Remembered

"It wasn't your fault, y'know."

He never said anything, just kept rocking back and forth.  She sighed.  For some people there was no dragging them out of their own self doubt.  Paul was one of those people.  He was responsible for a difficult flock and, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, blamed himself when one of them fell away.  She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I mean really, it isn't a matter of fault.  I'm HAPPY Paul.  I'm happy where I am and I'm happy with how I got here.  I know that you think that I have this horrible eternal destiny but you're WRONG.  I'm sorry, but you're SO wrong. The only Hell is the one you live in in your head... the one you've put yourself in because you think these things."

"It's Truth," Paul muttered.  "Truth isn't relative, it is what it is.  But I let you go.  I didn't even come after you, and now..."

"Now I'm free." She said, but he ignored her.

"What could I have done differently?"  he asked.  He'd stopped rocking in his chair and was now gazing out the back window at the yard behind his family's home.  His daughter, now living on her own, had played in that yard with her friend... her friend whom they'd lost.   Her friend whom they'd let go of.  "Did I give up hope too soon?  Should I have clamoured after you?  Threatened you?"

"That wouldn't have worked," she said.

"No," he responded quietly, "No it wouldn't have.  And it would have been morally bankrupt besides."

"You've got that right."

"I tried so hard."

"And it was kind, but it was misled Paul.  I'm sorry that you think that you're responsible for this but you aren't.  And I'm sorry that you're so unhappy.  I'm sorry that you think these things but..."

"I loved you," he interrupted her, looking her straight in the eyes now.  "I loved you like you were one of my own.  We all did.  I know that you had trouble with your family and we invited you into ours but... I didn't want to replace your family, either."

And he hadn't.  They'd come around her but they also tried to nudge her toward her biological family... the ones she'd given up on.  He'd thought that she was just overreacting when she talked about them and he wanted her to find solace with them.  And he'd been horribly, horribly wrong.

"It wasn't your fault that she was nuts," she laid a hand on his, reading his mind.  "You had no idea.  I never blamed you.  No one ever believed me when I told them about her... no one ever wants to believe that someone would be so cold toward their own child.  You wouldn't be."

"I should have listened."

"Probably, but it's all in the past now."

A tear streamed down his cheek.  It seemed like all he'd done was cry since it all went down.  Why hadn't he just taken her in?  When she came pounding on the door asking for help, telling him that her Mother was delusional, was angry, had lost it... he had thought that she was being too harsh.  He wanted her to forgive her Mother, to honor her, like the Bible said.  And so she'd given in.  She'd nodded gravely, like she always did, and told him that she would try.  She didn't believe in the Bible anymore, but she had still believed in him, and that was something.  He'd hoped to get her back before...

She sighed. 

"Paul.  I wish you would understand."

"Truth is not relative," he repeated, and she frowned and shook her head.  There'd be no reasoning with him; he was convinced.  He was right to a degree, and painfully wrong to another.  He was certain that she was roasting in the fires of Hell, when really she was standing right here in front of him, sorrowful to leave, hopeful that she might get through before she had to go.

But it was no use.  She hoped that someday maybe someone else would be able to ease his mind, but this time she couldn't.  She'd been trying since the funeral to no avail, and he was lost in his own sorrows.  As much as she still loved him, she had to give up, and give it to someone else.  If she hung on too much longer, she'd become stuck, and she didn't want to be that kind of terror.

She leaned down, hugged the man who'd been a surrogate father to her for five years, and kissed him on the cheek, brushing at the tear that was still standing there.  He shivered.  Then she stood up, turned away from him...

And vanished.

Paul heaved a sigh.  He would remember her.  What is it that she'd said to him, right before she'd closed her eyes that final time?  "What is remembered, lives."  He wasn't sure about all that... but he supposed one never knew.







----This little tale has been submitted for LJ Idol for week 6.  Please to vote!!!