The Presence

On my 25th birthday, I faced Sister Mary-something-or-other during a humiliating performance review, based solely on my singing ability, or lack thereof. She professed that my bachelor’s degree in chemistry meant very little to her, and, had I been a decent Catholic, I would have learned to sing so I could better praise the Lord. She told me that the school would find another chemistry teacher for the fall term, and I was dismissed. It was then, that precise moment, when I lost my faith in God.

I left her office, and my mind spun with an endless list of financial responsibilities as I boarded the train to the city. I had college loans to pay, I couldn’t afford a car, and, to make matters worse, I had to pay the costs of college transcripts each time I applied for a new teaching position. Life appeared grim.

Where was God when I needed him? That singular thought ran through my head like a hamster on a wheel until the train stopped at a partially-underground platform. While the next stop would have gotten me closer to my destination, it also would have taken the train beneath the city, and I hadn’t the courage to go completely underground, fearing the train might trap me there. So, I exited onto the platform as the afternoon sun peeked at me from the street-level windows above.

A small kiosk stood in the center of the platform, portraying a map of the city. I made notes with paper and pencil, trying to find the best walking route to my destination. As I replaced my supplies and zipped my purse, a dirty-looking Wretch of a man, just about my age, appeared at the top of the stairs. Wretch confidently walked, step by step from the street level. Our eyes met as he descended the final step, and he lowered his eyelids just a bit, flashing me a creepy half-smile. Strapping my purse across my body, I turned away and moved to stand between two benches, hoping he would pass by and give me unencumbered access to the stairs.

A Geezer with a cane sat quietly on the bench to my left. His face was expressionless and he was completely still. He might have been dead, except that he sat perfectly upright with no back support. A dead man surely could not have sat so straight. Suddenly, like a diabolical doll, his head turned while all other parts of his body remained locked in place. Abruptly, I turned away from him only to encounter the sun’s blinding reflection off of something Wretch had taken from his pocket. Had Geezer seen the reflection too?

I followed Wretch’s line of vision to a woman who prayed on a bench to my right. Her eyes were closed and her purse strap looped over one arm. Slightly smiling, she seemed peacefully unaware of her surroundings. But, I feared for her. She looked like an easy mark for Wretch, and he slowly, silently approached her from the opposite side of the bench.

“Young man, may I suggest you put that knife away.” Geezer spoke firmly and stood from his bench with the assistance of his cane. He rose slowly, as though movement was painful, then he shuffled toward Wretch with a pronounced limp, his cane thumping on the platform. I cringed, fearing that the physically weak Geezer would be instantly overpowered by the young Wretch. I almost prayed that the old man would stop and return to his bench, but, then, I remembered that I no longer believed in God.

After Geezer’s first steps, he surprisingly gained speed, his limp less pronounced. Wretch turned to Geezer with wide, angry eyes, and slashed his knife through the air toward the old man, but Geezer unflinchingly continued his approach.

Had I thought Geezer feeble? I was a fool. As Wretch closed in and wielded the knife, Geezer deftly leaned backward to avoid it, using his cane for balance, as though he’d done that move a thousand times. Wretch slashed and pushed, backing Geezer toward the train tracks. Yet, Geezer remained incredibly nimble, moving his upper body this way and that to successfully avoid each strike. His cane held him steady, while his feet moved rhythmically with his upper body, giving him the appearance of a duelist who teased an inferior opponent with some small hope of success.

The praying woman had opened her eyes when she first heard Geezer warn Wretch, before the first slash of the knife. She saw the fray and tried to stand, but immediately sat again, winded from the effort. I knew she was unable to help Geezer, which left the duty to me. I considered my fighting skills to be more of a liability to the old man. But, if not me, then who?

The men were almost at the tracks when I approached Wretch from behind. I grabbed part of his jacket and tugged, forcing the knife to miss its mark. My effort, however, turned Wretch’s ire toward me. I cowered when he raised the knife high to strike, prepared for the sting of his blade. Instead, something hard had pressed into my side and pushed me out of Wretch’s reach.

After Geezer’s cane had toppled me, the old man swept it toward Wretch, striking him in the belly and doubling him over. I moved forward to assist Geezer, but, before I could get close, he swung the cane, once again, with the power and agility of a much younger man. The fight went on, and Geezer placed himself between Wretch and me. Wretch took more blows than he gave, but Geezer stopped the action when Wretch had backed up to the yellow warning line at the platform’s edge.

Geezer lowered his cane and opened his mouth to speak, but Wretch raised his knife high. I rushed to grab Wretch’s wrist before he could pierce the old man’s skin, only to fall short of my goal. Geezer lunged away as the knife grazed his arm, but still delivered a strike with his cane that caught Wretch just below the ribs.

With a jerk, Wretch stepped backward, lost his footing and teetered on the edge of the platform. His arms flailed. I reached for his hand but he was too far away, just as he was too far off balance. I was helpless to stop his fall.

Geezer’s cane blocked me from getting too close to the edge of the platform, but it did not keep me from locking eyes with Wretch, just before the back of his head hit one of the steel rails below. And, in the split second before death, I saw resignation in Wretch’s eyes, like that of a dying man, knowing he could not be saved.

Blood dripped over the rails and soaked the ground. All was still and silent on the platform. I stood motionless in shock, somehow unable to tear myself away from the gruesome sight of Wretch’s body lying motionless below.

“Come away, girl,” Geezer said with the gentle nudge of his cane. I turned from the tracks and faced Geezer, who stood tall without the use of his cane. First, I looked at his arm where the knife had grazed him, but I saw no blood. Next, he was backlit by the sun that came from the windows above. The old man became a silhouette with a blindingly bright halo, yet I could not close my eyes to the light. Then, the sadness of Wretch’s death departed when I exhaled, taking with it the worries of the day, and leaving me in deep, deep peace.

Finally, Geezer bowed and smiled at me, then turned away toward the steps, walking and whistling and twirling his cane, as if it had been a mere prop instead of a necessity. The old man left me, but His spirit remained.