Parts of the Whole — Part 4: Grace

I knelt at the windowsill and started praying.

It was morning, and my head felt like it was ready to implode. The apartment smelled of Astroglide and sex. In my bed, Steve continued to snore, his naked body still curled around my imprint in the mattress. Torn condom wrappers littered the floor. Blankets and sheets laid in crumpled piles all across my apartment. In the kitchen, one could still see smudge marks on the counter in a shape conspicuously similar to Steve's hips.

And there I was, hands folded on the sill, head bowed, eyes closed. "God, I don't understand."

Outside, a car laid on its horn. I was cold; the apartment was always drafty, and walking around in just a pair of shorts wasn't helping matters any. I should have been in that imprint Steve was keeping warm for me, but it just didn't settle.

"I want to make everyone happy," I said. "That's all I ever wanted to do. Help me, God. What should I do?"

From the heavens came a whisper of a reply: "Turn around."

A fox sat at my feet. When I stood she stood, and when I walked to the kitchen she shook dew from her fur. I made breakfast and she nosed at my ankles. "I'm sorry," I said to her.

In a flash of light Audrey came out of the fox pelt like a hatching egg. She lay on my floor, naked, brushing the fur from her chest with dainty fingers. There was no fear, no worry: only Audrey and I and the rising sun, with Steve snoring away in the back room. We said nothing while Audrey wrapped a blanket around her waist.

"I was awake for everything," she said to me. "The change. Running through the forest, hunting rabbit."

"How was it?"

Her breath caught in her throat. "Incredible. How was your night?"

"Same," I replied, and shot a glance to the back room. "He's great."

"Then that's all that matters. No reason to be sorry." She poured herself cereal. "I figured you two would be a good match."

"Why not an angel?" I blurted. "I mean, I think I've been a good sport about all this. But sending a fox? Why a fox? Why not one of those big-winged mobsters of God, halo and all that, guiding my every step of the path? Why not God himself speaking into my ear like some big religious experience? Why, Hope?"

"You wouldn't have listened to one, dear." She pointed the spoon at me. "God works in mysterious ways, y'know. Sure, He could reach down and tell you what you need to do. Sure, He could descend upon a church and make everyone see the light. But it doesn't work that way, Lance. You and I both know that."

"We're parts of a whole," I responded.

"little puzzle pieces in some mysterious big canvas. Hell if I know. I'm just a kitsune."

I laughed at that one.

"Oh, and before I forget. Your mom's staging an exorcism for you. I stopped by and heard her making all the calls last night. Gonna be a big ol' revival, whole nine yards."

My mind raced with a thousand bad movie scenes. Exorcism? I imagined shaking and frothing at the mouth among singing and screaming congregations, the sign of the cross burned into my head, mysterious tongues blathering from my lips. Mom was crazy, sure. But this... "And she thinks I'm going to come?"

"I'm going to take you," she responded. "And you're going to do it smiling."

I looked to the ceiling and pushed on my temples. Hard. Spots filled my vision. "I don't get it. All this time building me up and now you're taking me to a breakdown."

"You just have to trust—"

"I never said I didn't trust you," I interrupted. "I just want to know what the hell I'm getting into."

"That'd ruin the fun," Hope said. She yipped twice and focused on the bowl. "You should go cuddle with your man. Sleep's good before an exorcism. Studies show that well-rested people have the most entertaining exorcisms. Trust me! I saw it in Vogue once. Honest!"

Mom called and Audrey answered. I was shooed back to my imprint, and Steve was all too happy to take me into his arms.

• - -

It was a backwoods tent revival, all right. I recognized the beat-up old blue tent from the yearly town fish fry, and the Ex-Gay banner from the Third Methodist Church. (Another one of those intra-faith things, I guess, but I wasn't exactly ready to ask questions.) They were feeding me badly fried fish soaked in too much tartar sauce and catching me up on town gossip – who knocked up who, how many drinks Mister Lawrence had, the like.

They asked Audrey how long we'd been together, naturally, and she was happy to blather on about our relationship. All the while, though, I could barely touch her for the heat she put off. The pastor, noticing this, stepped to the back of the room and had a few words with my mother.

Mister Jenkins was there to congratulate me, of course. Leave it to the reparative therapist to show up when victory's afoot, since he sure-as-hell wasn't around when things got tough. "The rubber band works every time," he said to me, laughing. We shook hands and Audrey shot him the dirtiest little look.

I wanted to wash my hands after that handshake, but it always seemed like someone was blocking my path, ready with a handshake and a "how the hell have things been?" conversation. Intentional? Definitely. But what was I going to do about it? So I sat in my chair and watched Mister Jenkins congratulate every aunt, uncle, and family friend at the table for "raising such a courageous young man".

The off-key sounds of a rusty gospel quartet rolled across the canvas ceiling. The men were far beyond their prime, and by the sound of their tired cassette player they'd been singing the same set for twenty years. Twenty-five, come to think of it; they'd been around town for as long as I could remember. And they were just as lovely as hardtack, let me tell you.

Every well-meaning mom in town paraded their daughter in front of me, but paused when Audrey met their eyes. "I'm terribly sorry," each said in turn, and Audrey replied with, "You should be."

The crowd slowly shuffled toward their seats. I thought it'd be a good chance to slip right out, you know, pretend that none of this ever happened. I could move to a new city, block my mom's phone number, the whole nine. The tent flap was just steps away from my seat at the table. It'd be a simple thing: by the time anyone realized I was gone I'd be halfway to Chicago.

Audrey put a firm hand over mine, though, and that was the end of that. "Come on. It's going to be fine. You trust me?"

"Absolutely."

She nodded and gave my hand a squeeze. "I think this is what I'm here for."

The gospel quartet ambled the stage in a murmur of polite applause. Old Lady Bennigan sat down to her beat-up electric organ and began to play a hymnal. Everyone sat and was quiet. Pastor Hunt nodded to Mister Jenkins, who looked to me with a gentle, warm smile. "The Pastor would like you to join him on stage," he said to me, using that listen-to-your-elders voice he loved to throw around in therapy.

It was Audrey who got up first. She was smiling and nodding, and took my hand tightly into hers. I felt as if she had plugged me into a light socket! Every hair on my body crackled with static, and my head felt as if it had become a van-der-graff generator. She squeezed my hand tight as we processed to the front, among the smiling faces and the fervently praying old ladies. At the front of it all was my mother, sitting beside the cross, moved to tears by the outpouring of support for her poor, sick son.

"It's Hope," Audrey whispered to me. We were at the base of the altar, where grass gave way to plywood.

"God, do I ever hope it's you!"

"I wouldn't leave you hanging." She stiffened her grip. "Whatever you do, don't let go. I'm going to shield you. Just trust me. Do. Not. Let. Go."

I squeezed. Hard. She squeezed right back.

Pastor Hunt shook my hand. He pointed to a single chair at the center of the plywood altar. Audrey shook her head and pulled a folding chair from the front row. "Moral support," she insisted, and the pastor just shrugged as Audrey took a seat beside me.

They began with a prayer. I'd have loved to bow my head as well, but Pastor Hunt had his palm firmly attached to my forehead as he said the benediction, and refused to so much as let me look anywhere but up. Above me, the sign of the cross had been made in twine. Below me, a Bible. And Pastor Hunt's body took up the rest of my vision, his black shirt and white collar shining in cheap spotlights.

"We are here to ask Lance's demon to leave," he said, and the congregation murmured its agreement. Mom just sniffled and sniffled. Audrey kept squeezing. The congregation took up the Lord's Prayer as if it were a drum beat, slow and methodical. Pastor Hunt closed his eyes and began to shake.

"Demon!" he screamed. "Leave this boy to his loving girlfriend!"

I tried not to laugh.

The congregation continued to pray. Cheap, electric organ hymnals continued to spout from Old Lady Bennigan's fingers. Audrey stared right at Pastor Hunt, and her hands felt like fire as they wrapped around mine.

The pastor's hand trembled. Suddenly the world became a tiny, tiny dot, and I felt like falling to my back. "Away, demon! Trouble this boy no more!" My eyes vibrated. I wanted to scream, to shout, to fight back, but the words pounded on my soul and found all the right cracks, tearing holes and taking residence. I felt as if a thousand rubber bands snapped all across my body.

Yet for as much damage as the pastor managed to perform he could never dig all the way in. He pushed and pushed, screaming higher and higher, and the prayer chorus doubled their efforts in response. Yet for all the praying, all the gesticulating, all the Holy Ghost he could muster, I still sat firm in my chair, still kept my wits.

Hope, of course, but I wasn't in much of a condition to tell the pastor that. His grip was starting to make me feel faint.

"Begone!" he screamed, as if it were some fantastic orgasm. Then he pushed on my forehead. Hard. The world spun and suddenly I felt plywood meet with the back of my head. I screamed. My grip went limp.

It was at that point that I became truly lost. The prayers reached an apex; Pastor Hunt looked to the Heavens and seemed to receive a reply. I felt a seizure coming on that I couldn't have fought even if I wanted to. A thousand different images blew through my head like dust shaking from a dry sandcastle. Sure was a good run, I thought to myself, and I let the memories and thoughts fall away from me.

Then everything stopped.

I thought I died for a good thirty seconds. It was that drastic; without warning the music stopped, the praying stopped, the pastor stopped, and suddenly I was in a world of darkness that had no up, no down. It came back slowly: the sound of gasping breath, the 120-volt hum of a badly-connected amplifier, the wheeze of the gospel choir's oxygen tanks.

"Are you okay?" Audrey asked. Except it wasn't Audrey anymore: the voice was deeper, resonant, as if it vibrated on every molecule in my body. Wisps of breezes traced across my face and suddenly I felt myself coming back into focus.

I opened my eyes to healing light.

"Come here," the voice demanded. I did exactly that and took the light by the hand. Suddenly the exorcism was all gone – I felt as if it were Christmas evening, and I was content with everything that had happened. "I told you not to let go."

It was Audrey. It wasn't Audrey. As the light faded I could see Hope in the haze: a tall, slinky figure, somewhere between fox, human, and waterfall. Where she looked the winds followed, and where she breathed became bathed in the brightest, cleanest water I had ever known. Her slanted, penetrating eyes and fox muzzle penetrated like X-rays.

I wanted to say she was beautiful. I wanted to say that I had stared into the eyes of God. I wanted to say that the Pearly Gates would be drab by comparison, and that this creature – this gorgeous, breathtaking creature – was in fact the spiritual secret for which our world had searched so hard. I wanted to tell the world to lay down their arms, the politicians to shake hands, the bigots to walk a mile in someone's moccasins. But the feelings all caught in my throat, held there by Hope's playful little giggle.

"I'm just glad you're okay," she said. It sounded as angel bells must peal.

She turned to face the congregation, who was busy burying their heads into their laps. "May I have your attention?" she asked. People continued to pray. "No. Really. Please. Pay attention. I have a message for everyone."

People stopped praying.

"You've got it all wrong," she said. She patted me on the shoulder once before pulling me into her waterfall arms. I felt her muzzle on the top of my head as if it were a pointer. "Just... you got it terribly wrong. That's all. That's why I'm here. You're doling out hate when you should be giving love."

The congregation nodded. A shadow passed from the congregation to the ceiling in a whorl of wind and water.

Hope nodded.

Audrey gave me a big hug.

Then, as quickly as it all began, they were both gone.