Last Judgement, Michaelangelo Sistine Chapel
hopeÂ
Today I went into the âsecond comingâ bookstore. I am not sure why, except that there was a sign that said vintage and used things. There were many white papers collaged upon the walls with bible quotes in English and Spanish. "God so loved the world that he gave his only son" quotes in metallic hearts. There was a sign on the window that said Christian books and free bibles, and another that said native American books. In the opposite window was a t-shirt that said 'Ashland Underground'. I was a little worried I'd get proselytized, I so hate that, but also a little curious about who worked there, and what kind of place it was anyway. I walked around, nosing my way through stuff. An old TV was playing a movie. A thin, brown-haired lady was busy watching the black and white film.Â
I asked her about the tiny electric one-cup coffee maker, and she told me about how she only drinks tea, after seeing what happens to a coffee pot after you make coffee in it long enough. âI donât want that happening to MY stomach,â she said.
And then she got up and went and stood in front of the TV âYou know,â she stared at me, âmy father was over there when this happened. Schindler was an amazing man, wasnât he?â I wasnât quite sure at first what she was referring to, I was still thinking about the coffee stains in her stomach. She went on, â Schindler was amazing, wasnât he? I just think about all those people who died, and how he put his life on the line to help them. It makes me really sad to think about fighting. My son keeps talking about the war and how men need to fight. âIt is in their natureâ, he says. But I donât get it. I could never do that. âMom,â he tells me, âmen are grown to fight. Women are grown to love.ââ
I thought about it. âDo you think men are really grown to fight?â I asked her, âor does it have to do with their need to be warriors for something. You can be a warrior without fighting a war, right?
âI think so,â she said. âMy dad was over there when this happened. He was driving trucks and he pulled right up to the gates, just like in the movie. He saw all those people that he and the other army men were supposed to take and save. But how could the men take them? How could they possibly take them. They prisoners were dying right there in front of him. My dad was in his twenties. Can you believe what it must have felt like to see those suffering people like that? I donât understand. You know, my dad just decided there was no way he was going to take them like that in the trucks. So he went in and with his friends, they built fires. They started cooking on the fires and the people from the villages came and brought food. They fed those people. So many of them couldnât walk. And they were dying. And you should have seen them. My dad was really shocked by all of that. He was so young, you know? It is hard to see things like that.â
American soldiers liberating prisoners
I thought about being young and seeing what he saw. â I couldnât imagine,â I said, âseeing something like that. I really just canât imagine what that would have felt like, you know?âÂ
âI know. Me either. My dad finally told me that story. He told me that he never told that story to anyone. Never. He held it for so many years. After he told me I asked him how he felt. âI feel better,â he said.Â
âI guess we need to tell our stories, you know?âÂ
âYes, I guess we do.â
I decided not to buy the one cup coffee pot. I hadnât thought about what it would look like inside my stomach. Though Iâm not sure that will keep me off coffee for more than a day. I bought a clay bowl instead.Â
I thanked her for the clay bowl. I still couldnât figure out what the âsecond comingâ meant. I wanted to ask, but I was worried it would have to do with bibles and the apocalypse. I wanted to keep her other story fresh in my head, besides.
Art nouveau artist unknown