Wrapped in Rain(100)

At daylight, Mutt walked downstairs and shook me. "Tuck, Tuck, wake up." I rubbed my eyes and wondered why my brother was wearing his clown suit at 6:00 a.m.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I had this dream."

"Can you tell me about it in the morning?"

"It is morning." He sat down, took off his wig, straightened his red nose, and fumbled the wig in both hands. Gibby had mixed a recent cocktail of two medications that seemed to be putting Mutt on a more level playing field. Higher lows and lower highs. The result meant that since the swamp in Jacksonville, Mutt had had no Thorazine. He continued. "I found myself at the door of this huge, enormous cathedral. It's bigger than a hundred churches. I'm banging on the doors for hours with all I'm worth, and finally, they break loose. I stumble through, but it's empty. There are no pews. The inside is a mile long. Maybe more. The floor is a chessboard of polished pearl or ivory and black granite, and all the corners are perfectly straight. The walls are several stories high topped with polished granite bleachers that rise up several hundred feet and out of sight. The bleachers and rafters are filled with angels. Hundreds. Thousands. Maybe millions. And they're singing this chorus. Sometimes it's a low hum; other times it's these roaring songs and words I've never heard. Then at other times it's songs like Miss Ella used to sing-although they sound better than she did.



"At the other end of the hall, maybe a mile or so from me, is this single chair. More like a throne, but it's plain, nothing fancy. In the seat is this guy. I can't see his face, but he's all lit up like the sun, bright as bright gets. It's not like the wizard of Oz; this is the real deal. I step forward, and the rafters and bleachers fall deathly silent. The hush spreads, and the only sound is the occasional whisper of a flapping wing. I don't quite know why I'm here, but I know I wanted to get in here, and more than that, I want to talk to the guy in the chair. Everything in me wants to walk across that floor and just talk with him. To sit at his feet. But my feet won't move. They're concreted to the floor. I turn around and see a thousand ropes tying me to the back wall and spiderwebbing me to the ground.

"He waves at me, wanting me to walk the distance, but I can't. No matter what I do, no matter how many times I try to cut the web, I can't break free. Even worse, I can't speak to tell him because the web covers my mouth too. Tuck, I try but I can't get to him." Mutt was growing more excited and animated with every sentence.

"With every passing second, the web grows further, wrapping around my throat, cutting off the air. I've only got a minute or so. It tightens, and I feel my eyes about to pop out of my head. Just when I think I'll never get there and my last few breaths are getting shorter and more difficult, he stands up, shades his eyes, and waves me on again. When he realizes I can't get there from here, he jumps off his throne and starts trotting to me. Pretty soon, he's in an all-out run, covering the distance like a sprinter. And you ought to see him run. Knees high, long stride, toes barely touching the ground, and his arms are pumping from his hips to his earlobes. As he gets closer, I see who it is."



Mutt paused, eyes wide. "I mean, it's Him. The thorns on the crown are long, maybe two inches, and they're poking into the thin flesh around His skull. Blood's trickling down His face, I can see through the holes in His hands and feet, and the hole in His side is running with blood and water. He stops next to me, but He's not even breathing hard. It's like He's run that distance a lot and He's used to it.

"Then He grabs the web of ropes with one hand, holds out His other, squeezes His fist, and drops of blood run out the bottom of His fist like He's wringing out a sponge. The blood soaks the rope that binds me and eats through it like acid. The web melts, disappears, and I'm cut free. I look up, and the angels are all flapping their wings. It's like ten million bees flying around the top of the Superdome, all lit up like fireflies. And the singing. It's hopeful. Like I finally did something right. I look at my hands, and there are no ropes. No web. No binds. I'm free. The song above me grows, and even though I've never heard it, I already know the words."

Mutt stood up and painted the room with his hands. "I didn't know what to give Him, so I opened my fanny pack, pulled out this peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and offered it to Him. He tore off a corner just like Miss Ella used to, and we sat down right there on the floor of that place and ate my PB&J. He sat on an ivory square and I sat on a granite one. Pretty soon, other people started banging on the door, and they were really banging loud and I didn't want to be rude, so I stood to leave, but He reached out and grabbed my hand. When I looked down, He had clasped a silver bracelet around my wrist. It had no beginning and no end and could never come off. I turned it over, and on the inside, He had written His name." Mutt held his arm up and displayed the seamless silver band that circled his right wrist. "I didn't want to forget the dream, so I made this."



He inched his face closer to mine. "Tuck, do you want to hit some chert rocks?"

"Mutt. . .

He pointed toward the barn. "The lights are on." Mutt's face told me he wasn't about to take no for an answer, so I stepped out of bed and pulled on my jeans. Mutt was waiting on me when I stepped into the barn. I grabbed the bat, and he knelt on the other side of the plate where he could soft-toss the pebbles. "I just want you to hit one." Mutt reached in his pocket and pulled out the rounded, oiled, and handpolished stone he had carried for so long.