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Or, at least, that’s how he used to be. There was nothing soft about the Roman I saw today.
When he’d refused to look at me, to even acknowledge my presence, I studied him. I don’t know if it was out of shock, or if it was an overwhelming need to burn him into my memory in case he disappeared again. Whatever the reason, I took in every inch, inspecting him, memorizing him.
When he left, he still looked like the growing teenager I’d known for so many years. A jock who dressed to fit in, sporting his letterman jacket more times than not. He drove a simple car, one Isaac sold years ago after he left.
Now, he’s merely a shadow of the boy I once knew. Once loved.
Tattoos snaked up his arm and across his hands and knuckles. There was another on his throat, though I couldn’t make out what it was. His left ear was pierced, some sort of unrecognizable jewelry dangling from the lobe, and his right nostril had a black ring through it. On the opposite side, a small upside down cross is tattooed just below his eye.
Somehow, he’s exactly who I thought he’d be, and nothing like the man I imagined. He’s rough and dark on the outside, that’ll never change. But his energy, the look in his eye, the dip of his lips—he’s seen things. He’s been through things. Things I know nothing about, and likely never will.
Before I realize where I’ve gone, I’m standing at the white gate of the church. I stare up at the dilapidated shiplap building, squinting as the bright sun reflects off the paint.
He’s not here. I don’t know why I came here. Maybe so I can talk to Mama and try to figure out this mess. What would she do? She always knew the right things to say, always knew how to get through to Roman. I wish I was just an ounce of the woman she was.
Instead, I’m this.
A secret cam-girl who’s fucking her stepfather. Who lost her virginity to her stepbrother the night before her mother’s funeral. Who lives a second life while despising the one she lives. Who’s broken and torn, yet happy and in love.
In love with her stepfather.
God, if she could see me now.
I shove the gate open and stomp down the path, rushing to get inside. I haven’t prayed in a long time, but maybe I need to.
I’m so fucked up.
Choking back a sob, I hurry up the few steps to the door. My stomach rolls when I see it’s already slightly parted, the thick, humid air from inside somehow hotter than outside.
“Hello?” I croak as I push the door open wider, letting the sun bathe the dark room in light. The cross is illuminated above the little dais, and it makes my breath catch.
I’ve questioned my faith for years, but there’s no denying the beauty that exists between these four worn walls.
It’s not the building or what happens here. It’s not the Lord’s word echoing off the rafters like a distant memory of salvation and grace. It’s not the Bibles or pews. It’s not even God himself that makes me question my faith.
It’s the light spilling through the cracked windows, golden and elegant, dancing over the wooden floors. It’s the way the leaves hanging from the trees outside cast shadows throughout the sunlight’s glow. The way nature interjects her way inside man’s creation forcefully, reminding us that she was here first.
How can anything so beautiful exist so easily without a power to have crafted it all by hand? It’s almost too perfect, too magnificent to have just happened.
God exists. The proof is in his creation.
But then I remember all the ugly in the world, the hate and evil, the vile things humans do to each other and it makes me wonder, if there is a God, where is he? Why is he allowing this? Why take my parents from me? Why give Daddy cancer, or take Roman’s mother?
Why hurt good people?
I swallow thickly, a second quote, one not from the Bible, bubbles up my throat along with the first, two sides of the same questioning coin.
The awful thing is that beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and the devil are fighting there and the battlefield is the heart of man.
Dostoyevsky was right. There is a battlefield happening inside me.
Constantly.
Rip.
Flick.
My head whips around, trying to find the source of the sound. Burning fills my nose, then the barely there whisper of someone blowing out a breath. I squint as I scan the room again, my eyes catching on a small ember glowing from the back corner where the sun can’t reach.
