Impending Truth

Jeffrey boarded the passenger jet bound for LAX with the hopes the movie would pass the time. He inched along the aisle to 30A where he would have a good view of the five-inch bulkhead monitor directly one row ahead. His mother, the out-of-work actress, bought his ticket. No doubt afforded by some producer’s credit card … a producer she had slept with, of course.

At least she wasn’t turning tricks again.

Jeff’s expectations were heightened when his only neighbor — seat 30B—turned out to be a very gentle-looking Catholic priest. Jeff was raised Methodist but was borderline atheist since his father left. He figured a friendly “hello” or “excuse me” would be the only necessary conversation.

The plane’s wheels, slightly warped from too many landings, cause it to rumble down the runway a tad too discomforting for Jeff. He enjoyed looking down on the world, but remembered some relative saying all accidents happen in either the first, or last, 10 minutes of the flight. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and ever-so-lightly mumbled The Lord’s Prayer. Just in case.

“Still holding on, I see,” the priest chuckled.

“Excuse me?” Jeff said, hoping to find a comfortable way to keep the “hello” as the only other communication.

“I see you still have a little spirit left in you,” the priest replied. “Most young people these days don’t.”

“Oh. I just get a little nervous on takeoff,” Jeff shrugged, hoping the priest would turn his attentions elsewhere.

Jeff didn’t really have reason for his mistrust of the clergy. His minister growing up was a kind man whose sons ran with Jeff and his pals. Jeff’s father, an over-paid suit who ran off with a 20-something lawyer when Jeff was 14, wasn’t particularly religious, but his mother made sure Jeff was given a solid upbringing in the “rights” and “wrongs.”

For some reason, though, Jeff didn’t really want to talk to the priest. He didn’t think or wish ill of the man. He just wanted his $5 headset and a movie he hadn’t seen.

“So you feel better when you pray?” the priest continued.

“It helps,” Jeff said, realizing this may not be a short exchange.

“Have you ever wondered why it helps?”

“Actually, no. I haven’t.”

“It’s because God isn’t fond of take offs, either.”

“Great!” Jeff thought. Not only was the priest going to talk, but he was nuts, too.

Jeff smiled a little to appease the older man and asked, “I suppose you’ve got an explanation of that one, huh?”

The priest chuckled.

Jeff wasn’t sure why his mother sent him the ticket. It was the first of March, so there were no holidays to speak of. His birthday was in August. His mother’s was October something.

The voicemail was short and sweet. “Hey Jeffrey! It’s Ma! I’m sending you a ticket for March first. I need you to come out for along weekend. I know it’s short notice and I’m not exactly being clear, but I need you to come this time. I love you, baby.”

Though he had tried to call and double check the need — and that she would pick him up — her phone had been disconnected again.

He was going on faith. She hadn’t ever stood him up or let him down, so he thought this would be no different. But his mother had undergone enough stress and change in the last few years to put her in the perfect position to forget him this time.

The day he left for college, Susan packed up all her clothes and jewelry and left Lexington for Hollywood. She acted in plays in high school–even starred in Henry Clay’s production of “Gypsy” as a junior. She modeled clothes for a Dillard’s the summer after she had Jeff.

After she moved to L.A., she met a B-movie director named Randle who immediately let this unusually young-looking, 38-year-old, mother of a college student move in. Why blame him? He held the key to her getting in the movies — or any movie. She was single and willing to sacrifice casual sex for a shot at stardom.

But Randle turned out to want sex for nothing in particular in return. He also smoked a lot of pot and would zone out into incoherency every now and then. She bounced from boyfriend to boyfriend for three years, eventually turning a trick or two to help pay rent for the one whose $1,000-a-day habit meant the landlord was seldom happy.

The only acting job she ever landed after moving to L.A. was as the mother of a 16-year-old porn star in one of Randal’s more successful efforts. She got paid $350 for one scene in which she was being fucked from behind as her daughter walked in to ask for the car keys.

Now she was 42-years-old, washed up, unusually old-looking, and wanted to see her son.

“Some people don’t realize it,” the priest continued, “but God stops by every now and then to see what we’ve done with the place.”

Jeff was incredulous. “Pardon my ignorance, Father, but what kind of priest are you, exactly?”

“Oh, I’m a Catholic priest, just as you thought. I just happen to be, shall we say, more enlightened than some.”

Jeff was starting to have serious concerns about the priest’s sanity, but he was now drawn to the conversation.

“So you think God comes to Earth, takes human form — or something — and just walks around?”

“Pretty much. Yes.”

“Wait,” Jeff thought out loud. “Is this one of those zany moments where you tell me all this insight about God, religion and life, but don’t tell me your name. Then after we get off the plane and I can’t find you at baggage claim, I ask around and everyone tells me there was no priest on the flight?”

The padre smiled at young Jeff’s creativity and ignored his sarcasm.

“I’m not God,” he said. “Or an angel. You can pinch me if you like.”

Jeff, knowing now the man was well-intended, but a tad off his rocker, feigned asking forgiveness.

“Just kidding ya, Father,” he laughed.

Jeff had to take the long weekend to visit his mother from graduate school. He was working on an MBA at the University of Louisville at night while managing the day shift at an Applebee’s in Lexington. The hour-long commute to school gave him enough time to wind down from the toils and trouble of supervising a staff of UK freshmen and sophomores who weren’t old enough to work at the clubs near campus. It also allowed him to get the cigarette smoke out of his clothes and hair if the weather was nice.

He had been dating Kelly since their sophomore year at Georgetown College. She was taking one more class to finish out her undergraduate degree after taking a semester off to deal with her mother’s cancer.

Jeff was there for her and she loved him for it. He drove her to Madisonville three days a week and even held her mother’s hand from time to time when Kelly really needed a break. Mrs. Grossman finally died two days shy of her 52nd birthday. Kelly was heartbroken. Jeff was relieved not just for himself and Kelly, but for Mrs. Grossman.

Kelly had to stay in Lexington. Not only had Susan not sent a second ticket, but her P.R. class project was due Monday and she couldn’t get the four others in her group to cover for her.

Jeff packed up his Economics of Asia readings on the off chance the movie was one he had seen.

“God isn’t this kindergarten instructor who looks over your shoulder,” said the priest. “He just created the Earth, saw that it was good, and comes back periodically to see that it still is.”

“So does he hear prayers and things like that?” Jeff wondered.

“Sure. God is, in fact, everywhere. He knows exactly what is going on with everyone at all times. He just doesn’t always have the ability to answer every prayer. It’s kind of like he has a little intercom coming from everyone so he can hear the prayers. But he, like you and me, can only do a couple complex tasks at a time. He has to prioritize.”

“What takes priority?” Jeff asked.

“It depends. God also can not answer prayers.”

“You mean like that Garth Brooks song!” Jeff interrupted.

“I suppose,” the priest continued. “God doesn’t really spend a lot of time watching over us or answering our prayers, but his warmth can be felt by anyone at anytime, so long as they are willing to let him in.”

“When you tensed up as we took off, you were willing to welcome him,” the priest explained. “If you were willing more often, you would find life much less tiresome and much more delightful.”

“There’s a 50s word for you,” Jeff laughed.

“What? Delightful?” the priest replied.

“Exactly. Just how old are you, Father?”

“Old enough to know a thing or two. The 1950s were actually a much better time to be alive in some respects. God was much more on the forefront of people’s consciences.”

“Yeah, but so was racism, sexism, and hate,” Jeff snorted.

“Well, you are right on the first two, but not on the last,” the priest said. “Today there is more hate in the world than there ever was in total. Only the rules have been adjusted. The hatred still exists.”

“So you think civil rights and the Sexual Revolution have done no good?” Jeff exclaimed.

“Not to say they’ve done no good, just that the progress that was made as a result brought with it a multiplication of problems. Women have the right to to vote and work and own and so on, today,” the priest explained. “But the competition, greed and envy of men in the more fair world has resulted in them being more hateful.”

“Would it have bene better to stay the way we were?” Jeff asked.

“Not necessarily,” the priest answered. “But in some ways, perhaps.”

Jeff’s mother always wanted to be the bread-winner. His father, Pete, was always off chasing college interns, so his absence gave Susan control and a misplaced sense of family stability. When Pete left and Jeff went off to Georgetown, Susan saw her chance to really win some bread. If only she had seen that late 30s, former real-estate agents don’t exactly get plum roles on the big screen, or even recurring roles on bad soap operas.

But she didn’t have to win bread for any more than herself.

With Jeff, though, the stakes were higher. With him under her wing, she had to hang on, had to overachieve, had to be solid and normal. Without him as motivation her life fell apart. She was the victim of a no-good husband and a series of over-zealous sugar daddies who did nothing but lie about giving her parts. But expected a part of her in return for the possibilities. She was a victim of big dreams, but low expectations.

If only Jeff had moved to L.A. with her. If he needed her again, she could make it … again.

“So is it worth my trouble to pray,” Jeff asked.

The priest, somewhat incredulously, scoffed.

“Why certainly, son. You did get that calm you were searching for, did you not?”

“Well, yeah,” Jeff answered.

“Then your questions are answered,” the priest said, seemingly calmed by the point proven and ready to take his mid-way point nap on the Cincy-to-L.A. leg.”

“Father?” Jeff asked, hoping the padre would continue the discussion.

“Yes, son?”

“Why doesn’t God intervene?”

“The way I see it, intervening goes against the natural process of things. In a way, it is as if the theory of evolution and the Biblical story of Genesis are both accurate depictions of our time on earth. Nature is God’s creation, but God understands and is in awe of the nature he created. He knows how powerful our natural wonders–earth, wind, fire, water–are. And he respects them.”

“So nature is more powerful than God?”

“Not exactly. Think of it this way: God is a computer operator. He writes a software package that can go out on the Internet and control the sites you visit, the products you buy and the time you’re allowed to be there. The software is more powerful than the one programmer, but the programmer knows how to turn the software off.”

“So God just chooses to let nature control us?”

“That’s my estimation,” the priest said, satisfied.

“Will he ever turn it off?” Jeff pressed.

“Oh, who is to say? If he does, we will likely just cease to exist.”

“What?!” Jeff exclaimed. “No heaven? No pearly gates? No Saint Peter? What’s up with that?!”

“Oh son,” the priest whispered, as if to calm Jeff’s fears. “The afterlife is something man created to erase his own fear of the day when nothing comes. Much like your prayer on takeoff subdued your anxiety about whether or not the plan would make it off the ground safely. Mankind has been praying for centuries to help ease their fear of death, pain, suffering and so on. God’s warmth and his glory help us through those fears.”

“So if there’s nothing to look forward to, why go through all the trouble?” Jeff asked.

“I guess because it’s easier to live with false hope than with impending truth.”

“Great!” thought Jeff. “Life is a lie.”

Pete bounced form being an insurance salesman to a bank manager to a stock broker. He led some of his younger, more technologically-inclined clients to buy stocks in upstart, web-based IPOs as early as 1992. Most of his picks bombed, but a handful were at least successful enough to have the ledger balance more in his favor than not.

He was a liar. He cheated on Susan since they started dating. Like any civilized redneck, though, he didn’t screw around on her from his bachelor party until one year, three months and six days after the wedding–oddly enough coinciding with the start of Susan’s second trimester.

Pete loved his son, but as with most familial responsibility, he circumvented as much as he could with work excuses.

He admired Susan for her easy slide into motherhood and her ability to be seen in public with him despite her knowledge that he was a son-of-a-bitch. She had that brilliant need to be the breadwinner. Social niceties were her outlet and of that, Pete took full advantage.

When he left, he didn’t give Susan or Jeff a second thought. He loved them both and needed them more than he would ever be able to comprehend, but he was, after all, a liar. He lied to himself best.

“Father, I’m still unclear about something,” Jeff said. “Why should I concern myself with God, church, religion and so on if it’s really all for naught?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” replied the priest. “If you don’t, then the next time you go looking for that warmth — the next takeoff, the next job interview, the next love life turbulence — whatever the next opportunity, the warmth won’t be found. God and religion are all about giving people comfort and hope. What we get in the end is not as important as how comfortably and painlessly we get there.”

“That just doesn’t seem right,” Jeff replied.

“Young man, when you go in search of God, is he there for you?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well then, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Keep praying. Keep believing. Keep living. Do that and your time here won’t be wasted.”

“Thank you, Father,” Jeff offered as those final words sunk in.

The two sat silent for the final hour or so of the flight. Jeff had eaten the chicken, which was surprisingly good, nibbled on some Chex mix, and downed several cups of water without even noticing.

As the passengers deplaned, Jeff walked out ahead of the priest, but didn’t think to look back to see if he was still there until he was already in the doorway leading out into the terminal.

Susan was there alone, her skin leathery and her make up excessive. She looked desperate for someone … anyone really. But a beaming smile burst across her wrinkled face as soon as Jeff appeared out of the doorway. He smiled back and was nearly as happy to see her, though he thought she looked 15 years older than she should.

“How was your flight?” Susan asked after the mother and child exchanged long hugs, “I love you”s and “I missed you”s.

“Pretty quick and painless,” Jeff responded.

“Was the movie good?” she inquired.

“Honestly,” Jeff answered, somewhat amazed, “I don’t even know what they showed.”

Author’s Note: I wrote this on a flight in 2001 and recently rediscovered the handwritten original in my then journal. I don’t recall, but assume I was mulling over big life questions at the time. I hope you enjoy it.