Okay, so it's a long short story, or a short long story, something like that. If you make it to the end I'll give you a hug =)
Sparrows and Lilies
ISABEL dropped a coin into the hand of a hunchbacked man, who for a small fee deciphered palms and dreams from a mound of filthy cushions in the back corner of the park.
"You will die an old woman," he told her.
She believed him, even as she settled in for the night on the frosty sidewalk, her body curled against a wall that smelled of beer and urine. But by the time the last of the customers stumbled out of the nearby bar, Isabel had fully renounced the nickel prophecy. She was freezing. The cold had pierced her flesh like needles, seeping mercilessly into her bones, and her lips had darkened into a deep blue, the color of the bruises her mother would hide beneath long sleeves.
"Look at what that animal has done to me," her mother whispered to her on the eve of her second birthday.
By then, Isabel had already learned the complexity of her mother’s love. She understood her pain intuitively. In the shadow of a locked bathroom door, her mother revealed to her the fresh imprints of a large man's fist. Silently enduring her soiled diaper, Isabel sat next to her on the cool tile and watched her slip away one pill at a time.
After an evening of sirens and flashing red lights, of strangers in navy suits asking her father questions, and of being spoon-fed apple sauce by a bony, unsmiling woman, a sleeping Isabel was whisked away by a large, expensive car.
"Stop stop stop," the woman said to the driver.
The shrillness of her voice woke Isabel. She recognized the woman, on whose rigid, narrow lap she happened to be sitting, as the same woman who had fed her. They stared awkwardly at each other, neither knowing what to say or do.
The driver guided the car slowly through the entrance of a tall gate. Isabel felt her heart clench like a fist, so struck was she by the carefully manicured lawn, the flowerless trees, and the stiff marble statues.
"Isabel, this is Radford Estate, your new home. I am your mother's eldest sister. You may call me Aunt Nelle," said the woman, not bothering to remove the hostility from her voice.
"Mommy! Where's mommy?" Isabel asked, tears lodged in her throat. She tried to squirm out of Aunt Nelle's snake-like arms, which firmly held her captive.
Not understanding what the child was struggling to say, Aunt Nelle squeezed tighter. The band of her gold watch dug into Isabel's chubby leg, causing her to burst out and spray her agony onto Aunt Nelle's stunned face.
"Hush!" Aunt Nelle shouted, scaring Isabel and making her howl even louder.
The car stopped outside a fantastic stone mansion, its bland walls the color of a November sky. Aunt Nelle passed Isabel to Anna, the petite maid who came running to greet them.
"Come here, little darling. Look at you," Anna said. She grazed her finger up and down Isabel's round, damp cheek.
"Don't fuss over her, Anna. Just take the girl upstairs and clean her up."
Anna nodded obediently and hurried into the house. Once out of sight, she stopped to kiss Isabel tenderly on the forehead.
"My poor, poor child."
Immediately enchanted by Anna, Isabel reached for her wispy red hair, which flowed in loose, untamed waves down her narrow back. Isabel wrapped her fingers around a vibrant flyaway, playing with it as though it was a whip of fire.
Until the age of ten, Isabel remained invisible to her aunt, who made it clear that she had no tolerance for children. She spent most of her time with Anna, who had taken on the additional title of private tutor. But whenever Anna was busy with chores, Isabel would play under the watchful eye of Ernie, the bent, white-whiskered gardener who turned her loose to explore the vast yard. Every now and then he would look up from whatever hedge he was pruning to watch Isabel color the structured, joyless flora with her wild spirit.
She was returning from an afternoon of storytelling with her favorite garden creature, the stone-carved tortoise, whose carapace had been desecrated by an army of pigeons, when Aunt Nelle demanded her presence. Isabel bounded into the long dining hall, where her aunt sat with a maroon portfolio.
"Where on earth did you come from? What a disaster. It's a good thing you're finally old enough for a proper upbringing," Aunt Nelle said.
Isabel flinched as Aunt Nelle reached over to pluck a lady bug from her dark, unbrushed hair. She began to squeeze the bright insect between her thumb and index finger, nearly bursting its bulbous back.
"Wait! Don't hurt her, Aunt. Ernie said she's lucky. He said she's the only splotch of color in the garden!"
"Nonsense. I won't have creepy crawlers on my property - and I certainly won't have them living in my niece's hair."
The thought of insects taking up residence in her hair delighted Isabel. She tried to stifle her giggles, but her imagination got the best of her.
"What is the matter with you, child? I will certainly be glad to have you out of this house!"
"Out?" Isabel asked, gulping down all of her laughter.
"Yes, out. You'll be starting the fourth grade next week at St. Anthony's Academy. And you'll be boarding there with good Catholic girls from families of high standing, so I expect you to represent Radford Estate well, do you hear? You may go upstairs now.”
She thrust into Isabel’s arms the deep red portfolio, its front cover adorned with golden block letters and a large, impressive cross.
“You mean I’m not going to live here anymore?”
“I already told you that you will be living at the Academy. Run along now, I’m tired of looking at you, you filthy thing.”
Isabel was furious. She glared at her aunt with defiant eyes, holding her fiery stare until a film of salty tears caused her to blink furiously. Aunt Nelle observed her niece with unaffected amusement, saying nothing and showing no sympathy.
“How could you!” Isabel shouted. She ran blindly out of the room and dived straight into the open arms of Anna, who had been trying to listen from in the hallway.
“Oh dear, what happened, sweetie?”
“She, she – she’s sending me away! I don’t want to leave you, Anna! Please don’t let her take me away.”
“Oh sweetie, you know there’s nothing I can do. I’m only a maid,” Anna said. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, hun. I’ll come visit you on my days off. I promise.”
The Catholic campus was on the blustery edge of the largest city Isabel had ever seen. She arrived in a freshly ironed polo shirt and pleated skirt, with her hair neatly combed back and her feet, wide from years of running barefoot, crammed into stiff black clogs. A ghostlike nun, her virtue preserved in an immaculate jar-shaped habit, led Isabel into the classroom. She speechlessly pointed a pallid finger to a seat in the back corner. It was next to Megan, a chubby girl with braces. Isabel was fascinated by the silver chunks pasted onto Megan's teeth. Whenever the nuns had their backs turned, Isabel whispered crass stories and jokes in the hope of getting Megan to spread open her fat lips in hearty metallic glee.
During her first term at St. Anthony's, Isabel missed Anna terribly, the magnitude of her loss hitting her especially hard in the lonely moments that precede sleep. But Anna came to visit often, and the void of her absence was soon filled by the chatter of girls who came to Isabel eager for tales of adventure and romance.
Isabel didn't mind sharing her stories. She had dreamed most of them into life during afternoon siestas in Radford Estate's colorless garden. Yet she couldn't help but feel that, aside from Megan, who quickly became her favorite friend, the crowd of girls was not quite as good an audience as her beloved stone tortoise, who never fidgeted or interrupted her stories with silly questions.
Time at St. Anthony's rolled by at a tedious pace. The weekly routine of classroom instruction followed by mass was torture for Isabel. By the time she had matured into a slender-waisted teenager, she was thoroughly bored and starved for experience.
During the lunch hour of an early spring day, Isabel listlessly wandered from the picnic table she and Megan regularly occupied. She was drawn to the campus gate, from where she stood watching the people pass, their figures cutting in and out of the metal bars. Then she saw him. The moment was brief, but it was so intense that it lived for a long time in her memory. She caught the hazel eye of a dark-skinned university student who exuded intellect and incomparable beauty. He stirred within her a sense of urgency. And she felt it profoundly.
"What's up with you?” Megan asked. “Lately you've been so out of it."
"I just - I think I just need to get out of here."
"Yeah, your aunt would love that one." Megan offered Isabel a playful smile, the metal tracks long since removed from her large teeth.
The yearning for life outside of the orderly Catholic realm grew stronger each day. She was lured by the bustle of the city, its strange odors of smoke and sweat, and most of all, by the young man she longed to love.
"Megs, I'm going to do it. I'm getting out of here."
"Uh-huh, you're just going to leave."
"Yes, I swear I am. Tomorrow."
"Don't be stupid, Isabel. What if you get caught? You'll be suspended."
"I won't get caught. I have a plan. Tomorrow is mass. All the nuns go, so when the service starts, I'll just - "
"What am I going to tell Anna when she comes this weekend? Have you thought of that?"
"Tell her not to worry about me."
Early the next morning, while the entire student body filed into the cathedral, Isabel bade her sniffling friend goodbye and slipped unnoticed through the locked gate’s widest crack. She walked briskly, anxious to disappear into the labyrinth of the city. At noon, the sun sat squarely on the flat tops of the tall buildings, causing the shadows in the streets to withdraw. Isabel grew frantic from the heat and the omnipresent cacophony of voices and vehicles. She spotted a park in the distance, and felt a wave of peace when the paved floor of the city gave way to flush, freshly cut grass. The children on the swings, the pink and yellow blossoms on the trees, and the birds that landed wherever they pleased, were to Isabel a wonderland of disorder.
She spent the afternoon exploring the public garden, a slice of land chopped into messy plots for nearby condo-dwellers. There she found every shade of red and purple, and other colors she did not know the names for. It was behind the last plot, its sunflowers overrun by weeds and vines, that she saw the profile of a haggard, mystic man meditating inside of a worn tent. He sat cross-legged on a stack of large silk pillows. Several teenagers, a pregnant mother and a hapless man in a business suit formed a loose circle around his bent figure.
Isabel walked over to join them. Anna had told her about seers and prophets who could explain the mystery of the future, but the nuns had reprimanded her for inventing stories about wise, clairvoyant heroines.
“You sinful child,” Sister Agatha told her. “If you persist in your sin, you will meet an end similar to your mother’s. Your dear aunt told me all about that wretched woman. Repent now, and may the Lord forgive you for your pagan thoughts.”
Isabel cried herself to sleep that night, haunted by her mother’s brokenness and her own inability to quench her imagination.
Even though Sister Agatha’s warning rang loudly in Isabel’s mind, her curiosity about fate got the best of her, and she was desperate for direction. When it was her turn, she handed over the nickel Megan had given her upon her departure, and explained to him her situation.
“I’m lost, you see. But I’m not complaining or anything. I just need to know what to do. I can’t go back to the academy, and I can’t go back to my aunt.”
“Child, that kind of knowledge will cost you much more than a nickel. But I can tell you this: you will die an old woman.”
Isabel was too pleased with the promise of longevity to feel cheated. She ventured out of the park, heading in the direction of the university. She saw a neat row of impressive brick buildings – temples to academia – and her heart skipped a beat. In her mind she saw the broad-shouldered scholar with eyes like the seeds of mustard, a pile of books tucked under a bronze arm. She decided to look for him, trusting the tug in her soul that told her they would meet.
She strolled easily through the entrance, for unlike St. Anthony’s, this campus was open to new ideas and people. She drew several strange looks, for her conservative uniform contrasted greatly with what the other girls wore: tank tops with necklines so low that Isabel feared their breasts would pop out like a pair of muffins, and pants so tight they showed every bulge of the hips and butt. Isabel felt her shapeless body and lamented that all of the looks she drew were from critical, full-figured young women. But when she saw her blurred self in a shiny car door, she was pleased with her waiflike appearance, for her leanness emphasized the tiny pointed
chin she inherited from her mother.
By the time she had walked the length of the campus, the air was beginning to grow chilly. She crossed the street, drawn by the aroma of grilled meat, realizing only then how hungry she was. Isabel fought the urge to cry, for despite never having felt so utterly helpless, she did not want to look more pathetic than she already felt. But the tears broke loose when her hand emerged from her pockets empty. She was penniless. She had given her last coin to the clairvoyant man at the park.
For hours she walked slowly past the long row of restaurants, hoping someone would take pity on her and offer a hot meal. She hugged her body tightly, her thin bare arms the only things of warmth she had to wrap around her. When she was too weary and cold to walk any further, she found a lighted area on the wall next to a bar, which burst sporadically with the intoxicated cheers of collegiate sports fans.
She lay there on the cement, too frightened to close her eyes. For the first time, she thought of her mother with envy, and wondered if perhaps it was better not to live into old age, if living meant having to suffer.
“Hello, miss,” said a man enshrouded in darkness.
Isabel sat up straight. News clips of little girls being raped played in her head.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Please don’t be afraid. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Isabel recognized the sincere compassion in the man’s voice. She began to sob uncontrollably.
“No… No, I don’t know where I am. I’m cold and hungry. And I’m homeless!”
“Cool. Did you know that Jesus was homeless, too?”
“What? Cool?”
Isabel was stunned. She certainly did not run away from a Catholic school only to be preached to outside of a bar. And the only Jesus she knew lived in frozen glory, trapped in the massive, expensive window of St. Anthony’s cathedral.
The man handed her a collegiate sweater and a Styrofoam container heavy with leftover pizza. Isabel wolfed it down, not noticing that he had plopped down beside her. She looked over at him after stuffing the last bite into her mouth, wiping her greasy fingers on her already filthy skirt.
“It’s you!” she gasped. Delight and horror filled her at once. The scholar she had longed to love was sitting beside her, and she was wearing his sweater.
“Huh?”
“Oh, um, nothing. You just look familiar, that’s all.”
“Well, I should hope so.”
“Can you take me back, please? Back to St. Anthony’s Academy? I don’t think I can make it on my own. At least not yet.”
“Sure, come with me.” He helped her up and led her to his old blue pickup truck.
The drive to the school was quicker than she hoped, for she wanted to spend forever in his passenger seat. She loved him as she knew she would, and she told him everything – about her mother, her aunt, Anna, Megan, the nuns. He listened patiently as she explained that she ran away because she couldn’t stand the regimented orderliness of her life. When the car slowed to a stop outside of St. Anthony’s, Isabel worked up the courage to hug her new friend farewell.
“I think even the guards are asleep at this hour. You should be able to slip back unnoticed.”
“Thank you so much. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”
“Don’t worry about it. As surely as my Father provides for the sparrows and lilies, he will provide for you,” he said. “Take this as proof.”
“Wait! I didn’t even ask you! What is your name?”
“My name is Jesus,” he said, offering a playful smile before pulling away.
Isabel watched him disappear into the city. With his sweater still zipped up over her grimy polo shirt, she felt the exciting warmth that comes only with the beginning of a great love.
