The Visitor (Tenderness Series, Part V)

Photo by Bgrace

The clank of the door behind her was too loud. It was not exactly what she had expected. Everywhere there was thick glass in desperate need of a good cleaning. Somber voices hummed throughout the room. Her heels clicked loudly underneath her feet. Words and phrases from around her stuck out in a way that seemed unbalanced, too loud. As if the volume was turned up on the wrong sounds. The dissonance added to the internal struggle she was fighting to settle. She took a deep breath through the chaos to try and find her center.
She spotted him seated behind the last partition. It had been so long since she had last seen him. He was frailer now, and thinner. He looked up then and caught sight of her. He searched her eyes, trying to read her mood, but the gray-green blinds to her soul were closed. Cautiously he smiled, “Hey.”
“Hey,” she forced her voice to work as she sat across from him. It came out nervous, but nice, she hoped.
“I’ve missed you,” he offered.
The words woke up the dull ache she always wore beneath her tailored suits. Longing fought to reach out from underneath the heavy weight of disappointment. She leaned her frame into her hands that had been resting on her thighs and pushed her palms down her legs to her knees, as if it might help her form words from her emotions.
He was waiting.
Her lips started to purse as if to answer, but instead she paused, as if quietly collecting her soul. She looked at him then, though avoiding his eyes, raised her hand to the glass, and pressed it to the window in front of his face. She moved her fingers down the line from the center of his forehead to the tip of his nose, anointing the pane between them with the oil of tenderness. A streak marked where her fingers had traveled. Her hand lingered.
Tears gathered under her lashes. “I’ve missed you, too.”
His hand rose quickly to meet hers against the glass, as if he might miss his chance. It was larger than hers, and rougher. Hammer and nail had taken its toll. She remembered how it felt around hers. Somehow it had always made her imagine she was holding the hand of Jesus; a little girl safe in the care of the Carpenter. She looked at him now, so different than she remembered, but somehow still the same. The air quivered with all that begged to be spoken. Instead she sat in the safety of her silence.
The chair in the stall beside her screeched back and jarred her. It called her awareness to the presence of the others around. She dropped her hand quickly. They averted their eyes as she looked up, but she could feel them listening. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay.”
“Sure, I understand.” he said quietly, and tried unsuccessfully to mask his disappointment. She stood and turned to leave, but something inside told her she needed to give him more. “My youngest son,” her guarded eyes closed and her expression softened. Her face moved just slightly as if in response to the caress of little fingers on her cheek. “He looks like you,” she admitted shyly.
“What about Daniel?” he asked. Now that he had found an opening, he was eager to know more. “Daniel?” she repeated back, giving herself time to think. “Well, he looks like…Daniel,” she smiled matter-of-factly.
He smiled back and took in a deep breath, as if he had gotten all he needed to make it through another day.
Bravely then, he ventured, “Love, I’ll always be here for you, if you need me.”
“Yeah, sure,” she whispered as if she was trying her best to believe him.
Somehow then, she found the courage to look him dead in the eye, and for a split second he saw the unspoken accusation strike out at him like a lightening fast bullet. She turned abruptly and left. Etched in her mind was the image of him sitting on the other side of the glass, years of promises on his lap. How long would they be locked up with him?
She hurried to the parking lot, focused only on keeping her composure from full-on escape. She half-expected to hear the sirens. She wrenched open the side door ignoring the automatic opener.  Safe inside, she melted into the back seat of her van, away from impolite eyes. The sobs tore from her chest like a runaway train. “How?” she shouted. “How will you be here for me?” She wept her exasperation into her sleeves. Curled up into herself she cried until sleep took her.

* * * * *

A sharp knock on the window broke her out of her slumber. “Ma’m, are you OK in there?”

Groggily she raised herself to a seated position, pushed her hair off her face, and nodded at the guard peering in at her, hand shading his eyes so he could see her better.
Where were her keys? A glimmer of light caught her eye, and she spotted them resting neatly on the dashboard. She hadn’t remembered placing them there. She reassured the guard with a wave and crawled into the front seat. It was late, the kids would be wondering. She turned the key in the ignition.
The rearview mirror needed adjusting and as she looked at her reflection she realized she felt calmed. She even looked strangely peaceful. It was almost as if her questions had been answered in her sleep.
Then a shallow gasp surprised her chest as the sense of him came rushing back. The arms that had wrapped their way around her from behind. She had been held, a so gentle yet strong embrace. His hands covered hers, rough and warm. The hands-- that’s when she knew him. She thought it would only have been momentary, but his presence had remained a long while. The carpenter’s voice whispered into her spirit the words from her reading yesterday, “All is well, and all is well, but not yet.”
Dazed, she put the van into reverse and pulled out of her space. Her eyes lingered on the windshield and she saw clearly the spray of fingerprints. She wondered aloud, “How long have I been the one in the glass cage?”