The Realm of Possibility Read online

  Now Lanie and Tracy are sure

  I'm insane. But I tell them this.

  I tell them to consider blessings.

  The thing about blessings is that

  they aren't just delivered to you.

  There is some mystery to their appearance,

  but once they're in your reach,

  you have to do something for them.

  They ask me if Anton

  is my blessing or if I am his.

  I say that neither of us is a blessing,

  but that both of us could be, everything

  around us could be. The boys in the back

  of the room could be a blessing if they push us

  to a kindness they would never

  understand, but that we can begin

  to understand.

  Lanie and Tracy point out

  that I will be sitting in the choir

  when Anton comes to our church.

  They will be the ones he will

  sit between. I tell them they too

  are certainly part of the blessing.

  And when Sunday comes, they are

  waiting for me out front. Our families

  are used to us separating ourselves from them,

  sitting in our own pew. Anton arrives

  only a few minutes later. His darkness

  has reshaped itself into a black shirt,

  a black tie, a black jacket. Black pants

  and the same black shoes. He takes off

  his headphones as he gets closer.

  He smiles.

  I have never brought someone into my

  church before. Nobody but cousins and aunts,

  friends of my parents and their children,

  the ones I never liked as much as I was

  supposed to. This visitor is different.

  The choir ladies look at me with curiosity

  and some disapproval as we put on our robes.

  Honey, Myrna Walker asks,

  who is that boy? And I'm glad

  she's come right out and asked, because

  I can say He's a friend and let that explain

  as much as can be explained. Myrna nods

  as the organ begins to play. That is our cue.

  When I sing the Lord's words,

  I am usually looking at the Lord.

  Not seeing him as you'd see a picture,

  but letting my feeling of the gospel

  block out everything else.

  Hallelujah!

  I am elevated higher than my life

  can usually go. I am filled with all the joys

  and troubles and wisdoms and challenges

  of the world, and I sing them out of me

  as the psalms preach it,

  as the preacher leads it,

  as the Lord sings it in all our voices

  and in the music of the organ and the

  shaking, agreeing bodies that chime in from

  the congregation.

  This time I look down as I'm singing.

  I know exactly where Lanie and Tracy will sit,

  so I look right over to see him.

  And at first I feel the urge to laugh,

  because he is so clearly over his head with us.

  He thinks there's a certain way

  his body should move, a certain place

  his hands should be. When the truth is that

  we just move our bodies wherever our bodies

  want to take us. I sing louder

  and he looks right at me, finally

  getting it, because what I am saying

  with the rise of my voice is that I know

  he understands what music is about,

  he has seen the Lord in it, even if it's not

  my Lord. He begins to sway along,

  loses himself a little to something

  greater. I will admit right here he looks

  ridiculous, white boy in black clothing.

  But there is also something beautiful

  in his trying.

  I believe

  in glory, in praise.

  I could not sing

  if I did not believe.

  My singing

  is how I come closer

  to glory, to praise.

  By singing

  I keep such faith alive.

  I become part of the redeemer

  by singing redemption.

  I become part of the rock

  by singing its weight.

  I become part of the gospel

  by voicing it.

  Listen to us.

  We believe.

  After the service is over,

  after the congregation becomes

  a collection of people once more,

  I take off my robe and return

  to Lanie and Tracy and Anton.

  I ask Anton what he thought

  and he thanks me for bringing him,

  for showing him my church.

  My parents come over, itching

  for an introduction. Anton falls quiet

  but stays respectful as my father

  measures him in a handshake

  and my mother asks after his parents.

  Even though I do not like to lie

  in church, I tell my parents

  the four of us are going out

  after. My mother says That's

  nice while my father stays quiet.

  Our preacher comes over, sweat

  still on his brow, his voice still

  at a preaching volume. He welcomes

  Anton and says he hopes he'll come back.

  Anton says he hopes to do so,

  and I can see the preacher approving,

  even if he's more than a little confused.

  Lanie and Tracy walk a little of the way

  with us. Usually we'd be chattering

  about what people wore to church or

  which husbands and wives didn't sit

  as close as they usually did. But Anton

  alters our conversation, so we find ourselves

  in an unusual silence. Anton recognizes this

  and starts to ask us church questions.

  We tell him how long Myrna Walker's

  been in the choir, how many people

  usually come to services, how the gospel

  is something that's there all your life,

  so it's not something you really know

  you're learning until you've learned it.

  Lanie asks him where his family goes

  to church, and he says that the place

  they avoid is St. Elizabeth's. They go

  to Christmas Mass as if it's a show

  every year.

  There isn't any signal,

  but Lanie and Tracy know when it's time

  to leave. They'll go home, change out of

  their dresses and into homework clothes.

  They thank Anton nicely for coming,

  and he thanks them for putting up with him.

  I try to imagine us doing this every Sunday,

  and I can't picture it really.

  But for today it is working in this

  awkward kind of working. And that

  is enough for a beginning.

  I don't know where I thought he'd live,

  but it's a big house on a street graced

  with trees and long driveways.

  I am telling him about the choir,

  about all the people in it, and while

  I'm the one talking, I can feel him

  falling silent, losing words. When he says

  We're here, he is apologizing for something

  I don't know yet. As soon as we walk through

  the back door, he starts darting through

  the house. I can hear the television on

  in the other room, people watching golf,

  but instead of making introductions

  Anton runs me up the stairs to his room,


  then closes the door with emphasis.

  Not to keep me in, but to keep

  everyone else out.

  I am overwhelmed

  by his room. The walls are all covered

  with posters and stickers for bands

  I have never heard of, have never heard.

  Anton heads straight to his stereo

  and unleashes a blast. I cannot believe

  the noise. Surely if Job had a sound

  forced in his ears, it would be this.

  It's an angry screaming with a dark

  something underneath. Do you

  like it? Anton yells to me, sitting down

  on the edge of his bed. He is so proud

  of it. He is sharing his music with me,

  and who am I to say that it is Job's music,

  that it is music like an assault? His chair

  is covered with books and his jacket,

  so I sit on the floor by the bed. The song

  changes, the disc switches, but it's more

  of the same. He drums the air, asks me

  if I can feel the bass. And I do feel it,

  working into my body from where

  my hands touch the floor.

  I don't know what to say.

  I look at the posters, see that there are

  some drawings on the walls, too.

  The disc changes again, and suddenly

  it's Billie Holiday singing about stormy

  weather, it just keeps raining all the time.

  At the same moment, I see a drawing of

  Billie on the wall, small and sad.

  Anton slides down on the floor next to me

  and before I know it, his hand is gently

  on mine. I turn to him and see how

  nervous he is. I notice he hasn't taken off

  his tie, he is still dressing up nice for me.

  I am about to say something when he

  removes his hand from mine and reaches

  the other hand around, touching my cheek

  then my shoulder. He says my name

  like it is the gospel itself, and then he

  moves his lips onto mine. He holds me

  and it's that drowning kind of holding.

  It is all so fast. He pulls back to look at me

  and I don't have to say anything. He loses

  his courage, he loses his footing. The

  song shifts back to noise and he starts

  telling me he is sorry, so sorry, and he

  is so flustered and so lost and Lord, I am

  lost too, as he stammers and begins to cry

  because he is so lost. And the only thing

  I can think to do is find him, pull him

  back to me, that drowning kind of holding

  again, but with the feeling that we won't

  drown, not today. And he is crying he is

  sorry and I am telling him there's no reason

  to be sorry. With one hand I keep him

  to me and with the other hand I turn down

  the noise in time to hear him say he

  loves me.

  I have never been given these words

  in this way before. This small piece of

  gospel, three parts hosanna, two parts

  testimony, one part lamentation.

  He is apologizing again, this time

  for loving me, and I am still holding him

  so gently that our bodies could be spirits.

  And I find that I am loving him, too,

  and that I am sorry, too, because I love him

  in the way that the gospel can love;

  I love him in the way I want to love

  everybody, not in the way that would make me

  kiss him back in the way he might want to be

  kissed. I am sure he is confusing

  these kinds of love, that what he wants

  from me is caring, not a roll around

  on the floor. Or maybe that's just

  what I think.

  He lets go before I do.

  I see him eye the stereo, wanting

  to turn it up again. But he doesn't.

  Instead he says he's sorry again,

  and I tell him to stop. I tell him

  everything is right by me. I ask him

  to put Billie Holiday back on.

  She is not a gospel singer.

  She sings like someone who tried

  to live by the gospel, but was hurt

  at every chance there was.

  I barely know the words

  but I start singing along anyway.

  I try to make it into the gospel,

  and when that doesn't work, I just

  sing it from a different place.

  Eventually Anton turns the stereo

  down and sits there carefully,

  looking at me. I close my eyes and

  raise the roof for him. I sing so loud

  that the stormy weather will cease,

  that the television will turn off,

  that the black clothes will unveil

  all the color that we are underneath.

  I sing to be a blessing, and I sing

  because the song is a blessing to me.

  The song goes: I got the whole world

  in my hands, the whole world in

  my hands. You've gotta live the gospel,

  you've gotta take the whole world in

  your hands and show it kindness.

  Is love the gospel, or is the gospel

  love? Only the Lord knows, and the Lord

  isn't saying. It's up to the rest of us

  to make it out. To make it work.

  When I am done,

  when the song is over and we are left

  in that silence that can be so many things,

  Anton looks at me with such an open heart

  that I know mine will open to him, and

  that we will have that, which is

  everything.

  As the last echo of the song

  leaves the room, he applauds

  for a moment, smiles at me,

  loosens his tie, and says

  Amen.

  lying awake beside you, these thoughts run through my head

  the inhale, the exhale.

  the watching in the dark.

  you can sleep through anything,

  except your parents coming home.

  but they are gone for the weekend,

  so I am here.

  watching as you sleep.

  the gentle movements.

  the blue room.

  you have no idea.

  you sleep, I watch.

  the afterwards.

  we have just been as close as two people can be.

  you have said those three words.

  and I believed it.

  now you are asleep,

  and it is dark,

  and I am back with myself again.

  you have no idea.

  this dark.

  it would be so easy to let you take me with you.

  that waking dreamland we escape to every now and then.

  to be the person you think I am.

  that person worthy of your love.

  but I'm not.

  I do not deserve you.

  your breath,

  my confession.

  I have hurt people.

  different people, the same hurt.

  I have done things because I wanted to.

  for no other reason than wanting to.

  I have done things.

  I have been that darkness.

  you are sleeping with your arm around the pillow,

  your feet dangling off the bed.

  there should only be one of us here.

  you have no idea that I will break your heart.

  when you break someone's heart,

  you also break your own.

  whenever I approach the truth,

  y
ou back away from it.

  you don't want to know.

  but you should know.

  the more you love me, the more I will ruin you.

  I will take my darkness and I will push it inside you.

  lying awake beside you,

  these thoughts go through my head.

  I have done unforgivable things.

  (you inhale, you exhale)

  I have taken advantage of other people's weaknesses in order to cover my own.

  I have slept with boys even though I knew they would later make me want to die.

  I have lied so often that I've lost all track of the truth.

  I have stolen people's boyfriends, because I knew I could.

  and then I dumped them like everyone else.

  because there was always someone else.

  I have never been faithful.

  until you.

  but I do not know if that can last, if I can overcome who I am.

  you open your arms to me and I want to tell you not to.

  do not expose yourself to me.

  the last boy who did that ended up shattered.

  he could not stop asking me why?

  he told me he loved me and I slapped him.

  he thought I was playing, but I wasn't.

  I am that damaged.

  you sleep so innocently, and I watch so guiltily.

  I didn't think it would come to this.