Matthew, saint of indecision, was walking from here to there on a rainy December day, circa 1989, with nothing in his pocket but the truth, bound by an unholy statement of time and place, knowing only what was the beginning and what will be the end, and that, somewhere in the middle, the truth had become distorted. Cold, wet, and tired, Matthew slipped his limber body into a crowded New York deli and undid the buttons of his drenched trench coat. He was late, as usual. Glorious Surrender, a name she called herself, was waiting patiently in a booth near the john. She waved at Matthew as he ducked politely through the mass of confusion.
“You’re late,” she muttered.
“I know.”
“It wouldn’t matter, but that I’m expected to be somewhere soon. Do you have the money?”
Matthew thought for a moment. A short and to the point waitress asked him if he wanted a drink. Matthew did not respond.
“Asshole,” said the waitress.
Glorious Surrender became impatient. “You don’t have it, do you?” she asked.
Matthew smiled. He was known for being a man of small words of material worth.
“What should I do?” Glorious asked, knowing he would barely answer, but still have something clever to say.
“Put it on my tab?”
With that, Glorious reached into her handbag and pulled out a scrap of brown paper.
“I want you to know that I’m only doing this because I believe in you, I trust you, and I know that you will be wise with this information. Otherwise, I’m going to jail. You know that, right? You know that this could be my last remark.”
Matthew took the paper and, without looking at it, folded it twice and slid it into his wet coat pocket. “You can trust me,” he said with a reassuring sense. “I’d really hate for this to be your last anything.”
“So how long are you sticking around for this time?”
“Don’t know yet. As long as I have to.”
“You gonna see her while you’re here?”
“Hadn’t thought about it. Maybe.”
“Well, you should.”
Matthew thought for a moment. He did not want to have this conversation. It seemed unlikely to him, however, that it could have been avoided. “Where is she?” he asked.
“Same old place. Must be kind of hard for her since you left.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Maybe? Listen, jackass, you had a lot of nerve doing that to her.”
“I don’t disagree.”
Glorious thought for a moment. “Anyway,” she continued, “I think it would be for the best. She’s been kind of lifeless since you left.”
“She’ll be okay.”
“Maybe.”
In the rain again, Matthew looked around for a sign. There were signs telling him where he was, where he wanted to be, and how he came to be. But nothing told him where he was about to go. He thought to himself, that maybe he would go and see her, and maybe she would be okay. It took him several months to forget about her. Not that he did forget, or even that he could, but that, with time, the memory of her seemed further and further away. He thought about what he wrote in his letter. I am not abandoning you. This is not the end. We will see each other again. Someday.
Now capsized in a sea of guilt, Matthew prayed to the Lord for forgiveness. Then he looked out upon the world before him, his hand fingering the paper in his pocket, and exhaled deeply. Perhaps that someday would have to wait.
