Shadows of the Evening, Emlee meets Susannah

Going home without an umbrella wasn't the world's biggest travesty thought Emlee. Going home without the name of the woman who could recite the poem with her was the real travesty. Emlee took herself to task for not introducing herself to her fellow poetry performer. While Emlee sat at the kitchen table in the small apartment she kept berating herself. She went to the kitchen counter and took the loaf or rye bread from the chrome clad bread box. She closed the door where her reflection popped into view as she turned the knob. She pointed at her image and said out loud, “Now Emlee, all your had to do was stick out your hand, with all five of those bony fingers and say something brilliant like, 'hi, I'm Emlee.' It's like Mom used to say when you pointed at what you wanted, 'Em' your mouth runs when it shouldn't, the least you can do is ask for the butter, use that mouth when you should,'”. Emlee knew that her mother spoke the truth. Her father taught her the proper way to shake hands so that she could, “succeed in business.” About ninety nine percent of the time she followed her parents' advice and did the proper things.

“Why didn't you shake hands and introduce yourself, Emlee? You know better than to let opportunities like that get by, oh sure, you put your arm around her, but she wasn't very receptive, you should have shaken hands” she continued to lecture herself as she buttered the crusty slices of light bread as she prepared her lunch, a grilled cheese sandwich. “You won't do it again now, will you Emlee?”

Emlee knew that anyone who might be listening would surely think that she had left reality, but if they knew who they were really listening to they would know that she was no threat to herself or society. Emlee laughed at herself, she was always talking to herself, especially when she needed a good dressing down like she did this time.

Emlee hated her life in the city. Her apartment was small even though she could afford bigger but since it was just her, why more space to clean? Her parents were far away, she had a few co-workers that she would call friends though they rarely did anything socially, she knew they really weren't friends, they were what they were, co-workers. They were only friends when one of them was getting married and wanted a wedding present, then at the receptions there would be a table full of, “friends” from work.

She put way too much energy into her work at the insurance company. The position as manager of the company's in house advertising department was very demanding. She didn't burn midnight oil at work. She told her boss when she was promoted that spending the night there would not continue, there was no such thing as midnight oil at work. She told her boss when she was advanced that spending the night there was no longer an option for the staff in the department. She reminded her that having been a regular employee in the department had taught her a few things, work at work – not at home, focus while at work, do what your third grade teacher worked so hard to instill, “do your own work,” Emlee informed her boss that there would be a much smaller turnover in the department if the management would do just a few things: show respect, show appreciation and understand that work was work and no employee should have to sell their soul to the company. Emlee was prepared to be passed over for the position and dismissed as well for disloyalty. She was shocked when Ms. Hawkins gave her the promotion. The department's director said, “you've had the grunt's job, let's see if you know what you're talking about. “ Emlee was proud that productivity was up substantially, absenteeism was down and the quality of work was superior and rarely was anyone in the office after six. All it took was some pats on the back, the occasional vase of flowers for a job very well done and an understanding of the third grade concept.

All of Emlee's hard work paid off and the company was paying her handsomely for it too. Still she lived a very modest life and put money away into sound investments, her plan was to retire young, somewhere in the country near her parents who still lived in her hometown.

“Emlee, why didn't you just introduce yourself? You know she wouldn't have bitten you. She's a woman not a starved junk yard dog, if she was she could have bitten you right there, you were close enough. For Pete's sake you put your arm around her and didn't tell her your name.” Emlee kept up the chastisement while she cleaned up her lunch dishes. “No wonder you don't have anyone to play with, you can knock 'em dead at work, but leave that corner office and you're a mouse, what gives girl?” She asked herself as she wagged her finger at her reflection as she ran a towel over the front of the bread box, removing her finger prints.

Susannah stopped at the grocery after church and then went home. She stood at the deli counter looking over everything that was on display. Nothing really appealed to her, she ran her eyes from one end of the case to the other waiting for divine inspiration, it came when the short and abrupt man behind her tugged on her sleeve and said, “for the love of God lady, pick something before it all grows short blue hair.” Susannah's lunch was colorful if it was nothing more, though there was no short blue hair. She reached in the brown bag and removed one half pound of cranberry orange relish, one half pound of fresh mozzarella with grape tomatoes that were freckled with dried black basil flakes, it sat stewing in olive oil and vinegar. In the bottom of the bag was a piece of cake, white cake with raspberry filling and covered with white chocolate. “This is food for the love of God - lady,” she told herself. She left her lunch on the kitchen counter and went to her bedroom to change her clothes, her Sunday best was hot and still a bit damp from the sudden cloud burst at the end of church.

She stood at the dresser where she looked at her naked form in the mirror. She touched her breast then looked in the mirror and said, “what can you say Susannah, gravity is the law.” With that reminder she pulled an over size tee shirt from the drawer and poked her head through the gaping neck hole as she slipped her arms into the sleeves, shimming into it in a choppy motion. She tugged on a pair of too short cut off jeans and went back to the kitchen where she stood at the counter and looked at her lunch selection. “Everything has some red in it Susannah, were you in a certain mood?” She was startled when there was a loud crack from the lightening that hit near the house. “More rain,” she thought, “let it pour Lord, you know that we need it,” she said as she relaxed from her start.

“Eat something, just pick one thing, you only have to eat one thing,” she told herself as she reached into the silverware drawer and removed a fork. She peeled the flexible plastic lid from the tub of cranberries and wandered around the kitchen eating the tart berries while feeling caged. The rain had turned from a pelting rain to a more gentle fall and it looked as though it would rain for a while. Susannah loved days when it rained like this, though on summer days like this she simply felt like she was a hostage in her own home. She wanted to be out and about in the yard, or maybe sit on the porch for a while and watch the weather. She didn't like the idea of being cooped up in the house in the summer time knowing that it would be only a few weeks before the weather would change and it would be cold and unpleasant. “That's it, I'm going out,” she thought.

Susannah knew that she couldn't go much further than the porch the way that she was dressed, if she was going to walk in the rain she couldn't wear the shorts and t shirt that she was wearing, it was a walk in the neighborhood after all, not a wet t shirt contest in some tasteless bar. So she changed, putting on a black button down shirt that she knew belonged to a man before she got such a good deal on it and she put on more respectable shorts, she didn't want her tennis shoes to get wet, so she put on a pair of flip flops knowing that they would be slick when they got wet. She took her house key from the hook by the door and went out to walk in the rain.

Emlee turned on the television and picked up the remote, she sat on the her big sofa with all of the pillows and hugged one to her, she felt alone and a bit downtrodden since she had given herself the major, “Dutch Uncle” chat about letting Susannah get away without introducing herself. She flipped the channels, golf, golf, baseball, golf, sensationalized news, the usual fare she thought. She pushed the red button on the remote just as she waved good bye to the next one at the tee. She picked up the Sunday paper and began to flip through it, it made her nervous to even hold the paper, she shook. “What the hell are you thinking Emlee, get out of this apartment, the walls are closing in and you need to escape.” She grabbed her old tennis shoes and stuck her feet in without socks, she hated to walk in wet shoes as it was, but the sound of squishing socks didn't help the matter any. She stuffed her keys in her pocket and dashed for the door nearly running to get to the steps so that she could leave the front stoop behind and get out of her dungeon.

“Rain, sweet summer rain,” she thought, knowing it was a line from a movie, but not sure which one. She ambled along the sidewalk and enjoyed the big drops that fell from the trees, sliding from the large Sycamore leaves and the big heart shaped Catalpas with their long seed pods that looked like beans, surely they were the magic beans that Jack bought, weren't they? She thought and smiled.

Further down the street there were brownstones and she thought about how they really did look more like movie sets than homes. In front of them were what she called, “the precious or unruly trees” because they were always caged up. She began to get to the small shops along the street, the green grocer had a few apples in bins in front of his store and because of the oil on their surface the rain beaded just like it would on a well waxed car. She stood at the jewelers window and admired the blue rings, necklaces and bracelets, she saw a pair of earrings that caught her attention as well. Everything in the window had some kind of blue stone in it. The earrings had Lapis Lazuli in them. The stones were not top quality, too much pyrite in them, but the quartz in them gave them the appearance of a midnight sky with stars twinkling, she loved the look. “You need more earrings like you need more anxiety,” she mumbled.

A woman had joined her in admiring what was in the window, “Aren't they beautiful? I love blue.” Emlee turned to the voice next to her to look at the woman by her side, drenched, her long hair sagging down her back it was Susannah. Susannah pushed a hank of saturated blond hair from her face so that she could see more clearly the figure next to her, she laughed and pointed at Emlee and said, “How beautiful is the rain!” together they laughed.

Emlee put her arm around her again, just as she did in church and very promptly said, “I'm Emlee, no i in the middle. I'm sorry about my manners earlier, I should have introduced myself.”

“I thought nothing of your manners, I did wonder what your name was though and while I was at the grocery I realized that I didn't tell you my name, so I guess we're even.”

Their gaze fell again on the blue jewelry in the window, everything so beautiful. “I love lapis,” said Emlee, there is so much to see in a piece of lapis and that dark blue is so rich. It looks like a late night sky just as the stars emerge. When I was in first grade we would line up to go to the bus and together with our teacher we would recite the hymn, not sing it, 'now the day is over, night is drawing nigh, shadows of the evening steal across the sky.' Silly that I remember such things, isn't it?” Emlee looked to Susannah who was wearing a great big smile and eyes the color of lapis.

Hey Buddy, Yeah, You, You're My Neighbor, Now Get Used to It.

When I read the topic of Sunday's sermon on the church's website, I have to admit my heart fell an eighth of an inch, this is not to say that I felt down hearted, it was that I've heard this story so many times in my church sitting years that I wasn't looking forward to hearing the story again. The same question is always raised out of the story of the Good Samaritan. It's an honest question, it's the same question that Jesus asked, “Which one acted like a neighbor?” (Luke 10: 25-37)

I have to tip my hat to Rev. Rachel, she did what had to be in my mind the toughest job ever done, she made this story fresh. She presented the two who went before the Samaritan as local religious leaders—Indianapolis notables, that made the story come alive right there. The real kicker for me was when she asked the question that the religious leader who cornered Jesus asked, “Who is my neighbor.” Of course, she turned the question toward all of us to think about, she didn't ask just us, she was asking herself too, and I dare say that like most of us in the pews, she could nearly recite the answer that Jesus gave.

This week I've thought about the answer as I see it. The important part of the story isn't exactly that the Samaritan man showed mercy, though without it we really don't have a story. The thing that I accepted was Rev. Rachel's challenge to look about us and see just who are neighbors are, who are they really?

While I sit at this computer and write these blogs I can see out on the street of my inner city neighborhood. I can't say that I live downtown and I don't think that we have enough inner city to call it uptown or midtown, I like the term, Central City; has a nice ring to it. Looking out of my apartment I can see a very important corner here in the Central City. It is an important corner because it is one of the busiest for drug trade and prostitution. In a casual conversation that I had with an investigative reporter once long ago I shared the concept that I have observed over the years of living here and watching what goes on, the idea is simple really, if the city were to observe the business system of the drug business in my neighborhood and were able to see the supply chain and upper management they would have one of the most dynamic models for government, commerce, and industry in the world. If the city were to invite companies to this city and insist that they learn from this model every tax in the city would be lowered because of the increased productivity and sales would skyrocket. I'm not going to give away their secrets here, it's not my business, but I am going to give a description of the lower echelon.

Day in and day out, twenty four hours a day, three hundred and sixty five days a year, in the most pleasant of weather, (as we have right now,) to the hottest possible, (like we just had, factor in the humidity,) to the coldest day on record, rain, snow, fog, sleet, hail, with the tornado warning siren blaring in their ears because it's just over their heads and through every possible condition or time; they pace, they walk from the corner of a numbered street and a state named street, (clever aren't I?). They sit on retaining walls and yell at the oncoming cars of former clients. They are joined by prostitutes, because one stop shopping is still popular. Well, let's just put it this way, they are definitely difficult to see as my neighbor and yet they are right there in my neighborhood. If one were to fall and be physically in trouble like the victim in the Samaritan story, would I rush down and dress his/her wounds and put them up in the local hospital and pay the tab? I think that I would call 911 for them, but I have to say that I don't think that I could do what the Samaritan man did. Would I be expected to put myself in possible danger to do so? That's a good question, the Samaritan did, the robbers who beat the unidentified man could have easily made the Samaritan their next victim. He easily could have been the next to be robbed and beaten because he didn't know how far the thieves had gone, they could have been lurking, using the victim as bait. This is a tough call.

It is hard to look at others as neighbors too, people around us who take advantage of us until we feel that we cannot stand another use or abuse of our kindness. This one is a mixed question, are they still my neighbor? I think so, does the lesson Jesus taught about bearing the Centurions back pack apply here? I would like to think that it does.

There is another element in my community, but it isn't just a neighborhood, though in my case it does apply partially since I've been told that I live in the gay ghetto. I've met, let me rephrase that, I've tried to meet folks that I recognize as being a part of the gay community. Most often the effort that I make is to recognize them with a hello in the grocery. A nod, a friendly greeting at Mc Donald's when they are getting coffee on their way to work. I am more often than not astounded by the response that I get. Often it is the same response that the first two respondents in the Samaritan story gave. I don't understand that. I met a man one time in a place where my company buys supplies. I greeted him, I recognized him from my neighborhood. He gave me the grimace of, “Why are you speaking to me? I don't know you.” Yep, that's the point, you don't, but I'm your neighbor. I saw him several times in my neighborhood and waved...nothing. I saw him in church one Sunday, greeted him, that same look again. Finally, I walked up to him and said when I was getting supplies, “Hi, I'm Don, we live in the same neighborhood, that makes you my neighbor. Where I come from we recognize our neighbors, be that in the grocery, on the street, wherever. I see you take your dog for a walk I can see you from my desk, I watch to make sure that you are okay, we don't have much crime other than drug sales in our area, but I watch you just the same. If anything were to happen to you, I would call the cops, and be out the door to help as fast as I could. I believe in community.”

First a smile came to his face, his response was a surprise to me, “I'm glad to meet you, thank you for being a neighbor and watching out for me, I really do appreciate that as I am often a bit leery of what goes on in the neighborhood, I'm glad to know that you are aware.” Inside I was leaping for joy. Don't take me wrong, I wasn't excited because I was accepted as a Samaritan, but because I was, make that, am seen as a neighbor. It feels really good.

I like to think of the story of the Good Samaritan as being wrongly titled. It should have been called, The Samaritan who did good. Who was the real neighbor in the story? The young religious scholar told Jesus, “The one who treated him kindly.” Jesus said, “Go and do the same.” While this is the important lesson in the story, I think that the most important person in the story is the victim. The victim made it possible for three men, maybe add the inn keeper and make it four, to learn just how important it is to be the neighbor, the good neighbor, the neighbor who did good. It's hard to remember that just as those drug dealers and prostitutes are my neighbors, we all are, I'm their neighbor too.

Once again, the prologue in the middle, you would think that I would learn.

Allow me to introduce to you Emlee and Huck, also known as Susannah. These two women are life partners, which is rather blatant as you read the stories. As is obvious, Susannah has passed away after a battle with cancer. Emlee is doing her best to make her way in the world after having laid to rest her trusted friend, confidant and loving companion.

These are stories of love and compassion and the feelings that Emlee experiences after having seen Huck slip away from her life. It becomes obvious through time, or will, that Emlee will have to look for a new beginning or what a friend of mine calls, “a new normal,” though I don't believe that there really is such a thing. The concept of a new normal doesn't keep us from looking for it, even when we are sure that there really isn't one.

The stories here are a little spread out and begin with a story that I was “warming” up on. The entry here called, Because I have not Written Like This for a While is the first, then Good Morning Star Shine followed by the most recent, Emlee in Church. Note that these stories are a little like an obvious treasure hunt, similar to the entries entitled Vicar of Another Man's Life, each one has an inspiration in them, in the stories about Emlee and Susannah the inspiration is a song or a poem, as time goes by, there may be other references to make you think, and to give you a tip to what was going through my mind at the time.

An aside: in Vicar of Another Man's Life you may want to Google your clue, or simply Google Vincent Van Gogh, you may find the painting that was the inspiration for the story.

Please, please, make a comment, just so that I know that you were here. You may play critic if you like, you can tell me if you recognize the clue, but most of all, you are simply letting me know that while you were sipping coffee, or having a nosh before bed, you took a moment to see what these characters are up to.

"How Beautiful is the Rain" Emlee in Church

Emlee sat in the old rocker that had become a fixture on the front porch in summer for the past several seasons. There were two, but since Huck had passed away Emlee just couldn't bring herself to haul the other from the shed where the rockers had been stored for the winter under a large tarp in a valiant effort to keep them clean. Because Emlee was a good hostess she knew that her rocker would not be enough seating on the porch for those neighbors and city friends who often dropped by to visit and to simply check up on her. Losing Huck had been one of the most difficult things that she had experienced and her friends, neighbors and family knew it and they were doing their best to comfort Emlee, though it was hard for Emlee to be the recipient of such kindness. Not because she wasn't grateful, but simply because she was always the one to offer this grace to others. She was always the one with arms extended to hold someone who was crying, she was always the one to drop by with a few flowers, be they from the flower shop in town or from Huck's garden. She was the one who would spend time in the kitchen whipping up a quick dish to deliver to the home of someone grieving. She remembered having that experience referred to as the delivering of sympathy by means of a covered dish. She laughed because she knew that it was possible for green bean casserole to extend a care and concern on behalf of the person who sent it. While she knew that food was not love, she knew that food could express love, just like the flowers, just like the arms around someone crying for whatever reason their tears came.

Emlee had other chairs on the porch, none of the rest of them rocked, but they all matched the rest of the furniture on the porch, her rocker, the table. She had made chintz cushions for each of the chairs though it had been treated with laminate in case it rained, it still had a chintz pattern. She thought of when she excitedly brought the fabric from the store with such joy because she loved the pattern and it had been marked down to bargain basement price, it had flowers with birds and the birds in the print were humming birds no less. She couldn't wait to show it to Huck. Huck looked at the fabric on the roll and simply said, “you're the design department, I'm maintenance and all that other good out door stuff.” A little crestfallen, Emlee knew that Huck was right, she didn't really have the same appreciation for such things, but deep inside she wanted things pretty and nice, and she knew that Emlee would take care of such things. “You know me Em, I would have brought home some dreadful dark stripe, I married you because I love you and you have good taste. You always make me look good.”

While rocking in her porch chair with the cushion in the seat and another tied to the knobs on the back, Emlee took a deep breath and when she did she drew in the fragrance of the incense that had been used in church that morning. The price she paid for sitting so close to the aisle and sitting in the middle of the nave. When the gospel was read, she was right next to the deacon as he swung the sensor back and forth and the white smoke rose from the ornate device. It was especially pungent because she was so close to it, but when she was farther away it did have a pleasant aroma that did remind you that you were in a holy place.

Since it had been quite a while since Huck's passing Emlee thought that it was time to go back to church. She knew that it would be emotionally difficult, but she also knew that her spirit was waning and she needed the strength that she received from being in church. She had not been raised in a strict, “religious” home, as a family they believed in God, the Trinity even, church was just not a part of everyday life for her family. Emlee's family never said grace at the table, her father so often said, “If God didn't know that we were each grateful, then he wouldn't have given it to us.” Emlee understood that his statement was an admonishment to each of them to be grateful to God for what they had.

Emlee needed to go the the place where holiness inspired more talks with God, while there were those that she knew that could go and sit in the city park and feel as though they had worshiped in the cathedral of the trees, she often wondered if that was a cop out for not being disciplined enough to roll out of bed and go to church. She also realized that God was in their hearts and if they could focus, then they could worship in the park, she knew that it would be hard for here to do so, she knew as well, that it wasn't her place to make their decisions for them.

Emlee simply needed the things that church offered, a place where she was led in worship, a place where there were others who thought like she did, a place to contribute to the good of her fellow earth riders and whats more, if she met someone to care about, then all the better, it was a place for Emlee.

It was in church on a summer morning that threatened rain that Emlee met Susannah. The old red brick and limestone church was a landmark in town, it was old and everything about it reminded Emlee of the churches that she visited in the English countryside when she took a European trip while she was in college. She was so taken by the stone churches that were a part of every country village that she had to go in, she had to see the inside, she suddenly noticed that The Church of England was somewhat standard in the interior architecture. After being in the churches in several villages she learned that there were only subtle differences in the services, usually it was the priest that made the difference in the mass, all things considered, they seemed like holy places to her, shrines to a living God. The red brick church in her neighborhood was really no different. It was Episcopal was the only difference really, but they were quick to identify themselves as Anglican and in communion with The Church of England; generally speaking she never saw a picture of Queen Elizabeth when she went to this church or any other Episcopal church in the city.

The heavy oak doors were propped open on this Sunday that honored St. John the Baptist. There were dark and heavy rain clouds overhead and they bore a heaviness that gave the feeling that they would not be able to stay in the sky long, they would surely fall. Most of the people who went through the door of the church were toting umbrellas, a weather tool that Emlee didn't bring with her, though a sure symbol of faith that it would rain. She was not able to park close to the building and she knew that her madras dress would be soaked by the time church was over and she would head back to the car. It was too late now, Emlee could not run back home for such a silly thing as an umbrella at this point in time, though she lived only a few blocks away. She stepped inside the door, was welcomed by the greeter just as she dipped her fingers in the font and made the cross, reminding herself of her baptism. The greeter was patient, waiting for Emlee to finish and then she spoke a benign hello and handed Emlee the missal for the day. Emlee nodded a silent thank you as she took the booklet and turned to look to see if her usual seat was filled.

Her usual place under the window was empty and she stepped lightly on the old hardwood floor that creaked and moaned under foot. At the end of the pew she bent at the waist toward the altar, it was her custom to do so instead of genuflecting as others did, genuflecting became very difficult for Susannah as time went by, because of the chemo, getting down on one knee often was easy, getting up again was harder. Emlee slid into the pew and brought the kneeler quietly into position. She made the cross again and looked to the crucifix as she prayed. “Welcome me home sweet Jesus, draw me ever closer to your heart as I come here to renew my spirit and grow ever closer to you dear Lord.” She sat on the pew and with her hand she returned the kneeler back to it's position with great stealth, quiet was the code for one's entrance into the church. She slid across the pew as she knew that Susanna would want to sit on the end so that she could quietly escape if she needed to. “The damn chemo,” Emlee thought as she sat there before church started, the Voluntary had begun and the organ was at a loud part in the score. She simply looked to the cross again and uttered a simple addition to her prayer, “Father God, forgive me for my bitterness.” She knew that Huck was not coming and it angered her to have to sit alone.

The bells rang signaling the beginning of the service and Emlee stood for the opening hymn, the words simply could not make it to her lips, though they did make it to her heart. It was more difficult than she thought it would be, she thought that it would take her longer to feel the loneliness of not having her Huckleberry friend sitting next to her in the pew. She kept looking down at the seat to see if her beloved friend and partner was okay sitting while everyone stood, Susannah so often mentioned how funny, embarrassed even she felt because she could not stand and participate as those around her did. Emlee told her not to be silly, since she was before the Lord to worship he did not care what her posture was, just being there was the important part. After reciting this litany to Susannah several times she began to agree and understand just how true the statement was when Emlee worked to convince her. Emlee worked to instill this in Susannah because she knew that there would come a point where they would not be able to attend church any more, that the hospital chapel would be where she would do her praying, she feared that and it often brought her to tears, though always in secret, away from Susannah so that she would not be adding to her troubles, her fears.

By rote Emlee heard herself saying, “And also with you,” knowing that the priest was about to offer a prayer.

“O Lord, make us have perpetual love and reverence for your holy Name, for you never fail to help us...” said Father Gilham

Emlee was drawn back into the present with these words from the priest. With effort she focused on the response to the Psalm, she heard the reading of the Epistle. When the sub-deacon presented the gospel to Father Gilham and it was brought down from the chancel to the nave of the church, Emlee was always impressed with the way that those in the front turned and followed it as it was brought down the aisle. Each one giving a nod as it made its way past them. Lifting the book high over head Father Gilham said, “The Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ According to Luke!” It was then that the deacon began to swing the incense that permeated Emlee's thin cotton summer dress.

The smoke of the incense hung low over head, the humidity was high and it was obvious when she looked out of the windows that the rain was even closer, the leaves of the trees in the garden just outside of the church wall were turning their backs to the sky. Emlee knew that she would wish for an umbrella as she left the vestibule. Emlee thought back to when she met Susannah in this very place and it was a day not unlike this one. There were inky menacing clouds when she arrived at the church that Sunday. The doors were propped open just as they were at this very moment. The trees that lined the cobblestone walk that went from the street to the door were under a canopy of summer leaves. The weather had been very hot and dry, rain was something that everyone was crying out for and now the trees and flowers were crying as well. When she entered the church the air felt as though it were made of glue, it was sticky and uncomfortable and the old red brick church had not been graced with air conditioning, so the week's worth of humidity was still bottled up inside even though it was being stirred now by fans. It seemed that their job was hopeless.

On that hot and humid Sunday, it was the silent prayer from many that rain would come and that it would come in quantity. Many had brown and crispy lawns and there were droopy flowers in flower beds. The city had announced that they could not allow sprinkling. This didn't upset Emlee, though she did want it to rain, she knew how important it was to everyone's wellbeing. Father Gilham said the blessing for dismissal and the congregation responded, “Thanks be to God.” On this hot Sunday, his dismissal didn't sound like celebration, it sounded more like word from the governor. Everyone sat down as the organ voluntary began, the daily missals doubling as fans and the congregation was praying that the organist would be merciful, since he was high aloft, where the law of heat was well represented, he obliged. The last note still in the air, the faithful stood and headed for the doors, scattering in every direction to get relief from the stagnant air of the sanctuary.

Emlee moved to the street entrance and when she arrived the sky had opened and rain fell straight down from heaven. She was grateful for her simple cotton dress, sleeveless and cool. She stood just inside of the heavy oaken doors when Susannah came to stand next to her. Complete strangers, Emlee looked out on the falling rain, it came heavily to the ground, and no one was complaining, even those who, like herself, had not brought umbrellas.

“How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat,” Emlee recited from an old poem that she remembered from junior high school.

“In the broad and fire street,” Susannah chimed in with a great smile as Emlee looked at her, two strangers watching the rain.
“And in the narrow lane,” said Emlee as she took her turn.
“How beautiful is the rain,” they chanted together.

Emlee without ceremony or pretense put her arm around Susannah and said, “How wonderful that you remember such things.” Then she darted into the street and rain, twirled in a circle as her full skirt filled with air, doing the same dance of a little girl in a new dress.