Of the Father (Redactor’s Addendum)

And then, I went up!

The very next day! December 24th! The day I’d waited for! The day that kept me going, kept me alive!

That day came, at last!

I woke up early, that day—before the sun rose, before anyone else was up.

And even though it was early, even though I’d slept very poorly—I woke up smiling!

With a smile on my face, I gathered my suitcase, and double-checked its contents. With a smile on my face, I opened the front door of the apartment that used to be my home.

I was alone in the elevator, when I rode it to the ground floor of the complex.

There was no way anyone else could have seen how I smiled, in there. No one else was around to appreciate the way the air itself crackled with newness, with fresh electrical charge.

I pictured it, in the elevator. What it might be like, for the hypothetical fellow passenger, if I had not been alone.

His bleary, caffeinated eyes. The way he has grown accustomed to the long elevator ride, as a routine part of his workday commute. His half-awake mind trying to tune out his surroundings, and slip halfway back into sleep.

And then he sees me, and he is not half-asleep anymore. Suddenly, he is very, very much awake.

He feels the crackle in the air. With wide eyes, he stares at me. Too shocked to remember his manners, he stares, and stares, and goes on staring, even after it’s obvious that I’ve noticed what he’s doing.

But even after noticing it, I would be smiling at him! Egging him on! Yes, yes, do stare some more, why don’t you? Stare, and blush, and mumble with adorable awkwardness, as you try to wrap your mind around what it is that you’re seeing: homely little Miriam Schoen, transformed!

Yes, a new day has come for little Miriam Schoen! The forgettable Schoen girl, now made as bright as the dawn—as bright, as fresh, as beautiful!

What is it, he wonders—the magic behind her alluring smile? The power that makes it incandescent, that transfixes him, so that he loses himself, and blushes, and mumbles?

There was no one in the elevator. I was alone with my joy.

And that was perfect.

I did not think about the fact that I would never ride that elevator again in my life. Things like that simply did not occur to me, anymore!

I had no regrets. I did not think about this.

I did not look back—not when I left the apartment, nor when I left the elevator, nor when I left the complex itself—not once, at any point, did I look back!

And I did not think about this, either.

I did not think about what had been, only what would be. I thought about the air, the clouds, the future!

Oh, my love, my love! I thought about you, only you!

Smiling, I crossed the lobby. Smiling, I left the complex—descended the stairs just outside the front entrance—went out onto the streets—went into the subway station—

Smiling brightly, I went out.

And, smiling ever brighter—I went up!

Up, up, up!

 

 

I was on the train, and then at the station, and then on a railway car!

Like the people on the television screen, when they ride the trains that exist on the television screen, but nowhere else—except here is little Miriam Schoen, now, in her plain frock, riding in the train car, just like the others do!

As though the train exists—and her too, with it!

I was going over the river! I was in a different state, now—in New Jersey!

After the train, a bus.

After the bus, an airport!

Oh, it was so nice there!

Such wide open spaces, with fetching and intriguing sculptures set out at the center of each one, to remind the busy traveler of the value of art, and the crucial role that art plays in every life! Even in the humblest and most practical sorts of lives! Even in—Miriam Schoen’s life!

Electronic displays, conveyor belts! The mystical language of the air-people, intoned from above: “terminals,” “gates”! Portals, thresholds, far-flung destinations!

They were so nice, the air-people.

So friendly, so patient. I had been worried, but it was all for nothing!

It was my first time, I told them, smiling. I didn’t know how things are done.

And they smiled right back at me! They told me, patiently, just what to do!

I, Miriam Schoen, walked with the others. Through the open spaces, with their high glass walls. Through one door, and then another. Trundling along in an orderly flock, lugging along their luggage, fumbling in their pockets for their “boarding passes.”

And I was there, in that flock—no different from any of the others!

The air-people gave me a plastic bottle of water, for free, when I told them I was thirsty. How kind they are, how patient, how accommodating! Even with someone like me!

And then I was in the flock, and there were mysterious machines all around us. I saw the conveyor belts stopping and starting.

I watched the others placing their suitcases onto them. I watched, rapt, as the suitcases passed out of sight, one by one. One by one, they were taken into the machine, into its strange mechanical belly—where they would be transformed, made new and bright!

You will have to drink down that whole bottle of water, now (they told me). And be quick. You mustn’t bring any fluids with you, when you cross the next threshold.

What strange, lovely customs the air-people have! Gates, thresholds, rules, rituals!

No water can be allowed to cross the boundary. Human bodies may cross freely, and their clothes with them—except for the shoes, which must be taken off, and given over to the belly of the machine. And whatever you do, do not pet the dogs! No matter how cute they look! A delicate, mercurial magic is at work here, and its balance must not be disrupted!

“The use of facial recognition technology,” they explained patiently to me, “is wholly optional. If you prefer, you can present a photo ID instead—”

No, say no more! Thank you—you are so kind, so eager to explain, so unflaggingly patient with me!—but say no more, I have already decided! I consent! My answer is Yes!

Turn your cameras on me, allow your machines to stare at me—allow them to see my smile, and blush, and stammer! Let them try to recognize Miriam Schoen’s face—let us see whether they can, or whether Miriam Schoen has become too new, too fresh, too bright!

And then I was in the “terminal”—at the “concourse”—at the “gate!”

I sat, with the rest of them, awaiting my airplane.

I sat, with gaiety in my heart, with my body as light as air.

At last, it was December! Even for me, now!

It was December, at last. Do you understand? Vincent? My love? Do you understand what I mean, when I say it was December—at last?

But of course you do.

A time of merriment, and of rejoicing!

I sat, and smiled, and did not think about Brooklyn, New York.

I did not think about elevators or apartment complexes. I did not think about my lack of regrets, or about the absence of nostalgia in my heart.

I did not think about mothers, or little brothers. I did not think about “papers,” about “last rites.” I did not think about failed prophets realizing that they are only defects upon creation. I did not think about ordinary Wednesdays, about high ledges, about the bodies that fall from those ledges all the way to the street far below.

I did not have any thoughts at all about these things. I did not even think about the fact that I was not thinking about them!

 

 

It was so nice, being among the air-people. Seeing their compassionate faces turned my way! And feeling cared-for, looked-after, precious, safe!

“Are you all right?” they asked me. It was so thoughtful of them!

“You look a little pale. Just wanted to make sure everything’s okay.” Such sweet, well-meaning hearts the air-people have!

“You look . . . nervous. Very nervous. Are you really all right?”

They asked me, again and again. It was so kind of them to do so! They were giving me an opportunity, a privilege—again and again!

“Are you all right?”

I smiled sweetly, and said: Yes!

Yes, I am all right! Thank you for asking!

Am I all right? Yes—at last, I AM all right! Finally, Miriam Schoen is all right! Look, look, don’t you see?

 

 

And I went up, up!

Into the airplane! Into its belly, that strange and small and cramped place—that place not made for the comfort of mere flesh, but for the air-people’s purposes, and those alone!

And then—up!

Into the sky!

Into the clouds, and further still! Above the clouds!

From above, the clouds look like a frozen sea. You see the gentle waves, and the harsher ones, all written out upon its surface. But the waves do not move; they are frozen in place, like a sculpture, in order to let the artistry behind them show itself more plainly.

Did you know that? About the clouds, how they look from up above? I do! I know!

 

 

Up, up, up!

Past the threshold! To a place that lies utterly beyond the limited horizons of Miriam Schoen!

I did not think at all about the “papers” in my suitcase!

I did not think at all about desks or typewriters! I did not think about you—not my love, but the other one—you who force my unwilling hand to type! I was going to a place that lies beyond anything you would ever understand—and I did not think about that fact, either!

I did not think at all about flesh, food, finances! Do not imagine, my love, that I had any worries about that sort of thing—not for a single moment!

Do you understand, Vincent? So much weighs on your shoulders, already. You have so many necessary worries, and I do not want to burden you with needless ones!

Do you understand, my love? I cannot even say that I forgive you for what you did—there is nothing to forgive! Only an expression of love, a generous heart pouring over! I know how ashamed you feel, my poor darling; I know how it pains you to talk about the patrons who didn’t come through for you, the way you were expecting. It makes my heart wrench, seeing how this preoccupies you, how it torments you—but dear Vincent, please understand that I am not preoccupied or tormented by any of it! Not at all!

I sat in my seat, snug, safe, perfect! I peered out the window, watching the frozen sea under me—and all the while, I was being carried through the sky, across the whole country!

I did not think about my little brother dying, because—how could he die? How could he die, when his flesh is mine, and my blood his? When the very same cameras watch both of us, and record us, and transmit us?

I did not think about my little brother’s flock of devotees, clamoring for a properly dignified print edition of his “papers,” and demanding of his poor sister that she cough up every bit of family trivia she could remember that in any way impinged upon their prophet, the messiah. Because—how could my little brother have such followers? When he is only a little boy—a poor, sad, crazy little boy?

For hours, I sat watching the clouds—smiling sweetly, rising like the dawn! I was alone with my joy, and there was nothing left to tie me down to the ground!

The air-people inside the airplane were just as kind as their earthbound siblings, and just as patient—no, more so!

They came to my seat, unbidden, at one point. To show how much they cared about me!

“Are you all right?” they asked me, in gently pained voices.

And they helped me sit very still in my seat, to help the dizziness go away!

And they offered to feed me, give me water, anything I needed! They even brandished napkins, and offered to wipe off the sweat that had grown thick on my brow, for me, as a mother might do for an infant!

No, thank you—I can manage that on my own! But thank you for asking! Thank you, thank you!

Did I have any medical history they should know about? A history of fainting? A seizure disorder? No, and no, and no—thank you for asking!

Am I all right? Oh, perfectly!

Am I all right? Yes! Yes, at last, Miriam Schoen is all right!

 

 

Up, up! Across the whole country!

Farmland, from above, looks like a curious sort of jigsaw puzzle: many little tiles, fitting snugly into one another, placed just where they are meant to be! Did you know that? I do!

Across the threshold! Portland, Oregon—from above! A toy town, a darling little collection of dollhouses, so small, so prettily arranged!

Through the gate! Into a second airport!

Into Portland, Oregon, at last!

Into Portland International Airport—where my love had come to meet me, the moment I disembarked!

Into the arms of my love!

Carried up, into Vincent’s arms! Carried by those arms—now, and forevermore!

Carried up by love, and by the strength it lends to a lover’s arms—now, and forevermore!

Up, up, up!