He walked right past me, looking straight ahead.
Years before, Hal and I walked the same path, the best of pals. Laughing and joking while endeavoring to maintain some level of decorum during our serious work of being a theatrical spectacle to men and angels. That really does sound a bit off. Well, we were both hams and took well to the stage when portraying some Bible character of yore. Hal truly brought the house down when playing Samson. Many a gal in the audience -- teenager, pioneer, elder's wife -- secretly yearned to play his Delilah. Some not so secretly.
Yes, so many years before. We guys went our separate ways but did manage to stay in touch. Not so much, though, as the years wore on . . . and on. Despite his "imperfections," the sort that required him to appear numerous times before a church tribunal, Hal had a way with tears and tugging at the heart strings of even the most dour and impassive elder. Oh, he wasn't totally disingenuous; just a little. Hal was giving and loving and genuine. His scarlet sins were always washed clean by his judges. Even, to some extent, by not a few betrayed husbands. Word of Hal's occasional diversions, his straying from the Highway of Holiness somehow made their way to me. Nevertheless, he was always my best pal.
On the other hand, I seemed disinclined towards pursuing matters of the flesh. Pretty much an introvert and never a matinee idol type like Hal, I sought my own level and kept my nose clean. Books, however, were my downfall. Learning. Exploring new ideas. Sharing those thoughts. Strangely, my friends and family shut me down and said I was being disloyal to our Creator. He knew what was best for us. His appointed leaders would interpret his Word for us and that's all we should need. Deliberately wandering outside safe, church-ordained guidelines to so-called intellectual freedom was a snare, a death trap.
It seems I put the inescapable conclusions I had drawn ahead of church wisdom and directives. Those same loving elders who had forgiven Hal and tried his tears so many times showed me no mercy. Maybe I should have cried.
As the church grapevine tends to do, it grew and flourished under the hot sun of judgmental human scrutiny. The fruit, under such perverse growing conditions, was bitter to my taste. I was forced to eat the grapes that set my teeth on edge. Although we hadn't seen each other in years, Hal must have gotten word . . .
I never left my hometown, but I was all alone. Friends and family refused all contact with me. If I hadn't made friends outside the church over my years in business, I would have been totally bereft of all human connection. Coming out of my morning haunt, the Pine Cone Cafe, where I catch up with the locals on what's happening, I began walking up Broad Street and noted the familiar gait of someone I had known. The face was familiar although lined and crowned by graying wisps of hair. It was Hal. No doubt.
He walked right past me, looking straight ahead.