Reverence

Marcus woke up yet again from an ethanol-induced slumber. Wrapped around him was a shroud of guilt. Holding onto her memory brought him substantial pain, where liquor served to sever his conscious connection temporarily. Regardless, it seems that no matter how much he drank, there was no way to rid himself of her haunting image. With no hope for the future and all options exhausted, a man has nothing to lose.

* * *

Just over six months ago, Marcus and his wife Ellen were living happily together. Life seemed perfect, as shown in the movies. Marcus hadn't always been as happy as he was with Ellen. He had been married before Ellen, which ended unfortunately due to his alcoholism. Despite his relative success as a writer, a vice can cripple anyone regardless of material wealth or social status. Alcoholism becomes progressively worse based on various circumstances. Marriage seemed to induce this progression, causing the relationship to topple rather quickly. When booze was chosen over his relationship, all that remained was a burnt bridge and shattered memories.

Marcus eventually sought treatment only after the divorce. At the hospital where he received treatment, Ellen worked as a nurse. Over time she could see a vast improvement in Marcus' mental and physical health. Eventually, a romantic interest had sparked between them. After having been around each other for some time, their romantic interests blossomed into true love.

Marriage eventually became the inevitable result between them. Ellen's prior relationships were also dysfunctional, making finding each other a blessing for both of them. They expressed a truly unbounded platonic love as two souls destined to merge as a testament to the poets.

Their love had evolved to the point where a child could be introduced into the family. Trying for several months, Ellen had finally become pregnant. Before breaking the news to their families, they had decided to celebrate by themselves first.

'Knock’-’knock' "Hey babe," Ellen called to Marcus softly, peeking her head in from the doorway of his study.

"Hey, what's up?" Asked Marcus, with his eyes focused intently on his work.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go out and get us something to celebrate, but I can see you're busy," she answered.

"Would you mind going out?" He asked her. "I'll be done with this by the time you get back, I promise," he assured her, still focused on his work.

"Not at all. I'll see you soon; I love you," she replied, walking out of his study.

* * *

After some time had passed, Marcus had finished his work for the night and noticed that Ellen had not returned. Feeling guilty for not calling her sooner, he rushed to contact her. After calling her several times, she still hadn’t picked up. Feeling worried, he left to see if he could find out where she was. The local market wasn’t far from their home, hoping she was near that area.

About a mile from their home, he could see red and blue lights flashing in the distance. He sped up toward the lights to see what had happened. There was a small crowd gathered around what looked to be a severe car accident. Looking at which vehicles were part of the accident, he noticed that Ellen’s car was destroyed. Approaching the lights, he saw a stretcher being lifted into the back of an ambulance. His heart dropped, and his stomach knotted as he rushed toward the vehicle. While attempting to approach the ambulance, he was stopped by a police officer.

“I’m sorry, sir. You can’t come through here,” The officer instructed Marcus, raising his palm forward, preventing him from moving past him.

“I need to come through; that’s my wife on that stretcher!” Marcus exclaimed desperately, still trying to push his way past the officer.

The officer lowered his guard, and Marcus managed to move through the small crowd surrounding the wreck. Ellen was being lifted into the back of an ambulance; she was unresponsive. He panicked to find out where Ellen was being taken.

An overwhelming feeling of guilt had quickly manifested itself. Regardless of how these events transpired, this guilt still haunted him. Running through his mind over and over again was the fact that he let her go instead of him. Would he then have suffered the same fate, leaving Ellen widowed and shrouded with guilt? Many questions circled endlessly through his mind as he rushed to the hospital.

Arriving at the hospital, Ellen had been rushed to the emergency room. Still unresponsive, they had no choice but to place her on life support. Hopeful for her recovery, Marcus didn’t leave her side. After several days she passed, leaving Marcus feeling desolate. Not only did he lose his best friend, but she had also carried his unborn child, one he can now never know. Upon her death, he still couldn’t stand to leave her side.

Each day, following the incident, he found himself at the bottom of the bottle, back where he was years ago. His writing had suffered along with him, which placed him in financial burden. Regardless of the impending consequences, Marcus drowned his sorrows, sunk deep in remorse. These behaviors had become quickly visible to those around him, causing them to move further away each day.

* * *

Without his knowledge, a mysterious man had been watching Marcus stumble out of the bar each night, sunk deeply in the sorrows of his inevitable circumstances. One night, the man had called upon Marcus, making an interesting proposal.

“Hey,” The stranger called to Marcus from a distance, gesturing to him.

Marcus failed to acknowledge him at first, under the impression that he was a beggar or some shady businessman who roamed the area during the nights.

Again he called Marcus. “Hey, You seem tired of feeling this way. You don’t have to,” the stranger pleaded.

Marcus stopped walking, with his back facing the man. There was now a rage that began boiling inside of him.

“How would he know how I feel? What the fuck does he know about me?” Marcus thought, seething at his seemingly audacious comment.

“Look-sh, I don’t-h want-h any-sh-thing from you. You-th wouldn’t understand how I-sh feels,” Marcus slurred, intoxicated and abandoned of all hope as he began to walk away again.

“You’re right, and I may not know exactly what happened; I don’t need to. What I do know is you are human, suffering, and out of options; that’s not hard to see. I can’t give you anything but what I can do is help you find it for yourself.” The stranger assured him with empathy.

Marcus again stopped but now turned around, intrigued by the man’s words. Still, he mainly remained skeptical of the stranger, regardless of his curiosity. Nothing was promised to him, so nothing could be lost by inquiring into this compelling plea.

Turning around, he saw a relatively tall man with long dark hair and tan skin. He looked to be of Native American descent. Of course, his clothing was nontraditional, having been acculturated into a modern American image. Regardless he seemed to retain this wise persona that was uniquely approachable & close.

“How can you help me?” Marcus asked desperately.

“Wisdom is procured by contacting those who have left us,” The stranger answered. “Meet with me here tomorrow. We’ll ask those before us for guidance. It’s up to you, but I’ll be here,” he offered, walking away now, leaving Marcus to make the decision.

* * *

The next day, Marcus was sick and still haunted by hopelessness. Still, he had given the strange man’s offer some thought. There wasn’t much to lose after all. After some thought, he decided to meet him where he mentioned. Approaching the bar, he saw the man standing outside, gesturing him over.

“I see you came!” the man exclaimed. “We’ll go to my home to begin,” the man instructed Marcus.

Walking to the house, there wasn’t much that was said between them. Not even names were exchanged. Marcus couldn’t see what this man could do to help him. He couldn’t bring his wife back, so what did he mean by “contacting those who have left us?” Marcus had read about certain ceremonies that Native people have performed that defy modern science; generations of rituals that he may soon be a part of.

Arriving at his tiny house, the interior was covered with native artwork; beadwork, peace pipes, hides, and other ornaments.

“I lost my wife, and the guilt has haunted me endlessly,” Marcus admitted with a sense of desperation.

“Nothing is ever lost in this universe, my friend, only transformed,” the man replied. “You can see her again; perhaps let her know you think it’s your fault. Spirits are willing to forgive,” the man explained.

These words confused Marcus, but there was an essence of truth behind them. Again he thought there wasn’t much to lose in doing what this man had to offer. There were various herbs he began igniting, filling the room with smoke. No natural light filled the room, only sources of natural light. They sat for a while, allowing themselves to become acquainted.

Interestingly this acquaintance required no words or actions, only presence. Coals were lit, inducing a sweat in both of them. There was no telling how long they sat there since no clocks were visible; time stood still. Both grew hungry, tried, in combination with the sweat induced a sort of delirium. Without a word, the man rose and grabbed a wooden bowl he had poured a mixture into. It smelled intensely of the earth, herbal and natural.

“Drink,” the man requested as he took a sip himself. “Soon, you can speak to her if you wish,” he assured him.

Lifting the bowl to his mouth, the smell intensified. The mixture tasted pungent and bitter, nothing he had ever tasted before. Flavors overwhelmed his palette as he waited patiently for something to happen. After some time had passed, the room began to transform. Lights became brighter, and colors intensified. All emotions he had felt were amplified; He felt like crying, laughing, singing, and yelling all at the same time, sitting with his eyes closed. Visions of geometric patterns started to materialize and disappear simultaneously. Opening his eyes, the room had now changed completely. Looking across the room, the man was virtually transparent. He had now entered into another plane of reality.

Closing his eyes again, he couldn’t help but think of Ellen. All of their memories had flowed through his mind like a river, and then he heard a voice.

“Marcus?” The voice echoed from a distance. “Are you there?” It asked again.

First, he thought the voice came from the stranger, but it rang effeminately. He couldn’t believe it. As he opened his eyes, a blinding green light appeared; out of the light emerged Ellen, his deceased wife. Tears were falling from his eyes as she moved closer to him. Her image was so natural as if she had been reconstructed. Eventually, he stopped questioning whether or not she was real, accepting that there wasn’t much time to reconcile.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let you go,” Marcus wept, still trying to let go of his unshakeable guilt.

“It’s not your fault. All you can do now is live on and remember our good moments. Live for me by living for yourself,” Ellen requested, slowly fading away.

Marcus stood up quickly, trying to grab ahold of her. Slowly the specter dematerialized, leaving Marcus to reflect upon the experience. Looking around the room again, everything seemed to have been returning to normal. The man sitting across from him hadn’t moved for the duration of the experience from what he knew. He had locked eyes with the stranger, and at that moment, Marcus had let go of Ellen. His guilt seemed to dissipate almost instantaneously. Not a word was spoken between them as they both sat, pondering over the experience for a while longer.