Change at Jamaica Station

Change at Jamaica

Prologue Caroline October, 2018

Sometimes, a person can be so lost they are not even sure they are lost, or how lost they are. I know I am lost, but the edges are blurry, like I've fallen through some almost invisible crack in society, and while I see the light I just came from, I have no footing here in the dark to climb out.

I pass the Halloween decorations on the modest suburban front porches of the tree lined street, leaves piling down, then blowing up in the Fall air around me. How far away was it when I would just take my son trick or treating?  How simple it was to pick out a costume with him and eat the candy at the end of the night.  How lovely, how easy it all was.

I know I can't be that lost, though the simple pleasures, every one of them, is gone now. I open the door to the church and the fall breeze blows around my hair as I enter. The same people are here every Tuesday morning. Four people to be exact, myself, the pastor, a young pregnant woman, and a man in his senior years. I think this one is called Blessed Sacrament, a Catholic affair, and though the Moravian church has better stained glass and better smelling candles, I prefer when no one bothers me, and I can think for a moment about what has happened. On Thursdays I like to stop into Temple Emanuel, near the train station, and there is usually about the same scenario there, except the Rabbi tried to have a conversation with me. I save the conversations for the Buddhist group, which I attend sometimes on Sundays.  Seven strangers who chant and talk about change and positive thinking. They are all peaceful people, but I can't seem to find peace.

Where is my husband and when is he coming home? We were fine. The police can't seem to figure it out, and I doubt they believe me when I tell them he didn't just leave us. He would never do that. I studied to be a theologian before I got married. We had an Imam, a Priest and a Rabbi at our wedding. Mark said "whatever" when I told him, but he prayed with all of them, and that is what I do now. I'll sit with all of them because we all need all the help we can get. Lately, though, I just sit and think, but today I drop to my knees and take several deep breathes, then I pray like I am standing on that blurry edge hoping for some light, some footing, some way forward.

We needed extra cash, so Mark took extra jobs, but how does a person just disappear off the face of the planet? I'm getting stiff kneeling, but the morning sunbeams coming through the upper windows illuminates the dust, the ether, the spirit. What is it about the light in these places? Someone out there has got to help me through this.

My phone pings a notification, which surprises me, as I have not had a need to set any alarms for some time now. My whole life is in alarm mode for almost a year now, my only moments of solace are the few stolen inside these places of worship and contemplation. The pastor and the pregnant women glance in my direction and I feel the weight of my worries is now upon them, screaming "I am here, I need help." I hate to burden others.

I look at my phone to silence it and am not surprised by the timing of this ping, a birthday reminder. She would call it Karma, and the girl has it in spades. A rose is a rose by any other name. Tabby is the girl that things, almost always good things, seem to happen to. I sit back in the pew and stare at the phone thinking on the past, the teen birthday parties and her bright cheery face, and Gerriann laughing and playing loud music behind her, before they would grab me and make me dance with them.  A periwinkle sunbeam sprinkles down on the digital reminder.

So, the universe is sending me back to her? Next week is the birthday of one of my best friends.  I remember now, I feel it.  I am not alone. Tabby and Gerri are my people, the only family I have left to talk to anymore, though I have not been in touch lately. I smile at the thought of them, place my phone in my bag, my bag on my shoulder and continue, back toward the door, back to what has become of my life. Before I step out into the twirling autumn leaves, I feel just a little bit of footing, that smile, that birthday coming up, my people. My people.

When the heavy wooden church door slowly, silently closes behind me, the pattern starts again.  Work, second job, church, sleep, visit son in rehab, temple, police station to ask for updates on husband's disappearance, second job, sleep, work, talk with the Buddhist group, sleep, repeat, repeat, lose my mind. Birthday.