a surrender - 36

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

After that, we would occasionally take long walks down to the lake and talk. Often about life in the community, or about Jesus. She was also very inspired by his life and teachings. Sometimes we talked about writing too, and she helped me with some of the stories I was working on. 

One of ones I liked best was called “Angel”:

“… finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it….” The rhythmic voice pressed into her head, then droned on, buzzing in the fog that surrounded her. And slowly the darkness lifted. Light crept through the haze, spreading with a pinkish glow, and then her eyes opened to life again.

As her vision found its focus, she saw the shape of a woman, her face averted. Then the woman suddenly turned, looked right at her, and smiled warmly. The droning voice clicked off. The woman’s voice was softer and richer. “Hello, honey. My name is Maria.”

She was in a hospital room, attached to beeping monitors and tubes poked into her arms. She didn’t remember how she had gotten here. She didn’t remember what had happened to her. The woman, Maria, told her that she had been in a fire, that she had saved Maria’s daughter and had come back for Maria but was unable to free her and was knocked out when part of the ceiling fell on them. She had been fearless, the woman said. A hero. Firefighters had arrived in time to pull her and Maria out of the house, but they had a hard time reviving her. Maria had been praying for her life. She tried to speak, croaking “I…,” then stopped, surprised at the strange sound of her own voice. The older woman nodded, waiting. “Who…,” she began again, then faltered, her voice dropping to a whisper, “do you know my name?” 

Christie. Maria told her she overheard the paramedics asking many questions when they got her breathing again, to make sure her brain was okay, but she had only answered, “Christie, Christie.” She didn’t remember that name. But when the orderly came and Maria had to leave, she saw it. The orderly removed her shirt to bathe her, and there on her arms were dark tattoos. On one arm a rose etched in red, drawn with blood dripping from the petals. And the other arm was wrapped with a band of thorny vines woven together, with elaborate lettering above and below: Domine Iesu Christe miserere mei peccatricis. She didn’t understand the words. But she saw the name.

After her bath, she slept. When she awoke, Maria was there again. This time the older woman spoke of herself and her daughter. They were leaving soon, moving far away to live near Maria’s relatives, where they would be safe. Maria was sure that the fire had been set by her ex-husband, and she wasn’t going to give him another chance. They had nothing left here anyway. 

“Where do you live, dear?” She couldn’t answer. She didn’t know where she lived, or even if she had a family looking for her. It was a horrible feeling, as if she had been thrust into a place where she didn’t belong… yet in some unknown way, she did. She needed a connection badly, a connection to her lost life. Something Maria couldn’t give. Something the hospital couldn’t give, either. The orderly had told her they had no identification for her, assuring her, though, that the memory almost always came back in time. “I don’t know.” It was all she could say to Maria, her voice trembling. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. Don’t worry about that. I’m sure that will be taken care of. Someone’s looking for you right now, you can be sure of that.” Maria took her hand. “And you’re always welcome with us, any time, for as long as you need. It’s just me and my girl now. We owe our lives to you.” The older woman’s eyes were wet. She began to look through her purse. “We’re not leaving for a week, if I’m not here call me, for anything… you could even go with us. You’re family now.” Maria gave her a slip of paper with a phone number on it. “But I’m sure someone will come for you soon.”

Continued...