Previously: It was anger that took me away from you … You’ve always had this old soul quality to you … I wonder if you’ve ever really felt at home … You were born for a different time.
Last Week:
Take it from the top:
fernweh (fern-way) n.
1. An ache for distant places
2. Being homesick for anywhere but home
When Jeremiah Barger was able to borrow his mother’s car, he would drive into town to sit in the park across the street from the clinic. He always sat on the same bench between two large trees, facing the clinic. If there was someone on the bench already, he stood and stared until the person moved. Then he would sit and spread out his things so no one else could sit there. He’d eat a ham sandwich on white bread and drink apple juice and sit on the bench and watch the clinic door and take notes in the spiral notebook he carried with him. Arrival times, departure times, descriptions of people.
He’d flick a cigarette lighter and watch the flame, let it go out and then flick it again. He brought a camera. He counted and collected information. He wrote down thoughts as he watched us come and go.
A burden has been placed on me. It has been left to me to be the guardian. There should be an army of warriors surrounding this place, and yet people just walk by, just sit in the park as if unspeakable things are not happening inside, they let the evil come and go. Even the police drive by. I hate them all for what they force me to do, but there must be a bulwark, there much be a rampart, there must be a last bastion of common Christian decency. The future generations will thank me for their existence. I will die if I must, so that they might live. I hate that I must, but I will. I will be the history maker. I will be the witness and the warrior.
My hair, long and braided down my back, “in the manner of a woman of questionable morality”, was the first thing that caught his eye. He watched me as I got out of the car, locked my door, and walked the few hundred feet to the clinic. He noted the time, he noted the hair. He thought he recognized me, but he could not fix my face to the diner, the library, the car wash, the post office, or any of the other places in town he frequented. He watched me as I waited to be buzzed in, he saw me open my purse and check for something, he saw me look at my fingernails, he watched me go in the building.
Thank you for reading. Next week will start like this:
Your body hurts right now but you can move it.