his hands on his hips, waiting for Paul to leave.

    “I’m sorry. Thank you for the cot.” Paul threw his parka on, slung his guitar over his back, and walked out the door.

    The early morning air was refreshing and before he knew it, Paul had arrived at Ann’s house. He knocked on the door and Lisa opened it. She smiled up at him, then ran into the house calling for her mom. Ann came to the door after a minute and invited Paul in.

    “Have a seat Paul. Make yourself-.“ Ann was going to say make yourself at home, but she stopped herself. Paul sat down on the couch and Ann called for Brian. He came down the stairs and walked into the living room, his eyes wide and his face flushed. Ann watched as the light in hers son’s face went dim and faded to nothing as he saw his dad for the first time since he was four. Looking back, she realized she had seen Brian grow from a little boy into a man in a moment of time. The look that fell across his face that day was one of anger, sadness, and a kind of grim determination, as if he just realized that Superman was dead and it was all up to him now. It was one of those moments where the course of a boys’ life is changed forever.

    Brian forgot the image he had created of his father. All of his expectations and fantasies vanished along with a good part of his boyhood. There would be no knight on a white horse, no war hero coming home to rescue his family from poverty, and no brave gun slinging sheriff out of a Louis L’amour western to take care of his long lost family. The man Brian saw sitting on the living room couch was a homeless bum; the kind of man you would see digging through a dumpster or sleeping on a park bench.

    “Brian? Hi son! You’re so big!” Paul stood up and gave Brian a hug. Brian hugged him back mechanically, partly in shock and partly because he was at a loss for what else to do. “How are you son? It’s been such a long time.” Paul stood back and smiled sweetly at Brian, tears welling up in his eyes. Brian managed a half smile and fought to hold back his own tears, not of joy, but of disappointment.

    “Maybe we should all sit down.” said Ann. She put her arm around Brian and led him to the couch where she sat down next to him. Lisa was busy dressing her Barbie dolls and had found a place on the floor. Paul sat down in an old rocking chair near the window. “So Brian, why don’t you tell your Dad about school?” Ann tussled Brian’s hair and gently squeezed his shoulder.

    “Oh Brian, how is school going for you? Are you learning new things son?” Paul asked.

    “I guess so.”

    “I never did very well in school myself. I was a slow learner.”

    There was a long moment of awkward silence before Brian spoke again. “We’re learning about the solar system and all of the planets.”

    “Oh, that’s wonderful. You have to pretty smart to understand about all of that. Do you like your teacher?”

    “She’s okay.”

      Ann thought that Brian was starting to warm up, that things might turn out better than she thought. At least he was talking. She knew how much he had thought about this day and what must be going through his head now. “Brian, why don’t you tell about your field trip, the one to Hungry Horse Dam,” she said.

    “Our class went on a field trip to Hungry Horse Dam.” Brian felt himself relaxing a little, although the knot in his stomach was still there. “It was pretty cool. We got to go down into the dam and they turned off all of the lights and-“

    “I saw Satan fall as lightning from heaven,” Paul blurted out. He then got up, walked to the refrigerator, and put his ear up against the side of it. Brian looked at Ann in horror and then ran upstairs to his room, tears running down his face. Ann walked over to where Paul was standing. He was listening intently to the side of the fridge, mumbling under his breath and nodding his head.

    “Paul?”

    “One moment,” he replied quietly.

    “Paul, I need to talk to you,” she whispered, trying not to sound afraid. Paul turned around and smiled at her.

    “What is it Ann?”

    “I need to talk to you. Outside.” Ann led Paul out of the kitchen and to the front door. They stepped outside and she shut the door.

    “What is it Ann? You look upset.”

    “Paul?” She stood there with her arms folded in front of her and began to cry. “You’re scaring us Paul. Don’t you get it?” Paul simply looked at her, astounded.

    “What do you mean, Ann? Why do you think I’m scaring you?”

    “Because you are!” she screamed. Paul began to cry now. She gathered herself and tried to speak more calmly. “Paul, don’t you see. Your son was trying to talk to you, to tell you about a part of his life, and you interrupted him with some religious gibberish and then began having a conversation with the fridge. You are scaring him. You’re scaring me. You need to stay away from us Paul.” Ann walked back in the house and shut the door, leaving Paul standing by himself on the porch. He heard the door lock and watched the curtains close in the front window.

    Paul made his way across town slowly. He cried off and on, talked with overhead power lines that hummed their secret messages to him, and steered clear of people. He found the park he had slept in when first coming into town and spent the rest of the day there in loneliness, his guitar not even consoling him.



*



    The next few days passed and Paul stayed away from Ann’s house. He walked the streets of Kalispell and spent a great deal of time at the park. Life bustled around him. Merchants opened their shops for business, tourists and town folk passed by him on the streets on their way to important places, cars sped by hurriedly to destinations unknown, and the world continued to revolve while Paul Rainer watched it go round. He was nothing more than a piece of decor in that small city, like a street lamp that had burned out or a stray dog that had lost its way. People saw him but took no notice. He was just another homeless man who needed to get a job and stop leaching off of the world. No one who passed by him ever entertained the thought that he had feelings or a life that was falling down around him.

    During his walks, he received important instructions. Power lines hummed out their secrets, cars waiting at stop lights idled strange yet understandable words to him, and voices drifted to Paul from rooftops and hidden places sending messages only he could interpret. Every now and then, Michael would show up, just to check on Paul and make sure he hadn’t forgotten his purpose.

    “Paul, you have to let her go. She’s too set in her ways, my friend,” Michael said to him one night under a blanket of stars. Paul had made a habit of sleeping at the park.

    “That’s a hard thing to say Michael. I don’t know if I can do it.” Paul began crying softly and buried his face in his hands.

    “I know you can, and so does the Lord. She won’t accept you or what you are doing. But there is something that you can do.” Paul looked up at Michael and wiped the tears from his eyes, leaving wet dirty streaks spread across his cheeks. The moon light washed across the two of them sitting there as the city lights hummed in the distance.

    “What can I do Michael? I’ve come so far and I’ve seemed to have wasted my time.”

    “Not so, my man, not so. Listen very closely to me.” Michael sat up with Paul late into the night and talked with him until Paul finally drifted off to sleep.

    The following morning, Paul awoke and made his way back to Ann’s house. He knocked softly on the door and waited patiently. Ann opened the door and looked out at him. He could see Lisa inside sitting on the couch watching a cartoon.

    “What are you doing here Paul?” Ann looked tired and spent.

    “I need to talk to you Ann. It’s really important.”

    “Okay.” Ann stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “What is it Paul? I thought we had an understanding.”

    “Listen Ann, I understand you can’t have me around. I realize that my gift is special and not everyone can understand it or accept it. But I’ve been asked to talk to you, to make a proposition that I think you’ll agree to.”

    “Who has been talking to you Paul? Who?” Ann felt her face flush in anger. “Was it the people who live in the refrigerator? Or how about the power lines, Paul? I can’t do this anymore; I just don’t have it in me. Let me mourn you in peace.” Ann turned to go back in the house.

    “It was Michael, Ann,” said Paul, as if to assure her that he wasn’t crazy. “Michael talked to me all last night.” Ann turned slowly back towards him.

    “Who is Michael, Paul?” For a brief moment, Ann thought Paul might have met someone. A real person and not some voice wandering the empty places in his mind.

    “I must not have told you about Michael,” said Paul with relief, as if Ann would believe everything now. “Michael is an angel, Ann. He gives me messages from God along with the angels who speak to me thru electricity, and warns me about my enemies in society. He’s the one who told me that I’m the prophet Elijah reincarnated. I’m supposed to preach against the wickedness in Seattle. He told me last night that I am supposed to take Brian with me and train him to be a minister of God. I’ll take care of Brian, Ann. He’ll be a servant of the Lord.” Ann just stared emptily at Paul for a minute, as if in a daze. “Ann, Brian will be fine with me. He’s a strong boy, but he needs his father. Don’t you see?” Paul asked her gently.

    “You get the hell away from us! Stay away Paul! If you so much as touch my son, I’ll kill you myself!” Ann shrieked at Paul while she hurriedly opened the front door. “Look what the drugs and booze have done to you,” she screamed at him. “You’ve lost your mind!” Several of the neighbors were peeking out of their windows and doorways watching the whole scene. Ann slammed the door in Paul’s face and left him standing alone on the porch.

    “Ann? Just think about it, okay?” Paul waited for a response and then walked quietly down the street, ignoring the torrent of voices that were now mocking him. He spent the rest of the day walking and conversing with power lines.

    The following day, while walking through a back ally, Paul found a half empty bottle of Wild Turkey lying next to someone’s run down garage. Within a half hour, the bottle was empty and Paul was self-medicated. He continued down the streets of Kalispell in a drunken stupor, crying and answering angrily the voices that he heard. Before long he was picked up by the city police and booked for public intoxication and disorderly conduct. Paul spent a week in jail and was released to make room for even more blood thirsty criminals than himself. During his stay, he ate better than he had in years and had been able to really think about his situation with Ann. He had probably been too abrupt with her and had expected her to understand things that even he couldn’t understand. Ann was such a wonderful women and he regretted upsetting her the way he had. It wasn’t even important that Brian go with him, at least not anymore. Seattle was a modern day Sodom and not a proper place to raise a child. Paul had realized that it was his burden alone to set that city straight, not his son’s.

    Paul was released from jail on a Saturday morning. With his moth eaten parka in hand and his guitar strapped across his back, he walked back to Ann’s house to set things right. The gray clouds in the sky promised rain and the wind was blowing through the tall elms and maples that lined the avenues on the west side of Kalispell. Paul walked up the steps of the front porch and knocked on the door. Rain began to fall lightly as he waited for Ann to answer the door. After a minute, he knocked again and waited.

    “Nobody lives there mister.” Paul turned to see a young boy of about Brian’s age sitting on a dirt bike. His blond hair blew wildly in the wind and droplets of rain beaded his summer tanned skin. “They moved three days ago.”

    “They moved?” Paul felt his stomach drop. “Where did they move to? Why did they move?”

    “I don’t know. There was a big U-Haul out here though, and they loaded up there junk and left. Guess they didn’t like livin’ here very much.” The boy peddled off down the rain covered sidewalk.

    Paul tried looking through the front window, but the curtains had been pulled closed. That the curtains were still hung gave him a trace of hope that Ann hadn’t moved at all. She must be sleeping, he thought to himself as he ran around to the side of the house. He peered through the window and saw that the house was empty. The furniture was gone and the walls where pictures had hung now stared back at him, bare and lifeless. There was no trace that Ann, Brian, and Lisa had lived there at all.

    Paul Rainer dropped to his knees and wept bitterly as rain fell from a saddened sky.



*

Autumn came quickly that year. Fuel prices skyrocketed across the country, Hurricane Katrina laid waste to the city of New Orleans, and the war in Iraq raged on. No one really noticed that on a street corner near Pikes Place Market in Seattle, Washington, Paul Rainer played his guitar and preached his gospel. The guitar became a comfort to him again, like always, giving sound to the feelings that no words or prayers could express. They say the more things change, the more they stay the same. The world had moved on, but it had also stayed the same. World leaders resolved to find peace, soldiers fought wars, families fell apart, and Paul Rainer talked with angels.



The End