Seasons of Denial

The last time I'd seen my pastor, he advised me to stop drinking.

Encouragement and support were important during this stressful time. This was not my first try at quitting drinking.

Now I was at work and concerned about my supervisor. Presently, I did not know her age. But as I understood it, she had her eyes on Number 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C.

I laughed wickedly at this, because the country already had a president, and was in enough trouble without her interference. Not only that, but the system was not planning on disappearing in a hurry.

As for me, I came here fostering a broken spirit, and a dream and determination. I had a few items and seven dollars to my name. My first stop was at the church-sponsored mission for transients and indigents.

Indeed, this was Jacksonville, Florida. I was trying to escape the harshness I brought down on myself in Massachusetts. There I dwelled in comfort and later, uncertainty.

However, I lacked many principles and definitely without grace. But first the angel's looks: There were the hazel eyes that needed no magnifying. Long, shiny brown hair richly coiffured.

Clear complexion I envisioned to take on more interest up her knee-high dress. Her long legs were very shapely like the rest of her; and there was her mind -- a network of intrigue and fascination.

Those were my findings from momentary glimpses. And so when she confronted me suddenly, I felt like the Philistine I often portrayed. I did not know what to say as a result of her quick appearance. I was filled with fear and admiration of her.

As in fantasy, I was now engaged with her. I immediately realized she was independent, outspoken, and interested in every issue, with an affinity for analyzing.

She knew I loved to write. The man at the mission who hired me out to her told her this over the telephone.

Already I was thinking: Tomorrow, I'd miss her presence that was worthy of considerable respect, as one does a favorable season. Now my current longing was to try and forget her, for a situation that could never be.

I was afraid to look at her. Yet I perceived for a moment, that we both could have been in a state of exalted delight, in which normal understanding is felt to be surpassed.

I was bewitched. I hoped that it was kind. Wishing all along that I could accompany her to the place where she dreamed.

She was beautiful -- a little less than an angel. And I adored her quietly, in my heart that was disposed to rebel.

The lady reminded me of Solangel.

Solangel was my estranged wife.