Page 28 - WTP Vol. XI #6

Imago Dei (continued from preceding page)
around her, and it is though Allison can feel the coiling inside her begin to move onto Esther’s arms. Allison tenses; she will not allow Esther to be taken by the thing that Allison has never-endingly fought to keep in her skin, cutting little portals for it to breathe so that it would not choke her to death. Esther holds her tighter.
“I saw you leave. And I knew I needed to follow you.” Esther whispers, in the tone of a prayer. Esther does not let go of her. She is warm. Allison is shivering. Esther does not move away from the grime on her.
Allison understands: the Knowledge that she needed to walk forward also told Esther to leave, to follow the lost sheep to the sprinklers.
“I don’t want to die,” Allison breathes the words out onto the wind, “but I’m so tired. And I’m so alone.”
Once again, the voice grows, turning the cavern of her soul to stone, to rivers, to the ocean itself. You are not alone. I Am here.
“I’m here, Allison.”
The voice calls Allison onto the deep waters, and as
she sobs in Esther’s arms, Esther goes with her onto the endless tide of her deep aching. Time resumes. They stand listening to the distant worship’s dying song list end and knowing that they will have to find a way to disguise Allison’s deep sorrow into teenage pranks. Allison knows that she will live, and that living will be the great tragedy she carries for the rest of her life. Even as they stand,
she feels the tension return around her shoulders, the heaviness of the shadow of death, and walks forward, her feet dragging their way back to somewhere warm. As she walks, she knows the shadow is around her, but she is only inside it, and the weight she carries is not hers to carry alone. Esther squeezes her hand once more and pulls her up the flat, curved stairs to the entrance, where she will once again live. She will not tell Carly what happened, but she will not need to. Carly will know, and she will throw her borrowed beige hoodie to the side before squeezing Allison to her, and Allison will remain standing. She and Esther will think of the mud on their limbs like silt from the Jordan River, will not ever speak of that night again. Allison reaches the doorway and sees the broken crackers and tiny cups of juice, abandoned on the back table, and she is sure she will never starve again; she will eat and eat and eat until she is satisfied.
Turner is a writer and musician from Maui, Hawai’i. Her work has been published in Barren Magazine, Hawai’i Pacific Review, The Adirondack Review, The Other Journal, Blood and Bourbon, and Abstract Magazine amongst others. She is currently pursuing a PhD in English Literature and lives on the Seacoast of New Hampshire.
21
Ubering Toward Bethlehem
oil on panel
48 ''x 72 1/2'' x 1 1/2'' By G Alan Stewart