God’s Cathedral::Chapter One

The sky is a black shell, an arched vault over God’s handmade cathedral. Small holes let in specks of light from heaven, and the occasional rain storm. These are the nights I feel as though I truly believe. I lean back in the plastic pool chair and let the water run over the majority of my body. A few of the apartment complex windows glow in the dark night. I wonder if those people are drinking, enjoying friendships, or watching T.V. alone. I wonder if any of them believe. I wish I did.

Every Sunday I wake up and dress for church. I attend both the bible study and the worship service of my small church. My paper thin smile never wavers. It is especially rigid when he’s around.

Less than a year ago I sat on the edge of my bed crying. Austin nervously perched next to me, wiping the  tears from my face as if doing so would wipe away the past. He spoke constantly, explaining that he was a terrible boyfriend and did not deserve me…maybe later we can get back together, but no matter what we have to stay friends! We are too close to let this silly change of titles stand in the way of our friendship. And who knows! I’ll probably regret this in a week and come running right back to you.

They were all lies. Just more of his meaningless and manipulative words. Words more said to ease his conscience rather than comfort my broken heart.

For the past few months my head has replayed a constant stream of questions: a lot of “whys” without a single “because” to answer them. I am mad: mad at God for taking away him whom I love most dearly, and mad at myself for creating so many dreams and fantasies around him. For months I screamed questions into heaven, wrote them down furiously in my journal, and cried them to my closest friend, and when no answer came I wondered if anyone was there listening. Then he started to ignore me, even as he sat next to me in the pew. He tolerated me, at least at church. Others might have been fooled but I could see the annoyance of my presence on his face. His eyes slightly narrowing, his lips pull to the left. Those days I got used to that look. And I wondered if God even cared.

Slowly life returned to normal. We seemed to be friends again. I could sit next to him without that tight feeling in my chest, squeezing at my lungs and making it hard to breathe. No more running off to the restroom pretending to fix my make up or blow my nose just to regain composure. The questions were still there, but the pain had dulled. Now it is only a ghost of a feeling, haunting me in the emptiness of night.

The first of May ended that semester that seemed to arise from hell. The end of  May brings summer school and finds me alone at the University. Austin has returned to our hometown and I am ready to move on.  Some new clothes, a new apartment, maybe a new boyfriend will come my way and I will  forget the past. God failed me during my junior year but maybe He’ll bless this final lap. As I lay in the water I decide that the new semester will bring happiness. If not then at least it will keep me busy, my mind free of Austin.

It’s two A.M.  The summer session starts tomorrow. I stand, wrap a towel around my waist, and take one last look into the sky. Maybe God will tell me something…

“Maybe even a shooting star to tell me that You are there for me.” I wait. Nothing. The stars remain still.

“Why would God do that for you? You barely know him,” I whisper to the palm trees surrounding the sun deck. I pick up my book and keys and returned to my apartment. As I near the door I hear the roommates laughing. I open the door and notice the smell of alcohol wafting through the room as the new freshmen down margaritas and bemoaned the loss of summer as they know it. Of course summer will continue on; summer courses are always a joke, the teachers are just as annoyed as the students that they are trapped in cold, dark lecture halls instead of browning themselves in the sun. It is the idea of effort aside from darkening their tans that annoys these girls. They will get over it after the first week, once they realize that summer school means one has to put in about two hours of effort a day. They will then join the more seasoned students out at the pool, smoking cigarettes and hiding boxed wine in dark water bottles, flirting with anything male and interested.

A polite request of quiet is voiced. This prompts the three girls and handful of boys to relocate. What good luck. I close the bedroom door, slip on a robe after hanging my bathing suit in the shower, and check email. The room is hot, the Texas heat still clings to the walls despite the frantic whirling of the AC. I drop my robe next to my bed and climb in half fearing the happy dreams that await my tired mind. The kind of dreams that leave one feeling depressed when one wakes up to find them gone. Like all good things in my life, they will only be a memory.

***

The lecture hall is empty when I arrive. Thirty minutes remain. I climb the shallow steps up to the top row and sit down right in the middle. The lecture hall is notorious for the tight rows of cushioned seats; people have to climb over legs to get across the rows. Anyone of average height has to pull their legs in just to keep their knees from hitting the head of the person in front of them. Now situated, I pull out a small book.

It is a truth universally acknowledge, that a single man in possesion of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. I snort under my breath, ”So hopes most of the girls in this college.”

“Pardon?” A male voice startles me. I look up quickly to find a tall man standing just a few seats away. He continues to walk towards me.

“Oh,” I feel my face getting hot; I’m sure I’m bright red. Might as well fess up. “Pride and Prejudice. Jane Austen makes a sarcastic comment about societal assumptions regarding marriage. I think many women at this school are banking on the hope that it is true.”

“But not you…” He smirks at me, but sits down in the seat just to my left. Jerk. I decide to ignore the comment as I  am too busy looking around at all the empty seats. There are only two other people here. That means at least 195 seats other than the two next to me are available.  Why did he sit down next to me! Can’t you see that I’m busy reading and am not inviting company?  I sigh quietly, yet loud enough to let him know that I am annoyed.

“It’s a great book,” He starts. Either he didn’t hear me or he’s ignoring my distress.

“I know,” I quip hoping the rude tone will discourage any further conversation. I  pull the book back up and lean into the empty seat to my right. I assume he is only trying to impress, like other guys I know. They pretend to enjoy the novel, but having never read it, the only impression they leave is one of stupidity and shallowness.

“I like Mr. Collins. Such a poor representation of the church…or maybe he’s not. Anyway, I like him all the same.”

“Hmmm…” I pull the book closer to my face.

“Caroline is so funny. Completely ridiculous in her pursuit of Darcy and unaware that her persistence only pushes him farther away from her.” Out of the corner of my eye I notice him turn towards me . “I’m sorry I’m probably giving away the story.”

“No. I’m quite familiar with the plot. I’ve read this book seven times,” OK so that was a bit smug, but what can I do?

“Oh! I’ve only read it twice.” He states. I only sigh. It’s obvious the man doesn’t know how to take a hint. Even if he does care about this book I’m not interested. “I’m sorry. I’m distracting you. I’ll let you read.”

“Thank you,” I try to say it as politely as possible but I think I over do it a bit. As I start to read again a small whiff of cologne meets my nose. I know that smell; that’s Austin’s cologne. Oh my gosh, what if he’s here? I look around hoping he’s not and yet, begging God that he is. Nope. I don’t see him. It must be this guy. I finally turn and look at him. “I’m sorry this is a weird question, but what cologne are you wearing?”

“Um…something from Lacoste. I don’t really know. It was a recent gift and I just tried it today.”

“It’s ‘Essential’.”

“Yeah that’s it!” He smiles. “Does your boyfriend wear it?”

“My Ex.”

“Hmmm…do I need to move.” His tone playful, a tinge sarcastic.

“No, I’m fine. It was a long time ago.”

“They always are…” he looks away and pulls out his notebook. I notice his features as he writes the date on his paper. He could be handsome. At least his profile is. His hair is dark and has a slight wave. A bit long, but neat. Faded Lacoste Polo. Hint of a beard. Clean cut, but with a slight edge. Confident. He’s got to be older. He seems unashamed, but of what I’m not sure.

Class begins and I am soon lost in the slides of medieval cathedrals. I scribble notes furiously, not wanting to miss a single word that comes from the diminutive professor up front. Despite my lack of faith I seem to be  passionately interested in religious buildings, inhabitable sculptures.  The earthly representation of the Heavenly City of Jerusalem, or so the teacher barks as she flips through another slide. Even if I don’t fully believe in a Heavenly Father I do believe that those who have the courage to do so deserve a beautiful place to worship, a building that points them to their true citizenship.

“It was nice talking to you,” the dark haired man says as the class stands and hurries to the small exits.

“Yeah…um, my name is Sapphira.” I stick out my hand in an effort to make up for the previous behavior, which I am now regretting.

“Beautiful.”

“Excuse me?” I blink. Maybe the whole Pride and Prejudice commentary really was a sophisticated pick up line.

“Beautiful. Sapphira means beautiful.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” I glance at my hands. Awkward.

“She also lied and God struck her dead so be careful.” He smiles mischievously. I blanch–no wonder God had been cursing me!

“My name is Thomas.”

“Well I don’t know what that means, but I do like that name.”

“Oh, I’m glad!” He checks his watch. “I’m sorry to run off but I’m late for my next appointment. It was nice meeting you!”

“You too,” I call out to him as he pushes through the crowd and runs out the door. “Probably doesn’t want to stand next to me for fear of being struck down too.”

The guy next to me looks at me funny. I really need to stop talking out loud.