Part 13 (1/2)

That Thursday, two days before Christmas, Greg let me leave work at noon. He gave me a Borders gift card. Jack, the Payroll Manager, gave me a $50 gift card and an extra $25 Starbucks card. It was pouring rain outside; I noticed a man on the bus wearing a garbage bag turned into a coat to stay dry.

The driver seemed to remember me and smiled. Stepping off at Westwood and National, I told her to have a great day. ”Same to you,” she said. ”See you tomorrow. Oh, wait. Do you work tomorrow?”

I had to think about it for a second. No, which meant Christmas would come before I saw her. I wished her a Merry Christmas and told her I'd see her next week. She wished me the same.

Maybe it's about perspective, I walked home thinking. Thanking G.o.d out of habit, starting one's prayer with thanksgiving. So often I've taken it for granted how fortunate I am. I grouse because I'm not well-paid. After all, it's just a job. After my arrest, I expected to be fired. A phone call to Greg from jail. Would it show up on his caller ID? I didn't know, but knew it was possible I'd be asked to clear my stuff out the next day. But it didn't happen. I gave thanks for a company that gave me a paid day off on Christmas Eve. I take that for granted. We often do as Americans. We feel ent.i.tled. ”It's the least they can do,” we argue. ”I haven't had a pay raise in years. Lousy benefits...” Whatever excuse we want to use; and it might be valid. But it's a matter of perspective. A sense of ent.i.tlement provokes a spirit of discontentment and smugness. No matter if the benefits are lousy, what good does it do to look at it from that perspective? I woke on Christmas Day, thankful for a job where I got paid and didn't have to work. My family called before they sat down to lunch and prayed while I listened on speakerphone. They'd set a plate for me at the table.

On Christmas Day, I went for a run in the morning; I wrote for a while. My friend Bob picked me up and we met others at the Landmark Theatre to see the ”The King's Speech.” Great movie. Afterward, Bob took me to Tom and Lisa's for Christmas dinner. Lisa's extended family was there. The first time I'd seen her cousins Jenny, Grace and Steven since rock climbing at Malibu Creek State Park years ago, when cousin David, who was also there, now grown and unrecognizable, fell into the water twice. The family members, some of whom were visiting from Taiwan and didn't speak English, were all accepting, extending hospitality to me, an outsider, with food and drink and kindness. Stephen brought his cello, Grace her guitar; and with Tom playing piano, it turned into a Christmas jam-fest.

It was raining hard that night so I caught a ride home with Hong and Lili, Lisa's sister and brother-in-law. I sat in the backseat with Austin, their one-year-old. It was a ride home when I would have been catching a bus in the rain, having left the house that afternoon wearing only a b.u.t.ton down s.h.i.+rt with no jacket or hat.

Chapter Nineteen.

Jessie was coming down the 29th for New Year's-driving, as she knew I'd be without a license. I felt miserable about it. It was a tough drive, six hours, and was supposed to rain the Wednesday she arrived and Sunday she returned. Because of my stupidity she had to endure those conditions. She should be flying. I offered to rent her a car, but she stuck to her resolve. I made a reservation for New Year's Eve at a restaurant Tom recommended. The one sure thing I had planned: giving her a kiss at midnight. That was the only objective I'd set in stone-her lips touching mine come midnight.

The day before, I didn't hear from her. We talked every day and almost always wrote each other ”good morning” before starting our days. It was going on ten o'clock that night and she still hadn't called. That never happened. Even the times when I knew something was wrong, she'd message me and ask if we could talk tomorrow. At eleven, I called. It went straight to voicemail. I was getting a touch concerned. She called a few minutes later, crying.

”Jessie, what's wrong?”

”I can't come down this weekend. I'm sorry.”

There had been an argument with her parents about us, enough of one that she'd decided against coming. She was struggling; she didn't have hope we could be together.

We talked late into the night. The trip was inconsequential. I wanted to be with her for years to come. One weekend didn't matter. What concerned me was the lack of hope. For me, I run on hope. It's what lets me live with freedom and pa.s.sion. Without it, I sit stunned, unable to bring myself to action. Hope brings enthusiasm, the ability to move forward, to wake in the morning and not stagger, to have a purpose and focus toward the day...toward our lives. We decided, though we wouldn't be together, we were going to pray diligently that weekend. On-our-knees-type prayer. She was attending her parents' church service on New Year's Eve. She goes every year; it calms her, brings her spirit into a clear focus and allows her to start the year with a proper mindset. She asked if I'd be willing to pray with her at midnight. Not necessarily on the phone, speaking together, but both committed to praying. I agreed to come home early and pray with her.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Standing at the bus stop, 6:50 in the morning, I made that my prayer. ”Let me see the kingdom of G.o.d today.” What did it mean? I wasn't sure. A glimpse of heaven on earth, perhaps.

I said h.e.l.lo to the boy sitting on the bench. I saw him every day. He wore a wool cap, heavy coat and carried an overstuffed backpack. He looked to be in junior high-some of the high school kids called him Travis. They chatted with him each morning until their bus arrived, shortly before mine. When the #3 pulled to the curb, I told him to have a good day and stepped on.

I hadn't seen my driver in a few days. I had missed the day before because of the rain and she'd missed two days ago. She greeted me, gave me my transfer ticket and told me she hadn't worked yesterday. Also, today was her last day. She was retiring after thirty-two years of driving a bus.

”You don't look old enough to retire,” I commented. She laughed. I stayed at the front and spoke with her. It was only a mile to my stop.

She was starting her own water company. Hydrogenated water. She was making its headquarters in Culver City. ”I know everybody here,” she said. ”I can sell it on the bus. But then I'll be looking to branch out-me and my business partner. My sister lives in Dallas so we're hoping to take over that city, too.

”Alright, let me ask you. How is your water different from all the other waters out there?”

”Okay, okay, okay, okay...okay. Let me tell you. First, it's tax deductible.”

”How'd you get it registered as a non-profit?”

”People have been doing it for years. It started with Dr. Martin. We're called 'Gen-Aqua.' We wanted Aqua-Genesis but that was already taken. It's taken from the number seven. G.o.d made the world in seven days.”

”That's right.”

”Hydrogenated living water.”

”I'm here to give living water,” I added, quoting the Lord.

”That's right. Hey, let me tell you. This is fifteen years in the making. I spent ten years planning, five years researching this.”

”But how is the water different?”

”Alright, alright, alright. I'll tell you. When we are in our mother's womb, we are 80% hydrogen. Then we come out of the womb and start losing it. HE made us perfect in the womb. But when we're born, we lose most of it. We are replacing the hydrogen.

”How old do you think I am? You don't have to answer that. I already told you I'm retiring. You can figure it out.”

She didn't look retirement age, nowhere close. ”And it was because of drinking this?”

”I'm not saying it's all because of the water. I've taken good care of myself.”

She bypa.s.sed my stop.

”This is me,” I said. She did a quick pullover. I gave her a light hug. ”You've been a blessing to me.”

She said goodbye. I wished her well and jumped off.

I wrote to Jessie that morning and told her about the conversation. ”I'm sure you were a blessing to her too,” she replied. ”I'm glad you two talked-about living water, no less-but I'm jealous she had a moment with you. I keep thinking I should be in L.A. right now. And thinking about what you wrote, I wonder what effect the living water has on me now. When Christ said, 'Drink this and you shall never be thirsty again,' did he really mean to say, 'Drink this periodically and you will never be thirsty again?'”

”I think we have to continually drink from its spring,” I answered. ”Probably daily. I think that's why the Israelites could only eat fresh manna from that day. I remember once I was doing the musical theatre show on the eastside of Seattle, an hour and a half drive to rehearsal. I've told you how terrible the experience was. It was a dark environment and many of the actors were difficult to work with. Every day, driving to the eastside, I listened to Phillip Yancey's 'What's So Amazing About Grace?' book on tape. A friend made the comment I was storing up spiritual nourishment that would be needed later on. I agree with that. There's a continual need for nourishment, I think.

”I wish you were here, too, but I like to think we will have many, many (emphasis on 'many') more days together. And, if not (Lord, I pray it's not the case), I'm still going to enjoy you every second until then. That's what smart people do with the suns.h.i.+ne-enjoy it every second they can.

Michael Joel Ps. You looked fabulous in your red dress last night.”

Louisa was parking when I arrived on my bike for 541 cla.s.s. She'd finally gotten the interlock device installed on her car. It had taken her all day and cost $400 dollars, between the DMV and mechanic costs. I sat in the pa.s.senger seat and she showed me how it worked. I groaned. I'd most likely have to install one on mine, as well. She was upset because the DMV employee told her she had to get a restricted license and the IID, which went against what my lawyer's a.s.sistant told me. Why would they require both? The knot in my stomach tightened and I went inside to pay. The DMV takes you by the throat and keeps squeezing. Every dime they can get.

”How was everyone's Christmas?” Walter asked.

We went around the room, recounting stories. I knew I could steer the conversation (and deflect attention) by mentioning ”The King's Speech.” As if on cue, Walter latched onto it.

”Oh, I've heard it's great. The front runner for the Academy Awards.”

”It deserves it,” I said.

”He's great. What's his name...Colin Firth? Of course, he was in the...what was it, the Bridget Jones movies? And then another, the name escapes me. With Meg Tilley, whom he had a child with, incidentally.”

”I didn't know that,” said Benton.

Neither did I.

”Did you get anything for Christmas?”

”At this point, my family and I send website links. Either that or gift cards.”