THE DEVIL'S PARADISE
[continued]
I had decided that it was time to return home, but it was not so much with reluctance as with severe misgivings. Certainly, I missed my loved ones – we had not seen each other for the greater part of a dozen years – and they, I’m willing to venture, felt a longing to rekindle familial fires. Having departed abruptly (with no notice whatsoever) because of personal torment over an explosive encounter with Guy, I felt enormous guilt for hurting my perplexed family and friends. I was so ashamed that I could barely breathe, racked as I was with anger over my own vulnerability - no - stupidity is the more precise word.
Shouldn’t a person burned not once, but twice before, be wary of the danger signals? These warnings never fail to display themselves, and in my case, in so large and evident a manner. Was I so sidetracked by perceived loyalty due a friend that I couldn't sense what my family readily discerned and warned me against? Where exactly were my emotions taking me? I don’t really know if I could have averted calamity by simply taking the less risky avenue of approach with what began as a friend’s innocuous request for help. Who isn’t willing to go out on a limb for a friend? My mother, may she rest in peace, had no difficulty whatsoever in making clear her meaning. If she told you to "go to and stay put," there could be no misunderstanding where you stood with her. That proverbial hot spot would be an oasis of repose and calm, preferable to any further time spent in her society. Beat a hasty retreat before the wrath of the Fury descends upon you. I did not inherit her "charming" manner but would have welcomed her mere supportive presence when dealing with Guy. Guy was without a doubt the most lovable and generous fellow on planet earth. You've already heard about the shirt coming off so-and-so's back. I'll refrain, therefore, from further wearing out that hackneyed saying. But he would do it, I swear he would, because I've got that shirt. You'd never go hungry nor without a roof over your head. Got bully troubles? Well, believe you me, Guy could out-bully the meanest, nastiest blackguard in town. He was your guardian angel, a support in your darkest hour ... But something happened in Guy's head; now I needed protection from him. I was joking somewhat about "Mom the Bodyguard," but I sure could have used her wisdom as things with Guy went downhill. Apart from her knowing the most reasonable and expeditious manner of handling a sticky situation, she, nevertheless, had no difficulty standing anyone down. Anyone. I'm afraid I took my mother for granted. A person who wishes to own or dominate another could rightly be described as possessive. This word - "possessive" - has been eluding me for days. My thoughts have been gravitating toward the inordinate need (or is it an obsessive desire?) we humans have for one another. I thought of the terms "dependent" and "clinging vine." Oh, yes ... "needy." However, possessive was the word I had frequently heard my Aunt Sadie use to describe her jealous husband's unreasonable demands upon her time and attention. It just now came to me ... I had to hop out of bed to put down my thoughts. After all, this long-sought after word that so many women have used in connection with their overwrought mates could once again slip my sieve of a brain. It's because of my friendship with Guy that I was seeking this elusive word so perfectly descriptive of his nature. He was all the good things, and more, that I related to you earlier. His loyalty and trueness elicited willing reciprocation from his friends. Isn't that what love is all about? It knows no boundaries. There are no limitations. In his hand Guy held the hearts of many a devoted kindred spirit. Little did I anticipate the escalating costs of this singular relationship, one that would result in the bankruptcy of my soul and spirit. Do you recall my earlier statement about his making an innocuous request? Guy's request certainly seemed innocent enough. He was always ready to help any desperate soul, no matter the need, the time of day, the side of the world. He had enormous energy and drive. That, coupled with this innate sense of duty toward his fellow man, was a force for good almost without equal - at least in my small experience as an individual interested in helping others. Guy's well-intentioned agenda toward humanity - and, incidentally, largely on behalf of the underdog - was that if he were moved to do it, well, then, by golly, so should you! God didn't put your sorry self on earth to live a life of entitlement but, rather, to travel through as simply and frugally as possible. True joy and purpose should derive naturally from humility and service to your neighbor. What else could possibly be out there? Guy had absolutely no patience for that pious slacker who forever made loud protestations of wanting to help you attain your life's dream but never lifted a finger to help in a mundane but genuinely helpful way. My friend, however, was on a virtual crusade to aid those downtrodden and friendless souls who were denizens of town's dodgier lanes and alleys. He was a saint, unofficially recognized: "good" was too paltry a term to describe his deeds. He wanted my help ... Backsliders are often treated with thinly-veiled contempt by church elders. Typically giving even the harshest and least sympathetic characters in this human tragicomedy called life the benefit of the doubt (a major doubt), I, with characteristic naivete, believed that the church leaders were simply doing their duty in protecting the flock by ousting those renegade members of the church. Scripture seemed rather clear on the care and protection of the flock. Our leaders were like the faithful men of old - morally pure and resolute in their promotion of "The Way." "The Way" or the highway. So I believed - until Guy opened my eyes to the reality of church politics. At one time he was "one of them" - a shepherd over the flock. He fulfilled his pastoral duties with the utmost seriousness. His church-related responsibilities became his life's work, in truth, his focal point, to the exclusion of all else ... Some of these backsliders left the so-called Highway of Holiness and treaded their way back to the path earlier abandoned when they had become true-believers. This former companion - the Biblical broad and spacious road - was relentless but patient when beckoning to the unsteady, weaker church members. They received soothing and convincing reassurance that their returning to the old, sinful ways could be effectively reconciled with their ambivalence toward the loudly-proclaimed spiritual agenda of the fellowship. The self-righteous true believer, however, would never admit that these forbidden practices and pleasures were ever truly forgotten, expunged from heart and mind. Whatever one's footing in the church, Temptation was not a respecter of persons; she merely used greater persuasion to cajole her more religious, long-lost children into returning home. I had never heard the title Freedom From Religious Tyranny, much less read it (I might just as well have remained in my former church, given the same type prohibitions against so many things: frivolous novels, apostate literature, decadent films, unchaperoned dating ...). It was written by a dissident member of The International Church Conclave, an elitist religious entity that rules over its members with an iron fist. Needless to say, the mere mention of the book's title among church members was an invitation to censure by their leaders. Possession of the contraband heresy - if discovered and dutifully reported by an ICC loyalist - would result in an official and summary ouster of the holder from the fellowship and a consequent relinquishing of any eternal reward. The purpose in my mentioning FFRT at this juncture is because, somehow or other, Gary and Melinda (fellow congregants and friends) got hold of a copy. They perused it together, taking turns reading it out loud to each other, stopping now and again, as if to catch their breath. I believe it was during this time Gary drove his fist through a wall. Melinda's response to shattered faith was tears. Buckets of them ... Once past the anger and tears - and it wasn't anytime soon - they telephoned their long-time friend and confidant, Guy, and told him that he needed to come over so that they could talk.