Page 17 of It's Me They Follow
“We call it ‘the crate activity.’”
Very descriptive, The Shopkeeper thought.
“I am concerned you won’t do this one. How did you do with the assignment from last week? Did you try it?”
“I did.”
The Good Doctor looked surprised. “Oh, you did?”
The Shopkeeper grinned. “I kind of went on a date in Paradise.”
The Good Doctor looked intrigued. “And?”
“And I really, really liked him... I mean it.” This was an understatement. The Shopkeeper loved daydreaming about the hour she’d spent inside ME’s eyes. How it’d made her feel warm but cool. Now she wanted to make eye contact with strangers and friends, and even right now with The Good Doctor.
“So perhaps you’ll trust me more,” The Good Doctor said.
Before The Shopkeeper could answer, the others in the class started coming in. Rose and the stoned kid sat next to each other, laughing about the Eagles game. Everyone else sat around the table in their usual seats.
This week, Rose was dressed head to toe in royal blue. She had a royal blue rose in her hair and royal blue roses on her wrist and windbreaker and sneakers—even her extra-long fingernails were painted royal blue.
“Hello, sugar pie.” Rose danced and waved her royal blue handkerchief around her head. “Thank you for that book.” Rose tried to act like she wasn’t surprised to see The Shopkeeper there early. But Ray did not pretend.
“Well, look what the mafuckin’ cat dragged in,” Ray said, passing out glasses to the group for wine.
“Would anyone like to share their homework?” The Good Doctor asked as the class settled down. Of course, Rose raised her hand first.
“I would.”
“And who did you write your letter to?” The Good Doctor asked Rose.
“I wrote to my late husband, Charlie.”
“Okay, Rose.” The Good Doctor said her usual preface: “In this writing class, there are no apologies, excuses, or prefaces. When it’s time to read...”
“...just read,” the class said in unison.
“Dear Charlie,” Rose began. “It’s been 423 days since you...” She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. “Died.” Her hands shook this time, and she wasn’t faking like she usually did. Rose rarely spoke about Charlie Jr.’s death, but here she was bringing him up two sessions in a row.
“Yet I feel you with me in the mornings. I feel you holding my hand, kissing my forehead. I even smell your funky old socks. How can they say you’re gone? You would never leave me. I tell people, ‘We had a pact.’ I don’t miss you. I don’t mourn you. You never left me, and I don’t think you ever will.” She motioned with her blue rose pen to an empty chair beside her. “You’re here.” She pointed at the stoned kid in the tie-dyed shirt. “And here.” She pointed at her heart. “And certainly here. I found out your name, Charles, means ‘free man.’ Derived from ‘karilaz.’It’s regal. After all these years, what I remember most is your regal shoehorn, and you shining your regal shoes, and your regal aftershave, and you singing to yourself in the bathroom mirror—my free man. So, what did I learn from you, Sir Charles? Well, I learned to ‘Let It Be.’ You gave me The Beatles on repeat every day.” She began to sing. “‘Whisper words of wisdom / Let it be.’
“Last week in class, I heard you singing ‘Let It Be’ in my left ear as I stood across from a six-foot-six young man in a tie-dyed T-shirt. We were instructed by The Good Doctor not to touch physically, but instead, to touch emotionally by looking deep into our partner’s eyes. I don’t think I’ve looked at anyone or let anyone look at me in a long time. He reminded me of you, Charles. Not that you two look alike—maybe a little—but because you feel alike: strong, gentle, tall. I swam in his eyes. A sweet kid. Turns out his name is also Charles. Our assignment was to try this exercise at home. I don’t have anyone at home anymore, so I invited that sweet young man over to the house for a coffee and to read with me, since The Shopkeeper gave us both a copy of her book. We traveled through time and dimensions together, birth and death and friendships and arguments and dinners and card games. I saw you in his eyes.”
The stoned guy, who The Shopkeeper decided she’d call Lil Charlie from now on, blushed.
“Thank you for never leaving me, Charlie. Thank you for being my husband.”
Lil Charlie blushed some more.
Best thing she’s written all semester, The Shopkeeper thought.Not great, but good. Some emotional depth, nice pacing, strong message, a slight plot twist.The Shopkeeper bit into another apple, and the sound of crisp wetness broke through the silence in the air—she hoped Ray would share something funny to lighten the mood. But he was deep in thought.
On the board, for the writing prompt, The Good Doctor wrote,Share a touch you’ve witnessed that forever changed your life. Ray, Rose, Lil Charlie, The Shopkeeper, and the rest of the class jumped in.
In response to the prompt, The Shopkeeper penned a scene from her childhood. Although she was typically hesitant to write about herself, she had no problem writing about others.
One Friday evening, when I was nine years old, we had a visiting pastor come to our church. I was eating a broken mint and reading devotional readers when I heard a commotion in the back of the building. It was a deep familiar wailing. Everybody turned around. Some wailing somebody was surrounded by three church mothers holding up white sheets. They were clearing out the pew to get closer tothe wailing somebody. The church mothers—an elderly group of tight-lipped, no-nonsense women—were saying, “The blood of Jesus,” onrepeat, louder and louder. A larger and larger circle formed around the back pew until the guest preacher instructed the three church mothers to dragthe wailing somebodyinto the middle aisle for a “laying on of hands.” They could not.The wailing somebodywas impossible to control—their arms and legs refusing restraint. Their guttural voice otherworldly. So the guest preacher called out for the church deacons to come help the church mothers move the demon-possessedwailing somebodyso they could cast out the evil that was controlling them.Where was God when you needed God?I thought.
“Say ‘the blood of Jesus,’” the guest preacher instructed, pulling and grabbing atthe somebody.
