Faith and love; He was Everything in a nothing world

Author note: this is the third chapter of my original draft that I completed over ten years ago. It has multiple chapters, and it’s unfinished as of now. Hope you enjoy!! The original name of “Josh” was Noah. He is still the same character, just with very small variations.

Here’s the story I revised and published on Vocal, a much more condensed version of this longer story.

****

I remember her kissing me so freely. I had invited her to my house to study, and I showed her the living room, the kitchen, my mother’s glass sculptures and our backyard. Mother always told me it wasn’t proper to show a young lady your bedroom. So I didn’t.

Al was with my mother in the kitchen chatting away about a new movie coming out, To Kill a Mockingbird. It was me and my brothers favorite book. Well, Al loved it more than I, but it was the only book our father read to us entirely. Mother favored the Bible and the Little House collection, which she would read to us liberally as children.

I liked to read just about any book, the Bible being number one, and then mathematics, science and art, Animal Farm, 1984 (which was my favorite book for a long time), Cather in the Rye but I especially loved the story of Black Beauty. The quote: ".... there is no religion without love, and people may talk as much as they like about their religion, but if it does not teach them to be good and kind to man and beast, it is all a sham,” really speaks to me, and ever since when I read it when I was twelve, I could not forget it.

She took my hand suddenly, and I looked at her. Her face was so bright and beautiful, her smile large and pearly, and then, without a word, she kissed my cheek. I was acting pretty cool on the outside, but I was flustered and hot inside.

She was always a very independent person, and was almost my twin in that she loved to take action, to lead, to express her ideas and make sure she was heard. She was also funny in a lot of ways, especially in her comparisons to people’s characters to animals and could imitate people’s voice and mannerisms very well.

We were almost too similar in a lot of respects, but in my heart she was a treasure to me.

After she kissed my cheek, she said to me, “My mama always told me that men need to make the first move.” She placed her hand on her hip. “They need to feel like they are in control.” She moved closer to me, and I grinned at her ironically.

“Do you want me to kiss you back?” I asked her as suave as I could muster.

She looked at me oddly. “Can you kiss me back, is the better question.”

She always was challenging me, and I liked her spunk.

So I did. I kissed her on those soft, pouty lips, and I held her soft face. It was my first kiss. I was sixteen and a half, I believe.

I know that is really old to have your first kiss, so sue me. I had never found another girl I liked for longer than a month like I had with Marisol. She was very special to me.

I was glad Al hadn’t seen it, otherwise I would never live it down.

She and I dated for a couple of months following, and knowing my religion and nature, I was the kind of person who wanted to save all intimacies for marriage. I know people will say I am lying, and that human nature always sets in and wins, but they are wrong when it comes to me. I say what I mean, and I do what I say.

Of course I wanted to be with her more than just with simple kisses and caresses, but my faith has always resounded over everything in my life.

God was in the way we loved, I reasoned, and I wanted to always show that love in my actions. As Noah had always told me, I was a straight shooting bastard that got things done, and I was going to keep it that way.

--

It was February 16, 1962. Noah had left in late May last year, and my anti-social tendencies had left me in between bouts of spending time with my girlfriend, Marisol and filling the house with the sounds of Bach, Beethoven and a little of Mozart if the fancy struck me. When I played, I lived in other worlds, magical worlds that had no sense of time and no sense of reality, and the love in my heart for the people in my life played on the loneliness of my music. I was starting to wonder if Noah would ever be coming back. I received this letter in late August of 1961:

Ben,

I’m sorry to have to write this but I am being forced to stay a little longer here, and won’t be able to come home until March. I should be back before your birthday, March the 23rd, no I haven’t forgotten. My dad’s job has been extended until then, and we will be making very good money because of it, which will help us massively. I will be starting school here, and then transferring back to Spokane as soon as we come back. The arrangements are already made.

I wish I could hang out with you soon, it is so stifling and lonely here without you, and I wonder when I will be able to hear you play Czardas again. Out of all my so called friends, you are the only one who will care enough to know of my troubles here, and who will take the time to write me back.

Anyway, how are you? I hope you are well. How are things with Marisol? Your brother and family? I’ve been looking around for something you might like, is there something you might want from Idaho? Write me, Ben, I may be a procrastinator but I am also impatient!

Your good friend,

Noah

His letter almost didn’t shock me, and I let it go, feeling excited that he would be back before my birthday, hopefully, and that we could finally talk and see one another. It was only the sixteenth of February and my birthday wasn’t here quite yet. I got quite a lot more letters from him after that, continually, until about late January, and then it stopped. I still had the old letter from last year in my keepsakes, I wouldn’t throw it away. The letter was, in my mind, a magical talisman that would bring him home.

“Let’s go see the movie, Ben, come on, you need to get out of the house and get some fresh air!” Al shouted at me, and I laughed. “You know you want to see it too!”

“You are a bigger hermit than I am sometimes, Al.” I commented, grinning at him. I sighed, he wasn’t going to give up.

“Well, it’s high time we got out, then.”

My mother cut in, “My lovely boys, you go out and have fun!” She said melodically, as she started preparations for sewing a new dress for herself, and with mending a couple of my father’s old work slacks. “Here is some change for a soda and some popcorn.” She handed me a couple of quarters and some dimes, and I put them in my pocket.

I smiled at her. “Thanks, mom.” Then I turned to Al. “You do realize that when we go outside its only to go back inside again. The theater isn’t a drive through, and its dark and cold.”

Al just laughed. “Come on, you’ve been practicing your contrabass all daaay!” He always called it my instrument a contrabass, even though I never called it that.

“Alright, let me get ready first.”

I went to my room and put on my most comfortable pair of blue jeans and my favorite button up faded blue shirt. My hair was a little messy, and had gotten a little longer. My mother had forced Al and I to get a haircut; I had long bangs and hair layered to my shoulders, and it looked surprisingly good with an inch taken off and my bangs looked proper and not as long. I never took care of my hair, so it always looked flyaway and like I had just woken up. My hair had gotten a little lighter, too, so it was almost blonde, and Marisol said it matched my eyes.

I had also developed a little muscle in my upper body due to playing outside with Al. We played basketball a lot, and I liked it. It was invigorating to jump and run and hit that ball as hard as I wanted against the pavement. It was the only sport I liked to play.

We were going to see To Kill a Mockingbird. It was great book and I always favored the part when Scout and Dill had got to talking to the ‘town drunk’ Dolphus and he confessed that was he in reality a sober man that drank Coke. He lived among black people and married a black woman and had mixed children, and everyone, at the time, thought it wasn’t the proper way to live. I liked old Dolphus, he said he didn’t care what others thought of him, but he still wanted them to have something to latch unto, to give reason to his actions.

Society always wants a reason for things that didn’t make sense to them. To me, he loved his wife and his mixed children just as if they were white. He cared about the white community as much as he did the black community. It reminded me of my own dilemma, to an extent, and if I were in Dolphus’ situation, I might have done the same thing.

Doing what was right, in regards to social norms, or doing what was right in my heart was two very different situations, and also ended in two very different sets of consequences. Another harsh reality was that my faith of Christianity frowned upon a lot of ideas, nonetheless I still had a strong backing in my religion.

Al said the movie was the most important film he had ever seen, and I exclaimed loudly it in front of the theater that I was a changed man after watching it, much to Al’s chagrin.

We walked home together, and suddenly I thought of Noah, and my devotion for him. He was my best friend, my only real friend outside of Al.

My good mood was starting to vanish as I thought of the last day I saw him. I remembered the endless stacks of books and magazines, his father’s kind voice and uproarious laughter. Noah’s gentle voice, our shared laughter, the tears sliding down his strong features as I told him that he was my friend, and there was nothing to be sorry for. I was still confused from that day, still confused why he had taken my hand, and wondering what was causing him so much grief.

Maybe he was moving for good, and hadn’t had the heart to have told me in person.

I wasn’t sure, but I knew I was miserable with the thought that he was hiding something from me, and that he may never come back. Other than the letter I aforementioned, he had only written me a handful of some long handed letters, claiming his life in Idaho was slow and boring, and that his brother was impossible sometimes to deal with, but overall they got along. I wrote him back, trying my hardest not to ask what I wanted to ask him since the day I was at his house: “Why were you crying? Why did you take me hand so softly and with such conviction?”

Suddenly as we turned a corner, Marisol was outside across the street, in a very appealing outfit that showed off her legs: a tight blue Capri’s with a hot pink, lacy top that was long sleeved. She waved to us and said hello, and damn, she looked beautiful. She even had her hair made over more than usual.

We went over to her and she grinned toothily.

“Hey Ally-Al.” She said musically, and he laughed at his nickname.

“Hello.” Al said as he smiled at her, and though he liked her for her ingenuity and humor, he thought that maybe she was a little too high strong for me, a little too passionate.

“How are you Ben? I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“We actually just came from a movie, now we’re walking home.” I said cordially.

She gave me a hug, and I felt so happy to see her.

“Well, do you want to come with me and have some fun?” She offered me, and I shrugged.

“Go ahead, Ben, I will be at home.” He didn’t say another word and nodded at Marisol, walking home. He looked back and smiled widely at me, waving. I stuck my tongue at him, and then held her hand.

“What did you want to do?” I asked her.

She got out of my grasp and jumped up, stretching her arms above her head. “There is this cathedral I have been wanting you to see, and it has this wonderful round of stairs with a thick mahogany banister. I have been wanting to slide down it the moment I saw it.”

I laughed, looking at her a little curious. “You slide down banisters?”

“Well, not recently.” She said with a slight humor in her words.

She gave me a light kiss on the mouth and took my hand again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her, even with only not seeing her for a couple of days.

“I have missed you, girly.” I said finally, and twirled her around slightly.

“Me too. I wish you had a telephone.” She said wistfully. “Then we could chat when we couldn’t see one another.”

I smiled. “My father said that telephones are too impersonal. He is very old fashioned.”

“Yes, I have met him once, he is a little tense.” She noted. Just then she made her face very stony and unsmiling and said, “Ben, I need you to keep that darn Mozart music down from a piercing scream to a soft muffled whisper… I am trying to read on how to further distance myself from my offspring!”

I played along. “But Father, Mozart is not soft and cuddly, it is in your face and not like your old country and gospel records!”

She grumbled at me. “You have no respect for the classics, and keep your temper under control or I will have to ground you from seeing your wonderful, intelligent girlfriend!” She waved me off, and she walked away with a quiet, tense stance.

I was trying not to laugh, but just the way she had her face was so perfect and like him, and his voice was pitched and terse just like he usually talked, with that snooty kind of way he had when he told me something, I just had to laugh outright. She still had that stony look on her face.

Just then a passerby saw us and looked at us funny. She gave me a quirky half smile and we ran off, laughing along the way.

She walked me to the cathedral and we went behind the enormous church, toward a ‘secret garden passageway’, she called it.

It wasn’t really a garden, just a bunch of unkempt grass and weeds, dandelions and a large willow tree that shaded the area.

It was a pretty old place, and no one had seemed to have been in it for years, maybe even decades.

I saw the back door was open and we went inside. It was very open inside, dusty and a little too dark. The glass stained windows were matted with dirt and dust, and the inscriptions were too dirty to read. I saw the stair case and it was a good twenty feet but it wasn’t steep, it was a rounded staircase that widened the entirety of the place, and the banisters were thick as she had said, and sturdy.

“Have you ever done this before?” I asked her.

“Once or twice. I’ve always loved the way this cathedral looked. I wanted to slide down ever since I saw this lovely staircase,” She said, starting to climb upward. “Me and my Papi had done it together once, before he had broken his leg.”

I gave her a worried glance.

“The two aren’t related. He broke his leg because he had fallen off of the scaffolding that was holding him. He was painting up very high outside for a restaurant,” She got to the top, “And slipped.”

I was still pretty worried, and wasn’t really paying attention, when all of a sudden, she was right next to me again. She was laughing at me.

She had already slid down.

“Whew! That was fun.” She took my hand. “Your turn!”

“I’m not so sure…” I said hesitantly, climbing up with her.

“Oh, nonsense, love.” She reassured me. “It will be okay.”

Without a thought, or care, I sat down on the flat part of the end for the railing. It looked much higher than it did below.

I paused for a good minute.

“Don’t push me.” I warned her.

And just as I had said it, she gave a light push, and I was whooshing downward, and to my surprise, the railing was very slippery and didn’t need much exertion or force for me to go high speed.

It seemed like it was shined up a lot in its heyday and now it was permanently slippery and polished.

It was thrilling, and my heart was palpitating in my chest, my pulse riding as fast as the wind, my hair blowing back slightly, and I pretty much fell down and hurt my knee because I was so wobbly from the speed.

I was a little sore at her for pushing me but then when she came down, I gave her a passionate kiss, holding her waist, her body so warm and sweet smelling.

It was the only time I can remember that summer when I felt genuinely happy and without a care.

I offered for her to come over my house after we slid down a few more times, but she declined as she had to go home for dinner.

I thought it would be best to go home too, and we said our goodbyes.

She whispered, “Love you, mi amour,” and let go of my hand, walking away.

It felt like serendipity that on that day I decided to take band class a couple of years ago, she would be in it, and that, in our plans of making music, we had decided to make our dreams come together, and live it with one another.

I thought maybe my faith had brought us together, but for some aching reason, I could not seem to forget Noah. I starting thinking maybe it was also serendipity that she had left before I could tell her I loved her too.

Faith had a funny way of being incongruous to me, and absurdity soon took the place of predictability.

--

I hadn’t talked to Noah since the start of February, and it was starting to worry me. My birthday had already passed, and I had not received a letter since. I wrote him an exceptionally long letter as I talked to him about Marisol and I and sliding down the banister at the old cathedral, and how beautiful she was. I don’t know what possessed me, but I also told him that she had said I love you first, and I didn’t say it back.

I then proceeded to tell him that I missed him, and even though Marisol was here, there felt like there was something missing. I wrote that, no matter what, he was my friend and had always been faithful to me, stuck up for me, and that was all that counted. It was the first time I told him how I felt about him, personally and socially.

I even went so far as to say that even though he was kind of an Existentialist and I was a Christian, that we were still good friends together and that showed good faith and respect. I can’t say I understood his set of beliefs very well, but I did see that Noah treasured genuine people, and honesty was something I was very experienced with.

I felt convinced that my letter would bring Noah and his family home again.

Finally, I received a letter, but not from Noah.

From John, his brother.

It was written in a heavy dark ink:

Ben, Noah told me a number of times to write to you, but I have not found the time since there has been much going on. Just wanted to tell you my brother is in hospital now and not doing very well. He wanted me to write that he’s sorry for not writing sooner, but he has been unfit to do anything, much less write a letter. It’s a shock to write so plainly on paper but about a week ago, Noah and I went into a restaurant to find it was being held up by an armed robber. Noah made a few remarks to the robber to try and intimidate him, I think, into leaving. As soon as it started it was over, the robber started shooting warning shots, and when he saw the guy behind the cash register about to make a shot at him, he aimed it at Noah and shot him in the shoulder

My heart dropped and felt like a rock inside of my chest, and I put down the note for a moment and read the rest of the sentence.

trying to scare everybody. He is recovering, and he’s asked me to see if you might want to come. He also says Happy Birthday.

The letter almost stopped there, but there were a few scrawled out sentences with lines through them, and then:

I wanted to thank you, I guess, for writing so much to Noah. It has helped him through everything. He made me read them to him, and though you are a strange guy, you are nice enough. The hospital’s address is at the bottom of this letter and you can call the extension 432 to get in touch with him in his hospital room. The full number is also next to the address. John.

I felt sick as I read it, cursing under my breath, my eyes getting heavy with tears of rage and disbelief.

Noah had been shot.

Though it said clearly he was okay, I thought that if I didn’t come over to see him immediately he would die and I would never see him again. It was dramatic of me, I know.

I showed Al the note, and I don’t know why, I started sobbing. I could not bear the thought of losing him, my only real friend, and for a lot of reasons, he felt like so much more. But I was so confused about everything and all I could think about was leaving Spokane.

Al gave me a hug, and I just laid on his chest like a useless twig, until I heard the door open and father walked in from work.

“Father! Father!” I cried. I felt like a fool in front of him, but I didn’t care at the moment.

He looked at me with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “Yes, Ben? Is it about your mother?”

“NO!” I yelled suddenly. Father looked at me intently, his anger mixing with impatience.

Mother walked in. “What is going on?” She saw my face. “Ben, why on earth are you crying, dear?”

“My friend got shot! I need to go see him, I just received a letter from his brother,” I said a little more calmer, and my mother came closer toward me. “And it seems like it happened a while ago.”

“Who?” Father asked.

“Noah. He is in Idaho, I told you, he went there for an extended stay with his family. His dad got a temp job for the city’s Urban Renewal District to help build infrastructure. He is a construction worker.” I said in my old voice, a lot more relaxed. It was hard not to calm down with my father’s icy golden eyes looking at you.

My father mulled over it for a moment. “How bad is it? And if he is such a good friend, why didn’t you know sooner?

“He got shot in the shoulder and he is doing okay. But I have not seen him in so many months! I need to see him. And he hasn’t had the time to tell me, he’s been in recovery.”

“Well, Marianne, you make the call. I am against our son going all the way to Idaho by himself.” He said shortly, and walked off briskly.

“I am going.” I said defiantly. “I am seventeen now, and I can go if I need to.”

My father stopped dead in his tracks. “No son of mine will carry that tone, do you hear me?” He said very plainly, and looked at me again.

“Yes, sir.” I muttered. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Al cut in. “I can go with him. We can go for the weekend and be back for Sunday church.”

My mother laughed nervously. “Now, Alex, please, let me think about this.”

My father shook his head solemnly and went the bedroom, mumbling to himself.

I pleaded, “Mother, I’m seventeen and have never went anywhere on my own, please, I need to see him. He is my best friend. I lo--” I stopped myself from saying another word. My mother didn’t notice it, but Al did, and he perked up and eyed me curiously.

She wavered. “Alright, you can take the bus this Friday, but you must be back on Sunday morning. Your father will be very cross with you if you miss church.” She held her head in her palm. “You can use your savings from your summer job to pay for the fare, and I will give you some money for a night at a hotel and food.”

I gave her the biggest smile, my teeth chattering from my sobbing. “Thank you mom!”

She looked at me sternly. “You must call your father at the hotel as soon as you get in, and check in with us regularly, otherwise I will have to ground you.” She said to me, but I could tell she was happy to see me happy. She gave me a hug. “I never have seen you so worked up, honey.” She said softly.

Al sighed. “They have known each other since about third grade. They’re like two peas in a pod, like me and Ben.” He smiled at me, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“Thanks for the side note, Al.” I said.

And so on Friday, much to my father’s discontentment, I set off to Kootenai County, and Noah was right, it was only about an hour away. My mother gave me a list of some emergency numbers and my father’s direct line at the hotel, with a few fives and loose change, she hugged me and said she had faith in me, letting me hop aboard the public bus. The problem was we made a lot of stops along the way, so it was more like almost two hours.

I hated sitting there on that smelly bus, and the people were so loud and sometimes too chatty with me.

I remembered as I sat down in my seat toward the back of the bus, that Al had set me aside before I left. He was a little concerned about me, but also strangely suspicious. It made me nervous.

“Ben, talk to me. What’s in your head?” He asked me outright. We were in his room, and it was always very neat and organized, unlike my room which had music papers everywhere, essays and clothes scattered about. He was systematic and always had his papers neatly stacked and clothes perfectly folded. He was a neat freak, and I liked to play a game with him every time I went in his room. Before I would leave, I would put something out of place when Al wasn’t looking. If he didn’t notice it before I left, I would win, if he did, I would usually just run out of the room laughing as Al chased me in a fury. It was fun.

But I didn’t feel like playing anything at the moment, and Al was starting to irk me with how concerned he was. I was quiet.

“Ben? Please.” He sighed heavily. “I thought I heard you almost say you lov-”

I cut him off. “He’s my best friend, and I haven’t seen him in almost ten months. It has been hell for me.” I said with a raw anger, and I felt at odds with my emotions, wanting to say I was sorry to Al for not explaining myself correctly but also confused and angry at what I really felt. I didn’t even know myself.

“I know, Ben.” He looked like he was uncertain how to go about expressing himself, on how to even start to talk about what was on his mind.

I looked at my brother fondly, and I wanted to give him a hug, to help him realize I would be okay.

“You don’t love Marisol, do you?” He said finally.

“I love her, yeah, why?” I said. Al looked unconvinced.

“Ben, I have known you for too long to play games with you.” He rubbed his temples. “You two are really close, I know this, but I hadn’t realized how much he meant to you until now. You are the essence of woebegone, possibly even love-sick if I may be so bold…”

I laughed at his last comment, he was funny even when he was scolding me.

For some reason I kept wanting to stare at a Batman comic that was on Al’s desk. He was fanatical about Batman, and read all the comics and knew everything there was to know about the famous superhero. I just kept my eyes focused on it, and pretended that was all that was in the room.

The more and more I thought about it, it wasn’t a big deal, he was my best friend, and you could love your best friend, it was normal. But though I kept telling myself that, my feelings were betraying me, and when I thought about Noah, I thought about his voice, his laugh, his eyes, his hair… the touch of his hand and the warmth of it all, and it made me so painfully confused and angry at myself. I just wanted to free myself from the agony of this seemingly newfound passion, and be happy with Marisol, and I kept telling myself I was happy.

Wasn’t I?

“Ben. I am sorry. This subject is really strange to me, and I know it is to you too. With our religion…it’s nothing short of sin and blasphemy. ” He didn’t say it scornfully or with disgust, but he seemed uncertain and confused.

“Everything is a sin nowadays!” I jumped up from his bed. “Everything is wrong! I don’t know what to tell you. I am confused and lost in my feelings. I don’t know what to do, where to go, and if I should even try to sort them out!” I shouted.

Al put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me down to sit on the bed. “How do you really feel?” He asked me, his big brown perceptive orbs looking straight through me.

“You want to talk about homo—I mean sin in the bible, don’t you?” I almost had to say it, to break free of the spell that was bothering me so hostilely, but I couldn’t. I didn’t dare, it tore me up inside, and I didn’t even want to say it. No one ever dared talk about it. Never. Not my parents, other students, adults or teachers. It was taboo.

It was never spoken about, openly at least, it was as taboo as Communism was or as much as talking about the horrible crimes the Nazi’s did to the Jewish people in WWII.

“Look, Ben, you’re my brother and I not only love who you are, but I am jealous sometimes of how brave and powerful you are with the way you live your life.” He paused with a sigh. “I can tell that though you like Marisol a lot, she is not for you. She is too wild, too passionate… too sarcastic.”

“You don’t know her.” I said.

“I know her because you know her.” He said simply, and I shut up.

“I can’t bring myself to think about losing Noah. I can’t.” I said finally.

“Then go to him, Ben. Go to him.” He said with a wise tone, and then walked out of the room.

I took the comic and placed it on his night stand, and walked out of the room a second later. Al came in a few minutes later and yelled, “Ben! Stop messing with my comics! Where is that darn issue?”

I laughed, “On your nightstand, ya nerd!” I called to him. He grumbled and I felt happy again the rest of the time before I left.

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