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“You think God gives us credit for showing up even when the priest didn’t?” For the first time, I spoke through the cloud, directly to her. “If this life is based on credits and debits—” I shook my head. “Then we’re all gone anyway.” In a rare moment of lucidity, she turned to me. “What do you think it’s based on?” The wall of names painted the backdrop behind me. “The walk . . . from broken to not.”
It was in those moments at early dawn, watching the sun rise as he cast off my bow, that he taught me about the one, and how the needs of the one outweigh those of the ninety-nine. It would be years before I understood what he meant.
“Thousands of knife-edged keels and spinning razor blades have cut this water right here. Sliced it into ten billion drops that somehow come back together again. No scar. Nothing can separate it. You could drop a bomb right here and within a few minutes, it’d look like nothing ever happened. Water heals itself. Every time. I like that. And if I’m being honest, maybe I need that.”
The pain in my chest was piercing. It was the most pain I’d ever felt. My breath was shallow and the crack in my soul had widened, fractured. Splitting me. Sending the two halves of me spinning off in opposite directions. I’d spent my life searching for and finding the lost. Returning the one to the ninety-nine. But who would rescue me? Who would return the pieces of me to me?
