Summary
It takes a night out with Malcolm and his jazzmen for Angela to live again.
Soldiers fired their machine guns into the largest house in the village. Screams of terror filled the night. Each killer, with muzzle flashes lighting their numb “following orders” expression, swayed side to side, moving their rifles like scythes, harvesting death.
A government-sanctioned death squad sent to clear Tamil Tigers (LTTE) had mistakenly liquidated a Christian Blind Mission’s (CBM) camp. Moments before, in that same house, locals new to the faith sang praise and worship to God Almighty in their native Sinhala. Angela stood deep within them, singing the few words she knew as her face suddenly reflected a joy blossoming inside her. Unable to conceal it, she turned to share as bullets rained through the assembly, cutting down loved ones and friends. Their murdered bodies fell over her, forming a blood-soaked blanket of protection.
The year was 1995.
Angela woke screaming as her hands pushed away at something still in her dreams. Adrenaline forced her groggy eyes to open and scan the perimeter. From the same tree that gave her and her black 2001 Honda Accord shade hung a white posterboard sign framed by sagging balloons and torn streamers. It read: “Saturday’s Big Band Outreach Picnic, This Way!” in hand-written letters of red and blue marker ink.
Resting the full weight of her head against the steering column, Angela growled until she was breathless. Her hands fumbled around to lower the car windows, letting a warm Texas breeze blow in. In a few minutes, it dried a nightmare’s worth of sweat.
She sat up and pulled her Baylor Bear sweatshirt over her head, revealing a Cannon Trading’s ‘1990 Family Picnic’ t-shirt so faded that the contours of her black bra shone through. She turned the sweatshirt inside out before hanging it over the center vents. After setting the car heater to full blast, the sweatshirt billowed like a strange green sail. However, it was her empty front passenger seat that held her attention.
Yesterday evening, Angela and Mike had parked outside the stairwell to his apartment. Their dinner date marked six months of dating. Both were visibly exhausted. Angela had landed that afternoon after four back-to-back business trips. Mike, with his stoic profile of “five o’clock” stubble and steely blue eyes, had a burned-out, ‘one-more-thing’ look about him—the result of his recent promotion to associate pastor.
Lately, Mike has not let up on where their relationship was going. Angela would have been in the right to expect more of the same and gave one-word answers to all his questions until the topic of church leadership came up. Her flippant answer—that elders seemed more interested in stocking colas and corn chips—brought out a surprise rage in Mike. Out came this spittle-laden, pre-meditated list of her failings as a Christian woman.
Angela kept quiet until Mike exhausted himself. When he spoke again, his words had an undercurrent of rehearsal. “Everyone’s prayin’ for you since you’ve lost yer way. If I were you, I’d help out with the thing tomorrow, ev’n as a worker bee.”
