I AM THE STAINED ONE -Fiction

I am the Stained One

How could one unopened envelope bring me this much anxiety? The penmanship alone makes my heart race to deadly speeds. It's like the grave opens with the dead desperately crawling back into my life. Except, he had never died, only in my heart.

"Why are you such a hard-hearted prick?"

Dexter, my son's words echo in the chambers of my soul. "I've spent my life pleasing you. Honor role. Student body president. Scouts. I've done it all. I never did drugs. I never violated curfew. And yet, you are willing to abandon me?"

He thought he could erase the most grievous of sins by listing his accomplishments.

"If you pick this path, then none of that matters. If you inflict such pain upon your mother, then you are dead to me." I retaliated.

"So, this is it?"

"I guess so. This is your choice, not mine."

We stared at each other as his twenty-two years passed between us.

"This is who I am. I am done hiding."

My fists balled up. My jaw tightened as I pointed to the door. I recall that I had clenched my jaw so tightly that I couldn't open it the following day.

Tears streamed down Dexter's face. I had always hated how soft he was, crying at every little thing. Now it made sense.

I couldn't take the theatrics anymore. Those tears reminded me of all the signs that had led up to this moment.

"Then go. What are you waiting for!" I yelled, pointing to the door.

My son Dexter ran out of his childhood forever with a yelp that sounded like an injured animal.

I should have cared. I should have stopped him. But he had sinned against God, me, and, most damaging, his mother.

So, I built a wall around my emotions and closed my life and heart to him.

Now, after twenty years of silence, I sit here with this package. I peel the envelope off, and it shakes in my hand. I don't have the stamina to do this. I want to throw it in the garbage and return to my day. I have a tee time scheduled and need to leave in ten minutes if I am going to make it. My clubs call my name from the entryway.

I turn the envelope over several times in my hands. Twenty years and Dexter's handwriting has stayed the same. My fingers trace his name.

Dexter Palmer.

When was the last time I thought about him? It probably has been a few years. My life went on without him as if he hadn't existed. But he had.

He had been the joy of my world and the reason for living for my wife, Marge. She never forgave me for kicking him out, yet she never forgave Dexter for the pain.

I grab a letter opener and slowly slice open the envelope. I pull out an invitation.

Not what I expected. I guess I thought it would be a card from Dexter, begging my forgiveness.

The Happy Couple Announces

Their Wedding

At

Christ's Church of the Lamb

I study the picture of Dexter leaning against a wall, embraced by some dude.

I chuck the card, but it doesn't go far as it lands next to my foot.

I thought he was begging for my forgiveness. After twenty years, this is what he sends?

I storm out of the house with my golf clubs.

After a lousy game of golf, I can't return home, knowing that card waits for me. I drive to the coast and rent an Airbnb to hide. Although the brilliant sunset and perfect weather create a lovely evening, I cannot enjoy it.

When I return home, the card greets me as if it stayed up all night waiting for me.

I ignore its presence most of the day, but my thoughts keep drawing to it. Finally, I pick the damnable card up.

I had hoped with a little time, the image would change, and Dexter would be embracing a woman.

But it didn't, to spite me.

I study Dexter. He doesn't look like the spindly young man who left my home. That kid is gone. There he is, filled out. He is middle-aged now. How shocking that he looks so much like I did at that age. He has graying hair around his temple. At least his hair hasn't thinned like mine.

I try not to observe the dude he lovingly gazes at. I drop the invitation to the ground.

He is marrying at forty-two. That is kind of late for a first marriage, isn't it? Maybe this isn't his first marriage. Perhaps he is on his second or third.

I finally allow curiosity to win as I open the box Dexter sent. My hand shifts in papers.

An article in the newspaper says, Local Doctor takes prosthetics to India. A younger Dexter stands surrounded by smiling children in India. His kindness emanates in the picture.

I pull out a medical journal that has a tag marking page 34. It is an article written by Dexter about a surgery to straighten scoliosis.

I pull out three more medical journal articles Dexter published.

I hold several prestigious awards for Dexter from Hospitals. He even included his Eagle Scout. I remember how much time Marge had spent helping him get his Eagle.

I can't help but feel pride for Dexter. He has made something amazing of his life.

-A doctor of some kind. Wow! Those are bragging rights for any dad. I wish Marge were alive to see all this. It might have brought her peace.

I pick up the wedding invitation and look at it again.

Sure, Dexter has made something of himself, but he is about to marry a man. How can I accept that? Am I supposed to let his boyfriend into my home? Let them share a bed together? I can't even stomach the image of introducing this dude to all my friends, "...and this is my son's husband."

Venomously I shake my head.

I can't!

I won't!

At church, I nod to sleep during the sermon when the priest says something that grabs my attention.

"Stop mourning the child you lost!"

Silence. A cough from behind me.

Am I mourning Dexter? I don't think so.

"Rejoice in the child that you have."

His words strike my very spirit.

"Rejoice in the child that you have."

Dexter turned out to be a model citizen. He took prosthetics to India. In shame, I realize he's more of a Christian than me.

"Rejoice in the child that you have."

Can I rejoice in the child I have? For the last twenty years, I have built hate around Dexter. When he came out of the closet, I stopped loving. I stopped caring. Can I rejoice in this child?

"Stop mourning the child you lost!" I suppose I have mourned the child that I have lost. I wanted Dexter to be the son I had raised and more. I didn't want a gay son.

During the night, I wrestle God.

Deep, painful sorrow wracks my soul.

What had I done?

Dexter was a poster child. He had only brought Marge and me happiness during his childhood. I should have been with him every step of his life, pouring out unbiased love.

My vision blurs as the fire of my sin consumes me.

It is I who had sinned.

It was me!

I will never be able to undo the past.

I will never get those lost twenty years back.

I walk into the church with a heavy heart, aware of my stained soul.

I sit through a lovely ceremony, remembering when Marge and I married, and I miss her. The preacher said beautiful things about love and commitment. She would be here with me if Marge were alive, supporting our son.

And then, the moment grasps me.

The ceremony ends as Dexter stands there with his new husband, hand-in-hand. When Dexter looks up, tears stream down his face as he launches his body into my arms.

"Dad, you made it. You made it," he sobs.

And there, in my arms, I hold my world.

My son.

My progenitor.

And I let the love of God fall upon my heart.

Instantly, I abandon my fallen dreams. I surrender twenty years of disappointment.

I release Dexter of my expectations. It was selfish of me to place conditions on him. He shouldn't have to do anything to earn my love. I love him for Dexter.

I rejoice in the son I have!

I wish Marge were here.

May God, Dexter, and Kevin forgive me for my grievous sins of judgment.

I turn to Kevin, my son's new husband.

"Welcome to the family, son," I say to Kevin as I pull him in for a hug, and the three of us embrace as our family heals

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I Am the Stained One

by Stephanie Daich.

WARRIOR WOMAN -Poetry

As they prove their worth each day,

As they fight instead of play,

As they leave the traditional role,

A position under man’s control.

The warrior woman trains to fight.

Honing discipline, strong and tight.

Sweeping in, they make a place.

For the freedom we embrace.

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Warrior Woman

by Stephanie Daich

GREAT AUNT BILLY -Fiction

Great Aunt Billy

I tried to suppress it. I did. My hands clutched the video controller to numb the sorrow that robbed me of life's joy. My body jerked around as I played Lord Valdez, my favorite video game. The game did not replace the friends I missed. We used to make blanket forts and have slumber parties every weekend. But, the last two years had isolated most of us in our homes because of the pandemic. I missed life. I missed living.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Mom's muffled voice called, "Trevor, are you in your room?" I threw my blanket over my head. I didn't want her to see my tears.

"Hey, can I come in?" Mom didn't wait for an answer as she pushed open the door. She took the blanket off of my head. I had just managed to wipe the tears away and tried to smile. I don't think she bought it. She ran her hand through my hair. I inhaled her smell of lavender body wash.

"Hey, I think it would do you some good to get outside. Do you want to go on a hike?"

My attention perked. "Yes!"

Mom cleared her throat. "It won't be with me."

"Then who?"

Her eyes darted around before resting on me. "Your Great Aunt Billy."

"What? I don't have a Great Aunt Billy."

Mom put her arm around my shoulder, and I melted into her. "Great Aunt Billy is actually my aunt. You are going to love her."

"Just Billy and me?"

"Yes."

"No. That sounds weird."

"Listen, I understand how uncomfortable that might feel. Great Aunt Billy is such an amazing woman."

"How come I have never heard of her then?"

Mom squeezed me tight. "That is my fault. I should have told you my stories about her. "

"Why have I never met her?"

"Because we moved thousands of miles from her. She always asks me about you. When I was your age, she used to pick me up at least once a month. She was my world. When my parents divorced, Aunt Billy got me through it. Give her a chance. You will love her."

I doubt that.

She picked me up in her car. As I climbed in, Aunt Billy shoved empty fast-food bags into the backseat. The passenger seat had cat hair all over it. Who lived like that?

This is so weird. I don't want to go with this stranger.

        Aunt Billy patted the front seat, "You can sit up here with me."

I considered it, but somehow my legs carried me into the back with all the garbage. As she drove, Aunt Billy chattered nonstop, trying to fill every dead space of conversation. It surprised me that she had brown, not white hair. She didn't look like a great aunt to me. I had pictured someone old enough to have a dinosaur for a pet still. Yet, Aunt Billy could have been the age of some of my schoolteachers.

Yack. Yack. Yack. Aunt Billy hardly took a moment for air. I enjoyed being out of the house but felt like a prisoner to this strange aunt. To make it worse, she had a smelly tree hanging from her mirror that I could taste. I hope she didn't see me spit on the floor.

Eventually, Aunt Billy stopped deep in the mountains, somewhere no one would ever find my body after she killed me.

"I used to take your mom hiking all the time," Aunt Billy said as I climbed out of the car.

As we started up the long switchback, my legs immediately screamed inside—this hurts. I hadn't realized how out of shape I had become over the last two years of isolation. Slowly, I climbed the mountain. Maybe Aunt Billy would tire of my pace, and we could go back. But she patiently waited for me, always talking, as if she thought I had listened.

"What grade are you in, again?" She asked.

"Seventh," I said between long breaths. She could talk and hike at the same time. I could hardly breathe, and I was the young one.

After we had hiked Mount Everest twice, she stopped in an opening of trees.

"They call this a meadow," she said, sounding like a teacher spouting knowledge at me. "He lets me rest in the meadow grass and leads me beside the quiet streams. He gives me new strength. He helps me do what honors him the most."

"Is that a poem?" I asked as I sat next to the stream. Water rushed by with a song of serenity. I lived on a noisy street and heard cars, sirens, and horns every second of my day. I loved how we couldn't hear anything up here except nature.

"The Bible. I was quoting Psalms 23:3-5," Aunt Billy said.

What is salms? I didn't care enough to ask.

Aunt Billy glided her fingers in the stream, then flicked a handful of water at me. The crisp water cooled me as it slid down my sweaty face. I splashed her back, and she laughed. Mom would have scolded me.

Aunt Billy laid against a bolder and said, "Listen to God at work."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I took my sweaty sock off and put my toe into the stream. It instantly froze.

"Nature. That is God's work. This mountain is God's temple. All the animals and rivers are testaments to God."

God. What did I know about God? My friend sometimes went to a temple at his church.

I looked around at the long grass, rhythmically moving with the breeze when peace entered me. Many different flowers grew around us. Their fresh fragrances calmed me. -Such a contrast to the blanket of smog I lived under in the city.

"Do you mind if I say a prayer?" Aunt Billy asked me.

My shoulders tightened, and I scooted a little away from her. She was odd. I didn't know what to say, so I shrugged.

I jerked when she grabbed my hand in her warm and solid grip.

"Dear God, thank you for this beautiful nature and that I can bring my nephew Trevor to enjoy it with me. Thank you for the peace we feel, and please help Trevor to realize this peace is You. Thank you, God, for the flowers, the mountain, and the stream. Thank you for the trees that tower over us. God, you are good. You are loving. You are kind. Thank you, God, for this life."

It felt like a blanket of peace covered me during Aunt Billy's prayer. That peace turned into a flame of comfort, building, and swelling on the inside. Tears snuck out of my eyes even though I tried to stop them.

What is this feeling?

As if Aunt Billy knew my question, she touched my chest and said, "Trevor, that is the Spirit of God you feel."

So, this is God.

Aunt Billy picked a flower and placed it in my hand. "God is like this flower, Trevor. Beautiful and pure."

When I got home, I searched my family's bookshelf to see if we had a Bible. I found one and opened it. The front page had a handwritten dedication addressed to me.

"Dear Trevor,

On this day of your birth, I give you one of the greatest Earthly gifts.

This Bible will help you through your life. Love-

Great Aunt Billy.

Wow. Aunt Billy gave me a gift when I was born. How strange that I never knew her, yet I found the Bible with a handwritten note from her.

Aunt Billy had just moved three miles down from us. We no longer lived thousands of miles away from her. What will it be like to have Aunt Billy live so close?

I placed her flower in Psalms and tucked the Bible under my pillow.

***

I finished internet school for the day and slumped on my floor. I missed my friends, and I missed Great Aunt Billy. Bored, I dove onto my bed.

My head bumped something hard. I pulled out the Bible. I could hardly believe I had read half of it in a little less than a month.

"God, if you are there?" I paused as I looked at the ceiling. "I kind of feel alone."

The Bible opened, and my eyes read Romans 15:13 "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace..."

Peace. I needed peace.

I carefully picked Billy's pressed flower from the bible, fearing it would crumble apart. I smelled it and then took out my phone.

"Hello," I heard a high voice.

My hands shook. "Uh, Aunt Billy, this is Trevor. How about one of your hikes?"

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Great Aunt Billy

by Stephanie Daich