We Are the Light(27)
Isaiah had prayed for quite a long time, I know, because when he said, “Amen,” and dropped my hand, I opened my eyes and saw that Tony and Mark had been standing nearby waiting patiently for us to finish. The looks on their faces seemed to say, Sorry to have been eavesdropping for the past eight or so minutes but—as we’re not used to walking in on prayer circles—we didn’t know exactly what we should have done.
And I have to admit that the strange formal intimacy of shared prayer takes a little getting used to, so I was sympathetic, as I hadn’t grown completely comfortable yet either, which I tried to tell Mark and Tony with my eyes, giving them an understanding me too glance.
Isaiah and Bess didn’t mind the eavesdropping, of course, as they’d pray openly in front of anyone, and so we all shook hands and said hello. Here I noticed that Tony and Mark were actively avoiding eye contact with me. With obvious ease, they looked directly into the eyes of Isaiah, Bess, and Jill, but not yours truly, which is when I realized that they felt some sort of responsibility for what had happened in their restored historic theater, so I quickly said, “It’s not your fault. I unequivocally do not hold you responsible in any way, shape, or form,” which made the room go silent for what felt like a few minutes.
When Mark and Tony finally looked in my eyes, their mouths were slightly open and I could see their tongues kind of quivering.
So I tried to seed the future, adding, “Darcy adored the Majestic Theater. It’s still one of my favorite places in the entire world. You must reopen. Majestic needs the movies. We need to laugh and cry and cheer together as a community. Don’t let the tragedy take that from us. Please. That’s part of what I’ll be talking about tonight. Reopening the Majestic.”
They both swallowed and then Tony took Mark’s hand in his, at which point they both nodded at me several times and then took their seats.
I remember noting that mustachioed and stubble-bearded Mark was bulging with daily-gym-workout muscles, while clean-shaven and thin Tony had more of a weekend runner’s body. And yet, somehow, they seemed to naturally belong together like clouds and sky.
The other Survivors filed in one by one: Robin Withers, whom I already mentioned, and Jon Bunting, DeSean Priest, David Fleming, Julia Wilco, Tracy Farrow, Jesus Gomez, Laxman Anand, Betsy Bush, Dan Gentile, Audrey Hartlove, Ernie Baum, Chrissy Williams, and Carlton Porter. Everyone from the original Survivors’ Group except you know who.
“Should we begin?” Robin said to me once everyone was seated, so I knocked on the closet door twice, letting Eli know that he should begin putting the rest of his monster costume back on.
Robin sat down and I took the podium. Jill winked at me, and Isaiah gave me a thumbs-up, which had me feeling extremely confident, but then Sandra Coyle walked in and took a seat in the back row far away from the rest of us. She crossed her arms in a demonstration of utter defiance. I kindly nodded at her, meaning, Welcome, but she glared back at me like she had laser-beam vision—strong enough to melt my flesh, skull, and brains—shooting out of her eyes.
All of the other Survivors looked eager to know why I had called the meeting and therefore seemed more nervously curious than supportive, which began to worry me, so I looked back at Jill, who smiled but couldn’t hide the fact that she was also nervous, which is when I realized that a long minute had passed without my saying a word.
Isaiah came to my rescue by loudly saying in the friendliest possible way, “So, Lucas, what’s up, my friend? Why did you have us gather together tonight? What would you like to say to the group?”
“Right,” I said, and then for some reason, I looked out the tall window, which must have been facing west, because the sky was all orange and pink. It took a second, but when my eyes began to adjust and focus on the distance, I saw Darcy making the figure-eight infinity sign up there in the sky as if to say, I’m still here with you, Lucas. You can do this. The boy is the way forward. That’s when something took over my brain and body and the conscious part of me sort of stepped out of my skin and leaned against the stone wall to watch my physical body and the unconscious part of me deliver a speech so impressive and with such amazing body language that I could hardly believe my ears and eyes.
I told everyone how much I missed Darcy and how I had suffered in silence for months all alone in my house, hardly able to leave, let alone speak with anyone. I talked about my mind-numbing, soul-crushing, and even suicidal pain. The other Survivors were pulling out tissues and wiping eyes with sleeves. Then I apologized for not acting sooner back at the Majestic Theater, saying that if I had reacted more immediately, I might have been able to save more people and that fact keeps me up at night, drills into my mind like a red-hot bit.
DeSean Priest yelled, “You did everything you could and then some!”
And Laxman Anand added, “You should be proud because you did more than any of the rest of us!”
I raised my voice to regain control of the room and asked if the other Survivors ever felt like there was something they should be doing to bring everyone together in a way that was inclusive and didn’t cause division. Which was when I looked toward the back of the room and saw Sandra Coyle shift uncomfortably in her chair. “Ever since the tragedy,” I said, “a grieving part of me has felt othered. Like a monster. Like someone infected by an unthinkable fate. Someone whom neighbors can hardly bring themselves to look at for even a few seconds.” As I examined the room, I saw flickers of recognition light up many pairs of eyes.