Holiness, Beheld

fiction / part one

That morning I woke up late for work, which for me is 5 am. The house was eerily quiet, like emaciated spirits had drifted in as I slept, hungry for the ambient hum of my appliances, for the low whooshing of my window AC unit, for the quiet buzz of my refrigerator. The clock on my nightstand was dead. Another power outage. They were getting more frequent as our summers continued to roast living things into brittle memories of themselves and our winters got ever more confused about what outfit they were supposed to arrive in. Based on the position of the moon out my window, I figured it was around 4:30. I grabbed a flashlight from under the bed and dressed in the half-dark. No time for coffee, I downed a Diet Coke and threw my toothbrush into my bag.

I drove faster than usual. The town was still sleeping, so I Grand-Theft-Auto’ed my way to work while I brushed my teeth. I swear, I only took my eyes off the road for a split second, just so I could spit my toothpaste out the window. I slammed on the brakes as soon as I saw it.

There, in the middle of the road, illuminated in the dusty glow of my headlights, was a lamb. It was just lying there, patiently, as if it were waiting for someone. It gave my car a level-headed, intense stare. And it was then that I realized that there weren’t just two eyes looking at me, there were four. The lamb had two heads. Both were encircled by a fine, glowing mist. I couldn’t be certain at this distance, but something in me knew that if I were to touch that light, it would be comfortingly warm, it would be liquid silk, that it might make me feel whole.

I don’t know how long I sat there silently, stunned, making breathless eye contact with this creature. Dawn was approaching and soon half of the trucks in this zip code would be taking this road out to the quarry. I couldn’t just… leave it here, could I?

That’s the first time I felt the world tilt. It slid slightly sideways into a shadow version of itself, turning reality into a dripping, swirling, surrealist foreign planet. Gravity malfunctioned. But then I blinked, and things felt fine. Normal. The world righted itself. That time.

I got out of the car, hesitantly at first, but then I felt a pull, like an invisible rope had lassoed me around the waist and was slowly drawing me closer to the animal. I stopped a foot away from it and held out a trembling hand. The lamb gently closed its eyes and lowered its foreheads. It trusted me. I rested the palm of my hand on its impossibly soft, cloud-like coat. I was right, the light was so warm, and it made me feel… loved. I felt love washing over me in waves, felt the embrace of a benevolent eternity.

I slowly knelt down and reached out for the creature again, gently stroking its neck, its faces. I looked deep into its eyes and tears began fall down onto the asphalt, eerily human tears. Slowly and then heavier, saltier, until the thing was sobbing into my open hands. I held its heads. “Shh.. shhh.. you’re okay,” I whispered as it wept. I felt such a tenderness for the animal, it was exquisitely painful. Utter heartbreak erupted in my chest.

And then there was something else, some other force altering my feelings, my perceptions. The world was tilting again. I continued to comfort the two-headed lamb. We stayed there, together, crumpled in the middle of the road, while reality warped and swiveled, sobbing in each other’s incandescent embrace.

“Shhh… it’s okay. Let me get you something, please. I won’t leave you out here all alone,” I said as I made my way back to my car. I knew I had a blanket in the back, a soft clean one, and some water too. I ducked down, reached into my backseat, and as I turned to walk back to the creature’s side, a massive, dark shape leapt out from the woods. It smelled of sulfur, of resentments, of bitter endings. It smelled of slammed doors, of Chernobyl, of massacres. It was a colossal black dog, foaming at the mouth. Some primordial hybrid of a coyote and a Rottweiler. I stood there, frozen, clutching the blanket, while the dog’s immense jaws closed around the lamb’s jugular. I heard the sharp snap of bone, and the beast took off carrying my limp, bleeding creature in its jaws. The lamb no longer glowed, no longer had the echo of a halo.

I got into the driver’s seat and started the car. I was dizzy. I couldn’t stop trembling. All of a sudden driving to work felt idiotic, futile, but I did it anyway. I drove the remaining few miles with tears streaming down my face, hyperventilating. It took the big black dog’s jaws snapping shut for me to realize what struck me about the lamb: it radiated holiness. It left me in a state of ethereal awe. I was certain of one thing: the lamb was not of this world. And now it was dead. Not just dead, but destroyed. Eaten, devoured. I parked in the staff lot in the back, cleaned myself up, and headed into the clinic for my shift, eager to forget everything I’d seen so far that day.

We don’t have an abundance of employment opportunities around here, so I got a job at one of the rehab centers that seem to sprout up from the concrete almost daily. It’s just about the only industry left, the pay is decent, and all I had to do was take an 8-week course and bam, I was an Addiction Recovery Technician. Basically, a professional drug addict babysitter. I handled no meds; I did no counseling. I was just there to make sure everyone got from activity to activity without sneaking off for a smoke or fucking off entirely, and to help referee the fights that three dozen detoxing men are liable to get caught up in. I’d seen some shit, even taken some hits, but I could deescalate most arguments with a calm conversation. It didn’t hurt that I was one of only three women who worked in this facility, so they were generally just happy to see a feminine face. A pretty smile went a long way.

This batch of residents had been easy, so far. We run a more flexible program here than other facilities, some of these guys had been here a week, and some had been here for 3 months. Our longest-term resident arrived 6 months ago. Only a few of the current crew had been sent by the courts, so most were with us voluntarily, and that generally makes for better morale. The ones who were sent here by the law were pretty mild as far as criminals go. They seemed jaded, more exhausted than anything. I got the impression that they knew they could’ve ended up somewhere way worse than this rehab.

I walked into the office and logged in for my shift. Everyone would be up at 5:45 for breakfast, but I had to monitor kitchen duty before that. I checked the clock: 5:27 am. I was beginning to think this morning would never end. I booked it to the cafeteria before I could collide with any coworkers.

“Well, well! Look who’s joining us!” Ian shouted from behind the counter as I pushed open the double doors to the small cafeteria. I tried not to play favorites, but you can’t really help it in an environment like this. The extremes are too much for anyone to stay entirely neutral. I was used to managing meltdowns and crises, and don’t get me wrong, I was good at it. I knew what I was getting into, it was literally part of the job description. And it meant something to me, to help these guys get clean, to potentially turn some lives around. Maybe even save somebody. But when enough dudes try playing grab-ass with you on the job, you start to appreciate the ones who don’t. Ian never did.

“I’m only 7 minutes late. It seems like you managed on your own,” I said as I grabbed myself a cup of coffee, “My power was out. I had a complicated morning.”

“You had a complicated morning? I had to wake Hector up for kitchen duty,” he gave me a pointed look and then nodded his head to the back of the kitchen. Hector was a good guy, came in here kicking and screaming from the county drunk tank and turned out to be incredibly kind as soon as the crank and liquor was out of his system. He was just fundamentally not a morning person. I heard him grumble as he fried eggs by the dozen. I started chopping onions and potatoes for hash browns. Ian was at my side working on the fruit salad. He’s one of the few here who had earned knife privileges. It was a big deal. He was taking this new responsibility with the utmost seriousness. We stood beside each other in companionable silence, each slicing and dicing, until there was a clatter of frying pans and then an abrupt shout from the back of the kitchen, “Nothing! All good!”

“It better be!” I shouted back over my shoulder.

Hector came out to refill his cup of coffee, “Just knocked over a few pans. Totally my bad. Hella clumsy, but the burners were already off. It’s all good, boss.”

I nodded, “If you’re done with the eggs, you can have a seat and chill until breakfast starts,” I said, gesturing to the empty tables.

“Would it be cool if I went to my room to lie down? I’m feeling weird…” he said, trailing off. I stopped cutting. I really couldn’t take one more ounce of weirdness that morning. It wasn’t even 6 am. I felt his forehead, looked into his eyes.

“You’re definitely warm… and, god, your eyes are bloodshot. Could just be a rough withdrawal day. Here,” I said as I wrote out a pass and handed him a blueberry muffin, “Go to the infirmary. Give Caroline this and she won’t mind that you’re coming to her before sunrise.” He smiled weakly, thanked me with a quiet nod, and headed out.

Ian watched Hector go and then continued prepping breakfast. He looked concerned. Ian was a unique case. He was only 16 when he first tried to get clean, and by this go-around, he was 20. He’d been in and out of here more than anyone else, but I really believed he’d be able to stick with sobriety one day. But if not, he certainly knows where to find us.

“Alright, so tell me about this complicated morning you had,” Ian said, “You know there ain’t shit to do in here. Spill.” I took a deep breath and wiped my hands on a dishtowel. I looked around the kitchen and made sure the other guys were immersed in their tasks or at least distracted by conversation. I turned on the exhaust fans above the stove to muffle our conversation.

“What are you doing?” Ian asked, “First, you run in here late. Now you’re peering around corners, you’re turning on the fan to drown us out… what the hell happened? You’re acting more like a junkie than we do.”

I wanted to tell him, I really did. Everything in me wanted to just lay it all out right then. But it was all insane and I hadn’t even gotten time to wrap my head around it yet. I trusted Ian, but if he told anyone about this, they’d either fire me for being insane or fire me for telling an insane thing to a resident. I needed to keep my job.

“You know what,” I started, injecting faux-cheer into my voice, “it’s really nothing. I bet I dreamt the whole thing, and then I woke up late, and I just freaked. It’s all good,” I smiled and grabbed the clipboard from the wall so I could check off names for kitchen duty, something I should’ve done almost an hour ago. I took a quick roll call and then breakfast started and 30 drowsy men in sweatpants took their plastic trays and sat down to eat.

The rest of the day was ordinary. Internally, I felt like I was walking on the moon, gravity suspended, nothing familiar, but everyone else was totally normal. I started to quietly hope that maybe the lamb had been a dream. Maybe my brain just got the sequence of events jumbled.

I was lost in thought when the screaming started.