ZooTown #6
Of course, before this week, I had no idea what those sins were. Now, however?
I think I know, Father. I think I know.
*
There was a pause before the young man said, sounding apologetic, "Geez, I'm sorry, Father. I'm rambling off at the mouth here. Hope I'm not wasting your time any."
Father Ward chuckled. "By no means, son. As I said, All Hallow's Eve is usually slow around here. The only thing you're doing is making the time pass more quickly, and making it more interesting."
"It just sounds like I'm complaining about my dad, is all. I'm sure you hear enough of that sort of thing all the time."
In a snap decision, Father Ward decided to abandon his studied impartiality and relate to the young man. If only to reassure him, and keep the conversation alive, which - contrary to the youth's concerns - he found fascinating so far.
"I don't want to make the mistake of sounding condescending, which is what we adults and ministers of the faith so often do, though often unintentionally. And I also don't want to say 'I totally know how you feel' because I don’t know. I can't. I'm not you, so how could I know?
“But I've had a little taste, I believe. As I've mentioned already, though my father was also a Baptist minister like yours, he was very opened minded. He liked mysteries as much as I did. We enjoyed many of those same discussions you can't have with your father.”
"Wow. What made you decide to be a Catholic, Father?"
Father Ward smiled at the warm memory. "I spent the weekend at a Catholic friend's house. That Sunday at mass, I heard for the first time 'the mystery of faith.' The idea appealed greatly to me. The humble admission that while belief in and knowledge of God is important, we simply can’t know everything. That God is, essentially, in large parts, unknowable."
"Huh. 'The mystery of faith.' I like that."
"So did I. So much so, when I graduated high school, I enrolled at Le Moyne College and went on to become not only a priest, but a Jesuit. That did throw Dad's gears for a bit, but eventually he came to accept it."
Father Ward paused. "I believe he was proud of me. For following my faith and my love of mystery."
A regretful sigh, and then, "Wow. Must be nice." Father Ward imagined the young man sagging like a balloon releasing air. "The worst part is, if I did something like that, my Dad wouldn't even be pissed at me. He'd just act like he'd expected I’d end up bad all along."
Father Ward opened his mouth to offer some sort of consolation or comfort, anything to lighten the young man's mood, but the boy rushed on before Father Ward could speak. "Anyway, I totally got off track. I mean, it all sorta connects together - I think - but I'm getting bogged down complaining about my Dad, when's he just not worth it. I'll get back to him and his 'faith' and his...well, his 'sins' later.
“But the thing that really opened this can of worms happened after I went to bed that night, because was the first time I dreamed about Zoo Town..."
*
What's Zoo Town, Father? Well, I'll get to that in a minute. I can tell you I started dreaming about Zoo Town the first night after I heard that singing.
Y'know how some dreams are just so out there, that even as real as they seem, you know they're dreams? Like say you're dreaming of pitching against Babe Ruth or Micky Mantle, or dunking over Wilt Chamberlin, or you're dreaming of making out with the hottest girl on the cheerleading team that you know you have no chance with in real life, but there you are, doing all those things anyway, and real as it seems, deep inside somewhere a little voice is whispering, No way this is happening; it’s gotta be a dream?
Well, this dream wasn't like it that. It was…what’s the word? Subtle. Down-to-earth. The kinda dream that feels so real, when you wake up, you’re not sure if it was a dream, or if you were remembering something which actually happened, or something you actually did.
That's what this dream was like. I woke up Monday morning, and for a minute, I actually had to ask myself: Am I remembering something that actually happened? Or was that a dream?
I don't really remember how the dream started. I was just riding my bike along some sort of access road in the woods. It was worn with lots of ruts. The trees around me were full and green, and it was summer, not Fall like now. The brush was healthy and growing, and so were the leaves on the trees.
But sunlight was still filtering in through the pines, so even though it was nice and shaded, there was this....SHIMMER to everything. I can't explain it any better than that. Enough sunlight was getting through, despite the heavy tree cover, so it was easy to see, and there was a warm feeling there, also.
In the dream I was riding along, mind pretty empty, and I was feeling good. Good, that's the word. Happy and quiet. Which, to be honest, I haven't felt much these days. Especially around Dad. And though the woods was hushed, I could hear the usual things: Birds calling far away, things rustling occasionally in the brush, the clicking of my bike chain and the hush of the bike's tires over pine needles and fallen leaves, and crickets buzzing.
I love that sound, don't you, Father? The crickets? That's when you know it's high summer; when they’re buzzing like that. You know what I heard also, mixing right in with everything?
That singing.
I could hear that girl singing, and even though I couldn't tell any better what the words were, it sounded even more familiar. But this time I didn't feel so intruiged by it, like before. It seemed to fit right in with all the other nature sounds. Like she was meant to be singing right along with all those other sounds.
Here's where the dream gets a little odd, Father. I was just riding along on my bike, all peaceful-like and feeling good and fine, listening to that beautiful voice singing a song I sort of recognized but couldn't quite place, when the path starts going uphill a bit. I'm feeling really good, though. Full of energy, so I stand up on the pedals and lean forward a bit, like you do to pick up some steam, and huff my way up that hill.
As I'm pedaling along and getting closer, that singing is getting louder. The song is getting even more familiar. I can just about pick out words I almost recognize when I crest over that rise...
And then I wake up.
Which figures, right? That's how it always happens with these dreams. Right when you get to the most mysterious part, you wake up. But I remember something, Father, from right before the song ended and I opened my eyes. This image of what was over that hill, flashing before my eyes. Just before I woke up, I thought I saw...what looked like...a village?
Or something. Rows of buildings and cottages on either side of that well-worn and rutted path running through the woods. There one second, gone the next, and then I was blinking my eyes in my bedroom, the sun peaking under the shade on a Sunday morning.
Which, of course, meant church.
I'd be lying, Father, if I didn't admit to wishing I could escape into that mysterious place in the woods forever, so I never had to go sit in my Dad's church ever again...
Except for one little thing. Right before I woke up? In that split second before that image of buildings deep in the woods dissolved? I got the faintest sensation that I was being watched, and not only that...that something was lurking behind those buildings, watching, waiting...
Waiting for me.
