Page 2 of João
His obituary online didn’t say much about the man outside of his many work accomplishments in law enforcement and his marriage to the one and only Maya Dorsen. Of Maya Dorsen, I knew plenty. There wasn’t a moment that you turned on the TV and didn’t find her on a local talk show, cutting a ribbon in front of a new building in town, being honored with her name on a new street, or kissing a baby. My heart went out to her, losing her beloved husband so early in life. She was still in her prime in her fifties, her husband older than her but no less attractive. The two of them struck an impressive figure together whenever they were out in town for events and red carpets.
To be a widow so early… To be an old maid so late…
Oh no, no, no, we’re not going there. Those insidious thoughts had no place on such a solemn day.
“Gisele! Just in time!” A jovial voice boomed over the hushed voices of the guests arriving. The smell of incense, cloth balls, and altar wine enveloped me, and I sighed. I would miss these hugs. Hugs are meant to convey joy, appreciation, comfort, and safety. Very few people could give hugs like the ones Father Weaver could give.
“Hi, Father W, what you up to?” I looked up at the man who played Black Santa for our community every Christmas, needing only more salt in his beard to pull the role off.
“Well, here I’m waiting for Ms. Dorsen to give me the go-ahead. She asked to wait a few more minutes.” He leaned closer and beckoned me, and I complied to hear the private message. “I think she is hoping his children show up.”
“Oh…” My chest tightened at the thought of his sons not coming. I’d read he had three grown sons whom he was very proud of; how could they not be here? But then memories of my own father’s funeral rushed me, bringing a prickle to the back of my eyes. Who knew what Souza had made his life truly about and what effect that had on his children? I would know. Fatherless too early. Completely evitable.
Most of the people already seated didn’t look like kin to Souza based on his picture, but what did I know?
“Yeah, it seems they were estranged. I shall have to keep that in mind during my short sermon.”
“How come they’re doing everything here?”
“She didn’t want a church ceremony and then this, so she found a way to comply with her husband’s wishes but set both events here in a shorter manner. I advised her as best as I could.” Father Weaver nodded and I swear, the man was wonderful but sometimes a little too talkative for his own good. But he meant well…not like other people in our church.
“Oh, well, it’s all very lovely.” I nodded again, studying the faces. Mostly people were here out of obligation if their facial expressions were any indication. His wife sat on her own in a chair in the front, eyes cast down with a faraway look on her face. I waved at my fellow choir members and they reciprocated. “Well, let me go get in place…”
“Alright, child, but before you go, are you alright? You were awfully quiet in that last vestry meeting.”
The last one. At least the last one for me.
“Mmmm,” I demurred.
“Listen…” Father Weaver’s jovial face went serious, and I turned to pay attention.
“Ms. Salazar, she means well. She thinks by having you sing…it’ll mend things.”
I smiled. It was either that or cackle maniacally at the injustice of it all. Me singing wouldn’t mend anything.
“But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he finished.
“See, Father, you understand that, but many in our congregation…” I sighed. It was a lost battle. I’d had some version of this conversation over and over for the past three months. The closer the famed date drew, the more intense everyone got, and I seemed to be the one in the wrong. I was the bad Christian for not turning the other cheek. But I had no cheeks to give. “I don’t agree with the idea that in order for me to be a good Christian, I have to be a doormat.”
There.
“I agree, there is nothing in the Bible that says that. But Jesus did say love your neighbor…”
“Yes, my favorite verse in the Bible, but he didn’t say love thyself less to love your neighbor.”
“Always arguing theology with me. I tell you, you would have loved seminary.”
No, I wouldn’t have. But I did love debating interpretations of the Word.
“Listen, why don’t you stop by next week and we have a chat? I want to make sure you feel welcomed as always.”
Too late for that, and my heart crumbled at the thought. Maybe this was a good way to say goodbye. Not only was Mr. Souza going to rest today, wherever he was going, but I was putting to rest a place that had withered in my soul and was nolonger my home. I didn’t have the heart to tell Father Weaver my decision right now, but I was glad for this moment with him. A reminder that I could find a new place and start over eventually. But for now, I needed space. And I needed to reassert my sense of self. Of the self that had taken many losses in the past two years.
But this was the last one.
I didn’t plan to be in any space where I was no longer fully wanted and appreciated.
Never again.
