Remember Who You Are

Ch 1-2

Chapter One





Being shot made it hard to sleep. So Wesley was awake when the suicide hotline cell phone rang. Automatically reaching out with his right arm, the wounded one, sent a shock of pain that caused Wesley to gasp. Suppressing his pain, he rolled over and grabbed the cell phone with his left arm. Using his thumb, he activated the phone and said, “Teen Hotline.” Wesley refused to vocalize “Suicide Hotline.”





Rolling over onto his back, he heard, “H-h-h-hello?”





“Hey,” Wesley said. Wesley removed all urgency from his voice and became a cool, friendly, reassuring voice on the telephone. Or so he hoped.





Silence. Wesley waited. He knew that if we waited too long the caller would terminate the call. But waiting relieved the caller of additional pressure. So Wesley waited. Just when Wesley was about to say something else, he heard, “I can’t sleep. A-a-a fr-a guy I knew died yesterday.”





J.J. thought Wesley, with a pang of guilt. “What happened?”





“He shot himself. In church.” The young male voice had become softer. Wesley could feel the suppressed emotion. This boy wanted to cry. But boys don’t cry. Wesley also knew this boy’s grief could easily turn violent towards himself or others.





“That’s terrible. Was he a close friend?”





“Yeah. We hung out.”





“I am sure you are going to miss your friend.” Wesley kept his statements neutral. What Wesley wanted was to get the boy to talk. Talking was not as good as crying but it was better than shooting.





“Yeah. I guess. It’s just, it’s just, I don’t know what I feel. I mean, I’m gonna miss him, yeah, but it’s more than that. I feel kinda sick to my stomach. And scared. I feel like I wanna die but I don’t want to die. That’s crazy. But, but, what’s the point man? What’s the damn point?”





What is the damn point, thought Wesley. You tell me, and we will tell the rest of the world.





*****





Wesley lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. His hotline call had ended with little resolution. Wes did not think the boy would commit suicide, but he definitely needed counseling. If this had happened during the school year, there would be counselors descending on the school to offer grief counseling. Wesley wondered if something like that was available during the summer. He doubted it.





The last three days had overwhelmed his psyche, and he was exhausted. And his arm hurt. Replaying the events that led to his being shot, Wesley searched for a path that would not have led to destruction and death. Wesley searched for a path that would leave him blameless. Jamie Lee dead. Not his fault. Rosa Lee dead. His fault. J.J., Jamie Lee’s boyfriend, dead. His fault. Church vote to terminate his employment. His fault. Wesley could not get past the fact that if he had handled the situation differently, more professionally; or if the church had employed a more experienced pastor then some of this carnage could have been avoided. Loftin would not have been shot, he thought.





Daylight crept in through the gap between the curtains and the windowsill. Time for his run, thought Wesley. Knowing there would be no run today – not with the way his arm throbbed – Wesley thought of Thad. Wondering how his teenage basketball buddy would react to his being shot. Wesley smiled, Thad would probably see it as a precursor to Wesley missing his first free throw ever. His thoughts then turned to work. Chuck Loftin, acting to form, had volunteered to take over church functions for the foreseeable future. Wesley appreciated the act, and fully intended to take advantage of the generous offer, but he also knew he needed to be productive. There was no reason he could not visit Mamie or spend time at the hospital. Wesley rolled out of bed.











Wesley sat in his recliner and rested. After semi-successfully wrapping his injured arm in a plastic garbage bag and completing an adequate shower (though certain body parts had to air dry), shave (thank you Lord for electric razors), and tooth brushing (squeezing toothpaste with one hand was more difficult than he had imagined); Wesley was exhausted. He debated on how much pain medicine to take. He preferred as little medication as possible; but his damn arm hurt. Giving in to the pain, he dry swallowed a pain pill and struggled his way out of the too-comfortable chair. Time to face the world, he thought.





Then he sat back down and called Cameron. He remembered Gary Meade telling him that his daughter Katherine had texted Cameron and let her know that everything was ok; but he knew that Cam would rest easier when she heard his voice. And so would he.





 





Chapter Two





Stepping out into the Monday morning sunshine Wesley noticed how normal everything looked. Life had changed. Two people died yesterday in a room called a “sanctuary,” he thought. The world should not look normal after such a tragedy. Starting down the walk towards the church, normally a short, pleasant walk along a monkey grass lined walkway, Wesley noticed the presence of lights coming from somewhere in front of the church. The combination of blue and red lights told him that there had been an accident in front of the church. Knowing he was in no shape to help – and the police would not welcome any interference anyway – Wesley entered his church.





“Good morning Susie,” said Wesley as he entered her office. Everything was normal. Normalcy was starting to irritate Wesley.





“Oh goodness!” Susie jumped up from behind her desk. Scooting around the desk, she carefully encircled Wesley’s waist and gave him a gentle hug. Not her normal rib-cracking hug, he noticed. Great, he thought, I’m fragile. “You are supposed to be taking some time off. I didn’t expect to see you in today. I was going to come by later and bring you lunch.” Susie turned and pointed to the cooler that sat on the floor beside her desk. Wesley’s fondness and love for this sweet woman knew no bounds. Wesley hugged Susie this time.





“Thank you Susie. Lunch would be fantastic. I was a little afraid to cook this morning. The shower was adventure enough. And I plan to take some time off. I am going to fully take advantage of Reverend Loftin’s very gracious offer but I am not an invalid. I cannot sit in the parsonage all day long. Can I have a cup of coffee?”





“Certainly. Oh, sure.” Susie hustled to fill his coffee cup.





Susie seems flustered today, thought Wesley. Must be the ramifications of everything that has happened over the past couple of days.





“Do you know what is going on outside?”





“Outside?”





“I saw lights. Police cars, emergency response, something?”





“Oh, I didn’t know.”





Taking his coffee, Wesley said, “I think I will check it out.”





“I’ll go with you.” Susie grabbed her sweater and followed Wesley through the church and out the front door.





*****





Wesley and Susie exited the church and entered chaos. Five police cars established a perimeter around the front of the church, effectively blocking the road from either direction. Two Emergency Response vehicles bookended the police cars – their red lights offering syncopated rhythm to the blues of the police cars. A dozen police officers and emergency response personnel surrounded a group of people who had gathered on church property. Wesley and Susie could hear screams and shouts, wails and threats coming from the mob.





Where were the police when the press was beating down the door, wondered Wesley. Wesley and Susie descended the steps of the church and moved towards the gathering. As Wesley moved closer he could distinguish individual voices. He did not like what he was hearing. “Call Gary Meade and tell him we have an emergency.” Handing Susie his coffee and his cell phone, he winked and entered the eye of the storm.





There was no calm here. Wesley pushed and edged his way into the middle. There were three people around which all the confusion and anger centered. The first was a middle-aged police officer, a sergeant, who was arguing with an older woman and a younger man. Wesley moved into the line of fire. “I’m Wesley Aames the pastor here. Can someone tell me what is going on?”





“We have this under control preacher. We will have this mob off church property shortly,” said the police officer.





“I appreciate that Sergeant Truelove,” said Wesley, reading the officer’s name badge. “But since this IS church property, I feel that I have a right to know what is happening.” Wesley turned to the woman, whose light brown face was streaked with tear tracks, and the young man, who was barely suppressing his rage, “What’s going on?” he asked in his gentlest voice.





“I WILL TELL…” started the young man, only to be silenced by the woman who simply laid her hand on his arm.





“Preacher,” her voice trembled. Soulful eyes bore into Wesley’s as she said, “J.J. was my son. He died in your church. We just wanted to honor him with a memorial.” The crowd behind her parted so Wesley could see a homemade cross, some flowers and assorted stuffed animals – most with hearts attached.





The crushing pressure of the past few days threatened to overwhelm Wesley as this woman’s palpable grief was shared by most members of the group. Except the police. Wesley snaked his arm around the woman and pulled her close. At Wesley’s touch, sobs erupted from the woman. She clutched Wesley’s shirt as she wept uncontrollably. Wesley joined her.





“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Wesley could not apologize enough to this grieving mother. The two of them hugging and crying in the midst of angry chaos lasted until Gary Meade pulled up siren blaring. The noise startled Wesley and the lady into breaking their embrace. Slightly embarrassed by the tears and the public display of affection, they both grinned sheepishly.





The crowd parted so that Gary Meade could enter the circle. He caught Wesley’s eye. “Everything ok?”





Wesley looked at the lady and the young man, who both nodded, and said “Yeah. Everything’s ok.”





Gary Meade, taking control of the situation, turned to Sergeant Truelove and said, “Frank, I can take it from here.”





“Not really your call Gary. No one’s dead. I had this under control.”





Gary Meade looked at the larger man for a moment. Moving closer, he gritted his teeth and said, “Really? You want to make this a thing between us? I suggest you put your men back on their normal patrols before you let your temper get the best of you. Don’t forget what happened last time.”





Sergeant Frank Truelove stood and stared down at Detective Sergeant Gary Meade for a long minute. Finally, he broke eye contact and the silence, “All right guys, looks like everything is under control here. Let’s clear out.” Turning back to Wesley, “Preacher, if you have any trouble, any trouble at all, just give us a call.”





“Thank you officer.” Wesley said “Krupke,” under his breath.





Still holding the lady’s hand with his good hand, Wesley said, “Feel free to put your memorial here. You can also use the church for water or the bathrooms. I will tell the church secretary to allow you total access.”





“Uh,” interrupted Gary Meade. “Not total access. The sanctuary is still a crime scene. It should be released tomorrow sometime but there is still cleaning that has to be done.”





Blood, thought Wesley. He means blood. Damn.