Josiah, Emergent

Mattie looked seriously at her mother. "He may need crutches all his life, and now he seems fine with that. He thanked the doctor for helping, said he was grateful they saved his legs."

She paused. "His knees must have been pulverized. I understand some of what he's going through."

Mattie stopped, knowing her mother would bring up the startling missing element.

"He doesn't see a mental therapist? No one to deal with his stress?" she asked.

Mattie shook her head. "He said he went through the whole exam and didn't think of the bridge once. Like that was an accomplishment."

She looked at her mom. It was all good news, all improvement. Josiah was pleased he didn't remember something he couldn't describe. Would there always be a memory he had to avoid? Would it always color his view of the world?

She hesitated, put her head down on her arms, and cried. She felt her mother's hand on her back.

*

He drove. They went to an Italian restaurant near the interstate highway, away from the usual Sky Grey and Greenville patrons. Mattie wore a tank top-like mini skirted dress, and sandals. She wore no bra. She looked very sexy, and several of the men in the restaurant noticed her. Some kept looking over at her, almost rudely ignoring their own dates or wives.

He had a new set of crutches and had actually been eager to try them. These were lighter, titanium and something much like his knees, and fit his forearms better. He liked wearing new clothes or trying out anything new, so he used them.

But he couldn't take his eyes off Mattie. She jiggled a little as they walked, her breasts obvious through the cotton top, and her skin was a darker tan now in early June. He followed her to a booth, and he noticed her bottom and legs.

They'd not had sex. He'd never touched her, never anythinged her. He wondered if there was something wrong with him.

"You know how I feel," he said to her. Sometimes their conversations started at the second or third paragraph, she noticed.

"A woman likes to hear it," she said. She was looking at him as if this were a serious conversation.

"I think I have trouble saying emotional things," he said. He looked around, then back at her, at her breasts and then her eyes.

"I'm making a play for you," she said.

"Not yet," he said. "I need more time."

She was disappointed, very disappointed. She'd known him almost a year.

"Josiah, I'm ready, but you have to want me, too," she explained.

He looked at her, looked around the room. Could others hear her? Her talk was getting a physical reaction from him, but mostly it made him uncomfortable. He didn't want to think of sex and marriage and children and making a woman a mother.

"I don't understand you, Josiah," she said shaking her head. "I try to get closer to you and you act like you like me but... I've never had a boyfriend who avoided touching me." She was upset, holding in some emotion.

"I'm not them," he thought, as if that should be a qualifier. He didn't say it because she would think it an insult. It dawned on him that he was explaining to himself why this relationship must fail. He needed it to fail or he'd face all those things: sex and marriage and children and creating motherhood.

Something welled up inside him. His nut doctor had told him, but it wasn't real then. He'd had no girl interested in him, he was crippled, he expected a life of forced celibacy, it wasn't real. He'd only thought of how it would affect him. He'd not thought it might cause a woman pain on her side. Mattie was almost in tears.

"You sing that song and it's as if it were meant for me. Just me. I thought that at the funeral when I first heard it," she said. "I still feel like it's special for me. Does it mean anything to you, other than just a nice sound?"

He didn't answer for his thinking, which was a jumble. Vogel was right, and now it mattered. Vogel said once, "It will bite you in the butt, and it might be too late then." Now he was hurting someone who wanted to love him. The doctor said he'd have trouble bonding normally if he didn't get help.

She and he didn't talk through the meal. They ate, he paid their bill and tipped the little girl who waited on them. As he drove Mattie home, "Of Hope and Love" by the Josiah Langer Trio played on the FM channel of the radio. It was the first time he'd heard it. He was about to point it out to Mattie, but suddenly he realized she wouldn't feel his joy this time.

Mattie heard the song. She was looking out the side window. For most of the drive, she was silent beside him. He turned into her driveway and stopped. A few seconds passed in silence. She said then, "We don't have much longer. I can't go on forever like this." She stopped. He was looking straight ahead, his countenance stony. "It's a good song, Josie." She had tear streaks on her cheeks. She opened the door and ran to her house. He watched her.

His mother called him Josie.

"I'm out of kilter," he thought.

He was losing her.

CHAPTER 13: Josiah Uncovered

"You named us after me?" he asked Sing. "Maybe you could have talked to me." Josiah looked somber, too somber for something like a disagreement about their group name.

Sing looked sheepish, and Cora smiled. Sing said, "Yeah, I should have told you. If we use Sing they'll think it's a pun, only Benny Goodman could name a band after a clarinetist and no one after a flautist, and you're the one they see singing." He wouldn't hear any of Josiah's protests about effort and training and professionalism. He said, "We have professional reputations. You deserve some return for so much standing and suffering. It's harder for you. And you've had a crash course in singing that would take a year or two with a voice coach." Josiah didn't see it like that.

Sing looked at him seriously. "Someday you'll realize you're as proficient at your part as we are at ours." Cora was nodding and had that same sincerity on her countenance.

It was an overstatement, but more than a gesture. There were all sorts of help in the world. Good people helped good people succeed. Josiah shook his head and surrendered. "Well, we should have talked. I guess it doesn't matter."

Cora noticed his despondence. She said, "What's bothering you so, Josiah? You're so gloomy."

"Mattie and I... I'm not sure how it will go," he said.

Sing looked concerned. "We know how important she is to you."

Cora nodded. "She's been very understanding. I think she loves you."

Josiah looked away for some seconds. "There's something wrong with me," he said. Cora and Sing said nothing. "I don't feel like other people."

Mattie called him after two days. She was quiet, and he listened, feeling his heart pounding. "Josiah, you and I must talk."

"I don't know how to fix things," he said.

She didn't say anything for a few seconds. "That's the problem. We need help."

He thought, "At least, she said 'we.'"

They talked on a bit, but Josiah couldn't promise what she wanted to hear. She did not hear that he loved her, nor that he'd find a therapist. She did not close the door, but she wondered if she should back out of the relationship.

"Next Sunday, we'll be at your anniversary Mass. My whole family will be there. Mom and Dad, my brother and his family will be in town, we're all coming."

"You know, that's not..." he started, but was interrupted.

"Yes it is," she said with finality. "They all want to meet you.` Mom and Dad are looking forward to it. And Cindy's excited. That's Randy's wife." Randy was her brother.

"I guess I have to meet them all."

"Yes, you do. Like we're a couple. And after that you and I are going to talk," she said. "We're going to talk about things, very serious things, because you're... we're too good not to make things better. We can't live in limbo any longer." It sounded ominous. Was there an ultimatum? She thought to herself, "I'm going to hold his hand and drag him into a shrink's office."

But things didn't work out the way she expected.

Their performance was advertised, and the parish reunion promised a large crowd. They met with the new music director, an organist Sing knew from somewhere, and they planned out the whole thing. It was going to be more than the usual. There'd be pre-Mass songs on the organ, a solo by Cora, and the drummer and guitarist would join in for Mass itself. The music director recommended a joyous, relatively new tune that he and Sing spent some time arranging. Mass promised to be fun.

The parish was holding a festival after Mass, with booths and rides and food.

His mood lifted some that Sunday. He realized that Mattie was determined to give them a chance as a couple. But he was like an alcoholic: he knew how he should act, but he couldn't make it happen. "Mom," he thought, "I understand better now." He felt no response. Maybe somehow he'd do the right thing. Would it take an ultimatum from her?

Attendance was overwhelming. By thirty minutes before Mass, there was no standing room available. Josiah heard people talking as he made his way down the aisle to the chancel. "I heard their song on the radio last night. Really good," a man was saying to his wife. "They started here so they're doing this for old time sake," a woman was saying to her grown son.

He smiled at people who pointed him out as he crutched to the music area. He looked about at the audience. Mrs. Sackston smiled at him and nodded, with her niece and Lacy beside her. Near the front he was surprised to see Mrs. Crimmins, sitting with (probably) her sister and a man, probably her husband. He stopped and looked over at them.

"Thanks for coming, ma'am."

She smiled. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Would you like to hear Ava's song?" he asked.

"Is that okay?" she asked.

"I'll see if we can do it."

Mattie and her family were down front almost an hour before Mass to get good seats, not far from the performers. He smiled as he passed; Mattie pointed him out to her brother, a big guy with lighter hair and a very small wife beside him. They had two sons squirming beside her, out of dad's reach. Josiah had his crutches, but he lifted one and smiled at Randy who nodded and smiled back.

Steps were all around Merciful God. Josiah would be standing a lot; he kept the crutches handy. He put them on the floor behind his chair once he was in position. Getting up was so awkward for him that he planned it out, sitting near the piano so he might use it to steady himself.

He spoke to Sing, who looked around and found Mrs. Crimmins in the crowd. He waved, spoke to Cora. "Sure, Josiah, let's play it."

Josiah spoke into the microphone. "Our first song was written 13 years ago by a child dying of brain cancer. She passed at 19, shortly after writing it. Her mother and relatives are with us today. We've performed it at funerals, at receptions, at celebrations. 'Of Hope and Love,' by Ava Fortner, then of Springfield, Ohio. Now, well, we miss her."

They performed it joyously this day, Sing using the piano and Cora the flute. Josiah looked at Mrs. Crimmins as they finished and noticed that her sister was dabbing at her eyes. Mrs. Crimmins smiled at him and nodded.

The pre-Mass instrumentals commenced. Sing loved that pipe organ, and his love communicated to the audience. His selections were surprising; Father had questioned them but finally acquiesced. He didn't play traditional religious songs before the Mass.

The group played selections from "The Trees" from the movie Medicine Man, then a selection from John Barry's Out of Africa, and "Hymn to the Fallen" from Saving Private Ryan. A few parishioners recognized the sources and obviously whispered them to their company. Finally, Cora played "Gabriel's Oboe" from The Mission, as achingly beautiful a song as has ever been written, no question. Josiah noticed that Cora finished with streaks on her face, silently weeping the emotion she felt in the song.

"I wonder if I know Cora well enough," Josiah thought, looking at her. She saw his look and returned it honestly with a smile.

The music director, sitting on the side that Mattie's family was but facing the congregation, started clapping, and everyone joined in.

It was a memorable Mass for many reasons: the crowd, the music, the anniversary, and of course, the inadvertent act of klutziness. Josiah's first song was joined by the congregation and the loud sound of so many singing was astounding. The drums were lightly played on this one; the guitarist liked the song and Sing smiled at his enthusiasm. The Mass proceeded, Phil showing signs of his age occasionally in a stuffy church, but he was hanging in there.

Merciful God had a series of steps creating a large podium or stage with the altar, and the musicians were situated on Joseph's side of the church on the second lowest step, which was six feet wide and wrapped around the podium's height. By communion time, Josiah was using crutches because of all the standing, and as he was moving to the microphone he had that moment he knew would come eventually: his right knee locked, he had a drop of eight inches to his left and his crutch was not that long. So as Sing played the introduction and Father and the other distributors moved to their places to give communion, he fell flat on his face just inside the old communion rail. He saved his mouth and nose by turning his head, but he got a good conk on the side of the head. He never lost consciousness, nor did he bleed.

Sing immediately stopped. Cora, unable to see the incident, played on a few bars, the drummer stood behind his drums, and the guitarist, who almost caught Josiah, took off his instrument and was first to his side. Mattie was up and moving too, he saw as he rolled over.

Josiah smiled. He waved Mattie away. Mattie, seeing he was not seriously injured, smiled and went back to her seat. The congregation laughed, trying not to sound insensitive. The guitarist helped him up and handed him a crutch. Father asked into his microphone, "Are you okay, Josiah?"

Josiah said, nodding, "Fine, thank you, Father." Phil smiled back. Josiah eventually stood behind the microphone which somehow was not involved in the whole incident.

"Sorry, folks," he said. He looked at Sing, who started the song over, and he sang with the congregation Graham Kendrick's "The Trumpets Sound." It was very fun as the drums cut in at certain points and the crowd joined in. They moved on to another song, and then another, as there were so many communicants.

Josiah, for a few minutes, thought he was healthy.

*

The crowd was slow to leave, hoping for more, but Sing was packing up after the last prepared song. He released the violinists, the drummer, and the guitarist. Josiah thanked them all, especially for their concern when he fell. They congratulated him on his performance and the success of the recording, and left.

Josiah looked at Cora and Sing, now packed and ready to leave. "Thanks, Sing. Cora. Sure you don't want to come along?" They shook their heads, not wanting to intrude on the family and intending to visit Cora's later, he knew.

Josiah looked up and then quickly down, feeling dread like a wave pass through him. He forced himself to look up again, and he was suddenly nauseous. A man he knew was sitting in the middle of the nave, watching him as all the rest of the congregation left. Legs crossed, he appeared relaxed, one arm along the top of the pew back. If he'd had a cigar in his hand, it would have looked natural. He was always relaxed. Shrinks are just like that, Josiah thought. The major, in a sport coat but with the obvious Army haircut, sat in the sunlight streaming through the stained glass. He was behind Mattie's family many rows, just waiting.

Josiah was in the kill zone, trapped.

Josiah walked over in front of Mattie's family but stayed on the altar side of the unused communion rail, and was introduced to everyone in her family. He looked up but the major was still there. He wouldn't go away, Josiah knew. His nut doctor was here with a purpose.

Josiah forced himself to address him, but from this distance.

"Major Vogel, I didn't expect you," Josiah said, looking past Mattie's family.

"You've done a good job hiding, Lieutenant," he said. "Still maintaining symbolic barriers, too."

"I'm not hiding. I'm from here." Vogel meant the communion rail for the barrier, and Mattie's family; Josiah was aware, once he mentioned it.

"Near here, but you haven't been going to therapy. You agreed. I released you, and you've been getting PT but nothing more." Vogel stopped talking, sounding disappointed. He was disappointed. Josiah realized he'd probably bought a plane ticket at his own expense to come find him .

"Mass? You found me at Mass?" he asked.

"Online. Your performance is advertised online," he said. "You're very good, by the way."

Josiah looked at Mattie. She was listening to a strange conversation, Josiah in the front and the guy with short hair halfway down the nave. Everyone could hear, including her parents and family. Josiah couldn't make himself go around to the major.

"I have people here," he said.

"I don't care," Vogel said. It was his act, Josiah knew. He actually did care. He wanted them to pressure him to talk to him. "You're actually one of my favorite patients, you know."

Father Phil wandered in from the back of the church and heard the long range talk.

Mattie was looking at Josiah as she realized who Vogel was. Her parents were looking and hearing. Everyone heard. Josiah thought it was unprofessional of the major.

"It's unprofessional," he said. He knew that was an ineffective argument with Vogel.

"Yeah," he said. "Sue me. Turn me in to the Board." He was Army; the board would accept more unusual means. Vogel wouldn't care anyway; he had a reputation for helping hard cases, even to the point a Navy psychiatrist had sent Josiah to him.

"Tomorrow?" Josiah asked.

Vogel nodded. "Nine. Father, have you a room we could talk in tomorrow?" the major asked. He had no shame.

"Yes, may I ask who you are?" Phil asked.

"Major Kenton Vogel, United States Army, Dr. Kenton Vogel. Look me up online. We just need to talk."

Father was nodding. "I may poke my head in?"

"No problem. But we need privacy."

Father replied, "If you'd rather use a confessional?" Vogel shook his head and actually laughed.

"No, although he might prefer the barrier." Confessionals often had a perforated screen that prevented direct view of the penitent by the priest. Vogel stood and looked at Josiah.

"Tomorrow, Lieutenant. And you may bring your lovely friend, too."

Josiah started. He did NOT want Mattie to know... something. He just didn't want her to be there. She shouldn't be involved. Bring his girlfriend?

"Isn't that inappropriate, sir?" he asked. He was perspiring, but the major was serious.

Vogel cocked his head to the side, saw how panicked Josiah felt, and knew he'd guessed correctly. "I don't think so in this case. You can't hide forever." At this point, if he'd had a cigar, he'd have waved it. The cad, Josiah thought.

"I know you, Lieutenant. Bring her along, If she's willing. I insist." He was looking at Mattie, and she looked angry. She saw this discussion as an attempt to humiliate Josiah.

She had no idea the lengths this man would go, Josiah thought.

Vogel probably saw the flight prospect in Josiah's eyes; it was in his thoughts. Of course, he'd done it before.

"Don't make me chase you," Vogel said to him. He could have arrested him, probably. Or committed him. "Are you really sure you want to leave all these people behind? Now?"

Josiah looked at Mattie and considered. Some seconds passed, and he shook his head. He had reason to stay here. Josiah loved and felt loved.