The Prophetess of State Street
Margo Frazier
Tom Howard/John H. Reid Short Story Contest 2009 (view all the winners)
Highly Commended
The line to the shelter was ten-bodies deep as it wrapped its way up and down the side street. Everyone was nervously marking time, shifting their weight from side to side and rubbing their hands together to generate some warmth. One man's voice rung out above the crowd, "What's going on? This is Florida! It's not supposed to be this cold." A few people in the crowd responded with "Amen" and "You got that right!" Some just grumbled, dotting the February morning air with little fogs of warm breath. There was a jangling of keys on the inside and the line instantly devolved into a chaotic rush for the double doors.
"Alright, everybody; you know the drill—single file, just like way back in elementary school!"
The tall, stately figure of a woman blocked the doorway with her girth. "No one is getting in until you form a single line!" Her husky voice bounced off the nearby buildings and everyone knew she meant business.
The crowd shuffled around, not giving up too much space as they tried to form a line, some yielding to the rest of the crowd; others determined to be close to the front. When they finally got it down to the snakelike form they had started out with, Miss Marie stepped aside and counted: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, ushering them in by the shoulder as she counted. Then she wedged herself back onto the threshold, barring anyone else from passing through. Number 13 was a black man, sixty-ish, and he walked right into Miss Marie's bounteous bosom, never looking up; but just parking himself there.
Miss Marie looked down at him and very matter-of-factly said, "What you lookin' at? Those things dried up a long time ago."
The crowd roared with laughter, but Number 13 just stood there as if he didn't hear anything. Miss Marie, recognizing that he was mentally challenged, immediately wished she could take back her crass remark. She had been doing this job for so long, sometimes she forgot how to act.
"I'm sorry, sir," she said as she bent over to look into his eyes. Something about him looked strangely familiar as she thought the windows to the soul say "nobody's home." Miss Marie wrapped her long, pale fingers around his weathered fists that he held tightly in front of his chest, like a prize fighter, minus the gloves. "It will only be a few more minutes, so just relax. You're next."
Someone in the crowd began complaining that Number 13 was supposed to be at the back of the line, and a few others joined in, saying that he had cut all the way up when the doors were opened. Miss Marie stood up tall in the doorway. "What did I hear you say?" She looked at the instigator with a piercing eye of contempt; then scanned the tops of all the heads, avoiding looking into their eyes. They were all cold and hungry and probably hadn't had a good-nights sleep in God knows how long. She understood that. But she couldn't understand the lack of compassion that pulsed through all of them. They sometimes acted like a pack of wolves and that's when this job would wear on her nerves. Suddenly, her voice thundered as she preached.
"This man—I will call him Number 13—this man is in this place at this particular time because the LORD above—and ONLY the LORD has pre-ordained it to be that way! None of you knows his story. I don't know his story—but the LORD knows his story!" She paused for a moment to ponder what she would say next. "Everybody's got a story and I know, the LORD knows your story too; but sometimes, especially when you see—plain as day—you are a little better off than some—that's when the LORD expects you to yield to those less fortunate."
When she said the word, "yield" it came out in a loud boom, like a Pentecostal preacher healing an afflicted sinner.
Averting her eyes from the weary faces to the beautiful blue sky above, she waited for the Spirit to wash over her and give her a message. She couldn't have picked a more perfect time—as divine providence would have it—she splayed open her arms just as the sun rose above the buildings, sending rays of warmth from above and providing just the right amount of flash for her performance. She waited a few more seconds, then she grinned from ear to ear and belly-laughed. They all wondered what was going on when she began to shout, "Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can you make it salty again? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with each other. Mark; chapter 9, verse 50."
The crowd was dumbfounded. Some of them scoffed at her, shaking their heads and wondering how much more they would have to tolerate before they got inside the door. Others nodded in agreement and smiled, because they knew that Miss Marie always had a few words of Scripture to offer on distribution days.
Just as quickly as the Spirit went into Miss Marie, it also went out.
"Listen up!" she barked; then looking down she noticed they were all out of order again.
"You people wouldn't last a day in the military! Now, straighten up that line!"
She stepped back from the threshold and allowed the next twelve people inside. Number 13 shuffled by her and she noticed that he didn't look like the others who lived in their clothes and were lucky if they got to shower once a month. He was clean shaven and acted as if he knew exactly where to go, while the others followed behind him. When the twelve had passed through, Miss Marie had to push a few people back out into the parking lot. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be," she scolded. "We've only got so many volunteers, so we can only take in a dozen at a time. Now, wait your turn."
She was always firm, yet kind. Most of the people in the line had listened to her barking before; but she was beginning to see more and more new faces. She knew this was not a good sign; but she also knew that God always has a plan for our good. She suspected that some people were going to have a hard time accepting God's discipline; but an economic downturn was no news to most of these people. They had already been experiencing it for some time.
She was one of the lucky ones. She had a job and a warm bed to slip into at night. She had food in her belly and she had heat. Her sister up north was enduring one of the harshest winters in years, and Marie knew that it was only by the grace of God that she was so blessed. He had plucked her from her life of sin and turned her stiff neck around and made her see that the reason her life was so messed up was because she hadn't been giving Him his due; and from the moment she made the decision to turn her life around, she began seeing blessings and encountering angels every which way she turned. She could feel the Spirit inside her and tried to walk consistently with it. But sometimes it was hard. She saw so much hate in the eyes of hurting people. She was well aware that the devil was good at deceiving the needy. That's where he recruited most of his army; exploiting them with his false promises. What bothered her was that some days it seemed that the devil was winning the war. She wished there was something she could do to turn the tide, but she wasn't qualified. All she could do was offer her Scripture citations on distribution days.
Marie was a loner. Outside of the people she associated with at the mission, she didn't have any friends; so after work and on weekends she stayed home, reading her Bible and praying for all the lost souls wandering around from bread line to soup kitchen looking for a hot meal. On the days that she volunteered, she would usually help with crowd control because of her military experience. And she would often surprise the people waiting out there in the elements: the poor and the destitute; the oppressed and degraded. When the Spirit moved her, she got on an imaginary soapbox and preached to a captive audience. She understood that most sinners don't take kindly to preaching. Back when she was a sinner—a full-throttle sinner—nothing hurt her ears more than someone quoting Scripture; the reason being she knew it was the truth and she didn't want to be made aware of her shame. She also understood these people weren't going anywhere. If they were truly hungry they'd stay and listen, and just maybe some of them would be reached; not only for the Lord, but for their own sakes.
As the morning passed and the line dwindled down, Marie peered out over the rag-tag few that remained and decided she didn't need to throw her weight around anymore; so she propped a folding chair up in front of the door and sat down. The sun was now high in the sky and the warmth felt good on her bones. She leaned back and turned her face up toward the sunlight, closing her eyes and breathing in through her nostrils. She sat quietly, inhaling deeply and slowly letting each breath gradually escape through her pursed lips as if it was her last expiration. The longer she practiced the technique, the longer and deeper each inhalation became.
She understood the plight of these people. She had been there many times, herself; and it was no fluke that she was in this place on this given day, because she understood there was no such thing as coincidence with God. She was back on solid ground now; but there were many times God ignored her cries for help; probably because she was praying for the wrong things. In a mode of true self-loathing she had consistently dared God to take her out of her miserable existence. But God, in His infinite wisdom decided to put her through the proverbial wringer first. After all the life's blood was squeezed out of her, she came out on the other side, all crinkled and twisted up with the other laundry. Now she was clean and alive and intent on staying that way. It was only by His amazing grace that she managed to stand again. It had not been easy. She chuckled, sitting there with her eyes closed and the corners of her mouth upturned in a slight smile of contentment. It only took me fifty-seven years, she thought. There's no tellin' where I'd be today if I'd never strayed. Hell, I might be living in a mansion on a hill.
A few minutes later, her reverie was interrupted by someone scurrying up to her, blocking the sunlight and stepping on her toes in the process.
"What the heck!" She opened her eyes to find Number 13 standing there, his knees up against hers. He just stood there, clenching his fists and shifting his weight back and forth nervously. He didn't say anything.
She said sharply, "Can I help you," and quickly assumed the role of jail warden again. He just stared at her.
"I said, 'Can I help you?'" This time she was a little louder.
He began making small guttural sounds beneath his breath and shuffled from side to side, conjuring up a sense of alarm. His fisted hands turned clockwise, like a plane captain signaling a pilot to start his engines.
She looked into his eyes for a minute, her face taking on all sorts of contortions and confused expressions—then she said, "Bruce? Is that you?"
His face became transformed in a wide grin and his eyes lit up like amber stars. He drooled a little as he mumbled and smiled at her and Marie could tell he was frustrated that he couldn't communicate.
She cupped his face in her hands, searching for a glimmer of lucidity and wondered what in the world had happened to him.
Bruce had been her supervisor when she worked at the Navy Imaging Center. They had gone out on the town together a couple of times and he had made some moves on her, but she was never interested in him like that. He was a real sweet guy; but he had a serious drinking problem. She remembered that he stuttered a little and was timid and introverted when he was sober. When he was drinking, he found the courage to talk, but those were the times she had advised him that he shouldn't.
He had been exploited by a couple of ex-wives and Marie knew it was because Bruce was too good for his own good. She had taken him on as her sidekick for a while, introducing him to other friends, to try to get him out of his shell. Then she got transferred up north and lost track of him. She did remember him calling her when he retired. He said he was going home to Rochester.
She sat back in her chair and sighed, "What's it been...about 14 years?"
Bruce mumbled at her, waving his hands around and nodding his head up and down.
She looked around, trying to make sense of it; then said, "Do you live around here somewhere?"
He grinned and nodded again.
"Well, do you want to show me where? I mean, after I get off this distribution line? It should only be a few more minutes."
He nodded again and his face sobered a little as he shuffled over to a brick wall and gathered up two plastic bags of food.
Marie let the remaining stragglers in the door and folded up her chair and took it inside. She told Bruce she had to close the door, then added, "Don't leave. I'll be right back."
She walked over to the table where they had all registered and asked the volunteer if she could see the sheet. She scanned down to #13 and in handwriting much like any doctor, she read "They call me Bruce...Proctor!" She giggled slightly because that had always been the way he answered his telephone. She thought he was making reference to a movie character or something. The address he had listed was just around the corner on Myrtle Street, but she couldn't read the numbers. His handwriting had always been hard to read; she didn't know how it was possible, but now it was worse.
Marie told the lady at the desk that she was leaving and grabbed a purse and thermos from a cabinet by the door. As she opened the door the bright sunlight blinded her for a second and she looked around to find him shuffling halfway up the street.
"Hey! Wait!" she shouted.
He didn't seem to hear her and kept moving away.
She rushed around the side of the building and jumped into a silver VW wagon, starting the car as fast as she could, trying not to lose sight of him as she waited to pull out of the lot. Cars always whizzed up and down State Street and Myrtle was a few blocks south. As she caught up with him, she had to slow down a bit and try not to get creamed by the cars behind her. She rolled down the window.
"Bruce! Bruce!" He didn't respond.
She drove on past him and turned to the south on Jefferson, which was just about as busy as State but there was a place to pull off to the side. She waited. When he turned the corner a few minutes later, he squinted briefly and just as she was trying to get his attention, he turned his face to the ground. Marie was getting frustrated.
"Hey! Bruce!" She was practically standing on her head; still there was no response.
Under her breath she muttered, what the hell has happened to him? She could only imagine; the devil ran rampant on these mean streets.
He walked up to what looked like a boarding house at the corner of Jefferson and Myrtle. It had a large wrap-around porch with planted ferns and a porch swing. He climbed up to the top of the front steps and turned around and sat down; and began rummaging through his bags of food.
Marie put the car in drive and merged out in the traffic, slowly turning onto Myrtle and looking for a parking spot. She spied one about half way down the block, so she parked and walked back up the street to find him still sitting there. His food was laid out on the porch in different piles like a kid separating his Halloween loot. Marie cautiously climbed the stairs and took a seat a few steps below him. He looked up at her and grinned; then proceeded to categorize his food. There was something disconcerting with him. He didn't seem to notice that he had left her 20 minutes before and 3 city blocks away. He acted as if she was expected to be there, and he was calm. Marie helped him out a little, like they were solving a jigsaw puzzle.
"Instant rice...I think that goes with the simple carbs. And the peanut butter goes in the protein pile, with the nuts and canned meats." He made corrections according to her instructions, and she knew he could comprehend what she was saying. He just couldn't communicate back to her.
She slowly took his hand and smiled. His demeanor was like that of a young boy; kind of shy but blissfully happy. I'd give anything to be like you, she thought.
She got up and walked across the porch to find the double screen doors unlocked. "Hey. Is anybody home?" she cried. It sounded like she was speaking into a tin can and the message was coming through loud and clear on the other end of a wide hallway. A voice shot back.
"Be right there!"
Marie turned around and watched Bruce as he played with his treasure. She was hoping that someone could fill in the missing pieces for her.
"Can I help you?"
She looked back toward the door at about the same time a young, black woman stepped out onto the porch. She was very petite and pretty, even though she had her hair pulled up in a bandana and was wearing a duster and black flats.
"Hi! My name is Ms. Marie," she said as she offered a handshake.
The young girl nodded. "Sorry, I've had my hands in chicken grease and flour or I would shake your hand." She wiped her hands on her apron then wiped her brow. "What can I do for you...Ms. Marie, you said?"
"Yes. I work down at the shelter at State and Laura. Well, I volunteer down there. And this morning this gentleman made sure he got my attention; and it turns out I know him from several years ago. But I must say he was in a little bit better shape than this the last time I saw him. You wouldn't happen to know what brought him here, would you?" She paused a minute, then continued. "We were pretty good friends. I rented him a room for a while. It's just hard for me to see him like this and I want to make sure he's okay."
She knew she wasn't letting the girl get a word in and was probably putting her on the spot, but there wasn't enough time for politeness. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to interrogate you, but I'm just curious. Everybody always tells me I come off like a detective."
"To tell you the truth, Miss Marie, I don't really know very much about Bruce. I just work in the kitchen, but the woman who runs this halfway house said that he had some sort of brain aneurysm, I think—something like that. Anyway, he can't drive because of it and he was living alone until a few months ago when his brother brought him here."
Marie looked at her with a sideways glance. "You don't say? Was his name Neil, by any chance?"
The young girl smiled and said, "Yes, ma'am...that was his name. He was very nice; he said he was a nurse. He had tried to take care of Bruce for several years, but it got to be too much when his wife left him and all."
"Oh, he said his wife was gone, did he? That sounds about right." Marie was looking out at the traffic now, forming her conclusions about what had transpired. She remembered Neil. He was a user...and he was real good at it, especially with his brother. The last she'd seen Neil, he was married with three boys. His wife was a lousy homemaker, and looked like she was only in the nursing business so she could get her hands on pharmaceuticals.
The girl bent down and got Bruce's attention. "Let's put it in the bag now and get it up to your room. Okay?" She didn't need to shout. She just made sure he could read her lips.
Like an obedient child, he gathered up his toys and scurried into the house.
She stood up and looked at Miss Marie. "I'm sorry. My name is Bernadette. My friends call me Bernie. You don't have to worry about Bruce. This is a pretty good house. The woman that runs it is like a drill sergeant. Most of the tenants respond well to her, and Bruce seems happy. Sometimes he'll sit out here on the porch and play checkers with one of the other tenants. He won't venture off for just any reason. But Miss Lucille lets him have his freedom. She says they are all grown adults and the more you treat them like children, the less they learn to do for themselves. Besides, a lot of these guys around here look out for him."
Marie sidled toward the steps. "Well, Bernie..." She paused and took a deep breath. "I reckon that answers all my questions. Bruce is very meek and I know people have a tendency to take advantage of him." She stopped and closed her eyes and took in another deep breath through her nostrils. "Sometimes I wish I could be like him. Scripture says you have to be like little children if you ever expect to see the face of God. It's hard for me to remember what it's like to have the peace and disposition of a child—being in awe of everything God made—and not yet corrupted by evil. Bruce has always loved everybody; even those that used him. He didn't care. He loved them and that was what was important."
Bernie followed her down the steps.
Miss Marie continued. "I see a lot of things wrong in this world and I know I don't have any say in the big scheme of things; but I don't like to see nice people get pushed around. Anyway, I sure am glad that he made me recognize him. It was kind of like seeing a ghost. One minute he was there—after so many years—then suddenly he was gone again."
Bernie smiled and said, "Well, now that you know where he is, you need to come back sometime."
"Oh, I'll be back. It's kind of nice to have a friend that will just sit with you quietly and not put any demands on you."
On the way back to her car, Marie got a strange sensation; then tears came out of nowhere and streamed down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her hands, trying to get in touch with what was going on inside her heart. Reaching the car, she got in behind the wheel and sat there thinking. She had been on her own for so long, she forgot what it was like to have an unconditional friend. Bruce had always been that to her and she was certain that God had put him back in her life for a reason.
They had both been so ambitious earlier in life, trying to get promoted in rank, hoping to last for twenty years and retire with a decent pension. Things in her life had done a complete about face and it looked to her as if Bruce's life had too. But she envied him, in a strange way. He seemed so unaffected by the world around him; yet engrossed in the smallest details on a cereal box. He was able to live in this world without worrying about acceptance or belonging. She saw him as the purest example of a child of God and she wanted to be that way, too; but life had burdened her with too many disappointments and regrets. As much as she loved the Lord, she never felt completely free from the baggage. Lately she had begun to accept it as her cross to bear, but she still yearned for that freedom from care that Bruce had found.
As she started the car she sighed and spoke aloud to herself, "Oh well, I guess God's not done with me yet."
She pulled out into the traffic and headed toward the interstate, thinking of how good it was going to feel in heaven. She felt confident she was on her way. Her kids' lives were settling down, she was maturing in her faith, and the work at the mission gave her a sense of purpose. She knew her Scripture well enough to know that we are called by God to suffer. She just needed to fasten her gaze on that attainable horizon. Perhaps she could get Bruce to help her down at the mission. He would be able to help with crowd control.
The following Tuesday, Marie was back at the mission, standing at her post, barking orders at the unruly crowd. The weather was a little warmer and the trees were beginning to burst forth with spring. The birds were singing and the pigeons gathered in the adjacent lot waiting for crumbs of any kind.
Suddenly she shouted, "Listen up!" and the crowd began to groan.
Miss Marie smiled and said, "Now, don't start your whining. I'm not going to Bible thump today; but I do want to share with you the good things that the Lord is doing in my life." She motioned for Bruce to come over and stand beside her.
"Last week, some of you might remember Number 13. Now, I didn't realize this until later in the day, but Number 13 here is an old friend of mine from my Navy days." Bruce dropped his head and acted embarrassed.
"This here is one of the sweetest people you'll ever meet. Let me introduce Mr. Bruce Proctor. He taught me everything I ever knew about photography." She paused and looked around. Everyone was quiet and hanging on her every word. "Bruce is going to start helping me here at the mission, so I want you all to know who he is and I expect you to show him respect." The crowd muttered comments to each other and nodded their heads.
"It turns out, Bruce had a brain aneurysm and almost died, but the EMT's arrived in time to save him. I had been wondering for years what had happened to him. Well, until recently his brother was taking care of him until he couldn't do it anymore. Now, there are no accidents with God. He knew what he was doing when he took Bruce out of my life; and I swear to you He knew what He was doing when He brought him back. So the message that I want to share with you today is this: it's up to us to wait on the Lord to see what He will do with our lives. No matter how difficult life gets, we need to soldier on and anticipate the wonderful things the Lord will do for us—because He will keep His promises. You may not think so, but He will not forget your name and He will not forsake you. And as long as you believe that—believe it and cherish it in your heart—one of these days, He's going to give you such a big surprise, you're going to laugh out loud and slap your knees, because you will be flabbergasted at the magnitude of His love and compassion. He will bring you angels that will heal you, in body and soul. He will send His Holy Spirit, the great comforter, to give you peace. So, just remember, when He does that for you, you will then have a responsibility to proclaim your testimony to others. You must pay it forward and keep the work of the Lord going, by encouraging those less-fortunate than you, so that you will keep God's love alive."
As she stepped aside to open the door, the crowd was very calm and orderly and lined up in single file. Miss Marie counted off and Bruce patted each person on the shoulder and ushered them inside the door. She said, "Small is the gate and narrow is the road that leads to life; and only a few find it. Matthew 7:14."
