Marta's Meanderings

There’s a chance that while refraining from singing, I may have slept with Conner. It’s a little fuzzy, but consciousness just crept in and we are laying on the basement couch tangled up almost naked with each other.
“I’m going to the bathroom. Do you want anything while I’m up?” he asks, kissing my forehead.
“A glass of water, please.”
I watch him shuffle out of the room, then I drift back to sleep.
The heat from the sun causes me to roll over and open my eyes. I sit up and survey the basement. I’m alone. Groping around on the floor, I find my purse and cell phone. It’s six thirty in the morning. He went to the bathroom three hours ago. Where is he? I gather my clothes and throw them on. My underwear is no where to be seen, which worries me a little, but I think the most important part right now is finding Conner before his parents find me.
I call his cell phone. It rings from under the couch. I start to panic. I’m in his parents’ house. His very Catholic mother is upstairs. She’s bound to come down here eventually. And I don’t imagine she’ll be thrilled to see a hungover, partially dressed, black-eyed me in her


basement.
I pad to the door and open it slowly. The bathroom is right outside the door and it’s empty. There doesn’t seem to be any movement in the house. Did he leave without me? My best option is probably to sneak through the house and bolt out the front door.
I’m about to sprint up the stairs when I remember that my underwear is still missing in action. I hate to abandon it because it’s my favorite red Hanky Panky thong, but I don’t have much time before Mrs. Adair rises from her bed or crypt, or wherever it is she rests. Of course, I don’t want her to find it either. Fuck. I inspect under the couch, tear the cushions off and dig around the frame. Nothing. It isn’t hanging from the lights or ceiling fan. I search behind the drink bar where there’s a refrigerator and a giant stand-alone freezer. Oh God. I’ll have to leave it behind. I can only hope she doesn’t find out it’s mine.
The stairway to the first floor opens up into the kitchen and living room, which leads to the front door and the exposed staircase up to his parents’ room. The kitchen floor creaks as I creep through. I hope Conner is in here so I can bitch slap his face before I run like hell.
No such luck.
When I get into the living room, I hear someone moving around upstairs. Dear God. I scurry across the living room to the front door. The deadbolt clicks as I unlock it. My fingers curl around the doorknob. Just when I think I’ve found freedom, I notice the alarm system blinking beside the door. It’s on. If I go out the door, it will set off the system.
A toilet flushes upstairs. Oh my God. I debate running out the door anyway and booking it down the block. The house is on a ravine that leads to my parents’ house, so by the time the police show up I could be safe in my own bed. Of course, the embarrassment would be much worse if the police trace the break-and-enter to my house and come knocking on my parents’ door.
Where the hell is he?
Then the door to his parents’ room opens upstairs. Blinded by fear, I hurtle through the living room and kitchen, back into the basement. I don’t stop to catch my breath until I’m safely behind the couch.
Someone starts making breakfast in the kitchen above me. This is bad. Really, really, bad. Mrs. Adair is a lethal mixture of Catholic Italian and Greek, and here I am in her basement almost naked on a Sunday.
I call the one person I can think of that may be able to get me out of here without Mrs. Adair noticing.
“I need help,” I whisper.
“What time is it?” Joe yawns.
“I’m stuck in the Adairs’ basement. I have no idea where he is and now Mrs. Adair is upstairs moving around and I can’t get out of the house!”
“Why are you at the Adairs’?”
“Bob the cop drove me here. I had no choice.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“With Bob?”
“With Conner, Zane. Did you sleep with Conner?”
“Can we focus on the bigger issue here?”
I can almost hear his eyes roll. “Why are you calling me?”
“Wait in your car outside. I’m going to make a run for it and there’s no way I can book it home in these heels.”
“Don’t you have to go through the kitchen to get to the door?”
“I’ll put something over my head.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“How about you ring the doorbell and distract her while I run out. She loves you.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Joe, do you have any idea what Mrs. Adair will do to me if she sees me here?”
He sighs. “Is there a window?”
I madly look around, remembering a window when I woke up. There it is. It’s a tiny window over the deep freeze on the other side of the room, but big enough that I think I can fit my body through.
“Yes! Yes! There’s a window!”
I rush over and inspect it. There’s a little wire attached to a blinking white box on the pane. “It’s attached to the alarm system.”
“Wait till she turns the alarm off to get the paper and then climb out the window. I’ll wait down the block.”
Then I hear someone on the stairs.
“Someone’s coming,” I hiss and slap the phone shut.
I dive behind the couch and hold my breath. The door opens. A shadow appears on the wall beside me. Oh God. I don’t think I’ve been a horrible person. I cheated on a social studies test in sixth grade. The girl across from me was a history mastermind, so I copied all her answers. I got one hundred percent. But I don’t think I’ve ever done anything bad enough that would put me in the kind of position that would lead Mrs. Adair to find me hiding in her basement on a holy day.
The person opens the freezer and digs around. I try to focus on the reflection in the glass cabinets. It’s her. It’s Mrs. Adair. This is it. This is how I’m going to die. Here lies Lelaina Zane, aspiring writer, died at twenty-six while still living with her parents and dressed like a whore in her ex-boyfriend’s basement. Cause of death is unknown, possible heart attack or strangulation by crazed mother-in-law to be. Did I say mother-in-law to be? I didn’t mean it.
After an eternity rummaging around, Mrs. Adair grabs some frozen waffles, closes the freezer door and vacates the room. I lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. I could stay here until I die. They would eventually find my body and explain to my parents what happened. Mr. and Mrs. Zane, did your daughter moonlight as a whore?
I sit up and peek over the couch. As I do, the door opens again. I hit the ground. Don’t let it be Mrs. Adair. I will do anything. I will never have sex again. Please don’t let it be her.
A shadow appears over my head. I glance upward and come eye to eye with Mrs. Adair’s angry face. Her dark eyes are almost as black as her hair, a huge contrast to her heavily creased porcelain skin. The devil himself would shun this woman from hell for fear she’d take over.
She flinches when she sees my eyes. “Would you like to explain yourself?”
I really wouldn’t.
My heart thunders in my chest. I may have to yell so she can hear me over the noise.
“Mrs. Adair. Hi,” I say, as though I’m casually surprised to run into her here. I stay on the ground, not wanting her to see how I’m dressed.
“What happened to your face?”
I hope she means the black eyes. It could also be last night’s make up that is smeared across my face.
“I fell off a table at work.” I don’t have time to add that I work at a preschool and not a strip club.
“Where’s my son?” She asks me like I’ve gagged him and stuffed his body in a trunk somewhere.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” She crosses her arms. “How is it that you’re in my basement then?”
“He went to the bathroom four hours ago and didn’t come back. He’s probably upstairs.”
Let him be upstairs.
“Do your parents know where you are?”
Yes, I made sure to tell them I was getting hammered and coming back here to get laid.

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Charisma House; Har/DVD edition (July 6, 2010)

But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. —Romans 5:8



Would you say that the leaders of our country are mean for constructing prisons? No, it’s your choice; you don’t have to go there. (See Deuteronomy 30:19; Psalms 9:17; 86:5; 145:8–9; Proverbs 11:19, 21; John 3:16; Romans 5:8; 2 Peter 2:9; Revelation 20:13–15.)


Besides, hell was not prepared for man but for the devil and his angels (Matt. 25:41). God never intended for man to go there. Even now, He is preparing a place for us in heaven (John 14:2). It is only by man’s stubborn will that he rejects the provision God has made

for our access into heaven. It is arrogant of man to desire to go to heaven yet demand his own terms of access. If you want to live in God’s house, you come by His way and not your own (Luke 13:3; John 3:36; 14:6; Acts 4:12; Rom. 10:9–10; 1 Tim. 2:4–6).


Why is hell so horrific? Because God’s attributes are not present there. Many do not realize that the good we all enjoy is from God. Good doesn’t exist apart from Him. James 1:17 states, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights.”


The same word, hetoimazo, is used in Matthew 25:41, where God prepared hell for the devil, as is used in John 14:2, where Jesus says, “I go to prepare a place for you” (emphasis added). God prepared heaven as His eternal home, filled with all the attributes of His holiness and glory. But in God’s preparation of hell, He removed all of His attributes, or goodness, from that place of torment. Spiritual death means to be separated from God, and to be separated from Him is to be separated from all good. As a consequence, this is the result:


• Hell is dark because God is light (1 John 1:5).

• Hell is only death because God is life (John 1:4).

• Hell is hatred because God is love (1 John 4:16).

• Hell has no mercy because the mercy of the Lord is in the heavens (Ps. 36:5).

• Hell is only weakness because the Lord is the giver of strength (Ps. 18:32).

• Hell is loud because “My people will dwell in . . . quiet resting places” (Isa. 32:18).

• Hell has no water because water is the rain of heaven (Deut. 11:11).

• Hell has no peace because Christ is the Prince of Peace (Isa. 9:6).


The good we experience is because God allows us to enjoy it while we are here on the earth. Psalm 33:5 states, “The earth is full of the goodness of the Lord.”


However, if you want nothing to do with God, then there is a place prepared that has nothing to do with His goodness. His presence is there (Job 26:6; Ps. 139:8; Prov. 15:11; Rev. 14:10–11), in that it is before His face. However, His goodness and influence are removed.






He looks down upon it from heaven (1 Kings 8:30; Job 22:12; Ps. 11:4; 33:13; 102:19; 123:1; Prov. 15:3; Eccles. 5:2). Of course, God is in all places and sees all. I am simply saying that He has withdrawn His goodness from hell.


Proverbs 15:29 says, “The Lord is far from the wicked.” In 2 Thessalonians 1:8–9 we read, “In flaming fire taking vengeance on those who do not know God, and on those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. These shall be punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of His power.”


Cast out from the presence of the Lord is the idea at the root of eternal death, the law of evil left to its unrestricted working, without one counteracting influence of the presence of God, who is the source of all light and holiness.1 —Commentary Critical and Explanatory on the Whole Bible



Essentially, hell is the place where all aspects of the presence of God will be completely withdrawn forever.2 —Henry M. Morris and Martin E. Clark


Dr. Robert Peterson said in his book Hell on Trial, “God is not present in hell in grace and blessing . . . He is present in hell, not in blessing, but in wrath.”3


However, there is one additional thing in hell. God’s wrath is present in the form of fire. The fires of hell are representative of His wrath (Deut. 32:22; Ps. 11:6; 21:8–9; Isa. 30:33; 33:14; 34:9; 66:24; Jer. 4:4; Mal. 4:1; Matt. 13:49–50; 18:8; Mark 9:43; John 15:6; Jude 7; Rev. 14:10–11; 20:10–15). The reason for this wrath is because sin must be punished (Rom. 6:23). God took out His anger on sin at the cross, as He poured out His wrath on Jesus (Ps. 22; Isa. 53; Matt. 17:12; Mark 9:12; Luke 9:22; 17:25; 24:26, 46; Heb. 9:26; 1 Pet. 2:24). However, if we don’t acknowledge Him and receive Him as our Lord, then we will take the punishment (2 Thess. 1:9–10; 2 Pet. 2:9; Rev. 14:10–11; 20:13–15). It is our choice.


Most of the other terrible things in hell are not experienced because of His wrath but because of His absence—the absence of His attributes and goodness (Prov. 15:29; 2 Thess. 1:9). We need to understand that good things are not just here by a series of coincidental random events but because they emanate from the presence of God (Ps. 90:2; Matt. 5:45; Luke 6:35; Col. 1:16; 1 Tim. 6:17). When some say that hell is only “separation from God,” as if that is no big deal, we can now grasp what that really means.


Many will look at the trees, the sky, the ocean, and so forth and comment, “Isn’t Mother Nature wonderful?” Well, it is not “Mother Nature,” but rather, “Father God” who provided all of the beauty we enjoy.


Just as prisons have been constructed to protect the innocent from those who are breakers of the law here on Earth, hell has been prepared for the offenders of God’s law. The simple solution is, don’t break God’s law. “Unless you repent you will all likewise perish” (Luke 13:3; see also John 3:36; Rom. 10:9–10). Proverbs 27:12 says:


A prudent man foresees evil and hides himself; the simple pass on and are punished.


Remember this point: Just as prisons were not the first thing in mind when men came to this country, so too hell wasn’t God’s first intent when He made the earth and man. Nevertheless, hell exists— and it will be your own fault if you go there.


Salvation is a free gift, but we must receive it in order to be saved. God loves you and is a good Father. He is trying to keep you out of hell and to divert you from your misguided course.


The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me, Because the Lord has anointed Me To preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives, And the opening of the prison to those who are bound.


—Isaiah 61:1

April 2004
Milwaukee, Wisconsin “Girrrl, look who just walked up in here,” Keisha ran over and whispered in my ear after her eyes caught sight of Sean Beauvais. Never mind the fact I was busy talking to one of my student’s parents. I mean, after all, it was parent-teacher conference night for Milwaukee Public Schools. Sheesh! I guess that’s what I get for having a best friend as a coworker.
Obeying her order, I looked up at him, but I wasn’t as excited as she was. Don’t get me wrong, the brother was flyy; dressed a little too over-the-top for a parent-teacher conference, but still, he was flyy. Had Keisha not told me that he had just graced my classroom with his presence, I would’ve seen him eventually. He had swagger, and his presence didn’t go unnoticed wherever he was. When he entered a room, people gave him stares like he had his own star on the Walk of Fame, and by his proud attitude, he seemed to enjoy all of the attention.
He stepped in rocking a navy blue Sean Jean pinstriped suit with a crisp white shirt, complete with circular crystal cufflinks, a frost pink necktie, and some transparent,
smoke-lens shades with white frames, probably made by Gucci or Versace. Usually I don’t call men pretty, but this man was the exception. Sean put the F, I, N and three E’s in fine.
“Mo-ni-caaa.” Keisha nudged me again, slowly enunciating my name as if I didn’t hear her the first time she called me.
I heard her, but I was busy trying to concentrate. I didn’t like distractions when dealing one-on-one with my kids’ parents. I wouldn’t care if P. Diddy stepped in the room. I took my job very seriously and Keisha knew that.
“Monica,” Keisha whispered again, this time quickly.
I looked up at her, rocking a frown in my forehead. We’ve been friends long enough for her to know what I’m saying by the look I give her. And by the look that I gave her, she knew she was bugging me, but she didn’t care. She was steering her head in the direction she wanted me to look: Sean’s direction. By her movements, it looked like the girl had snapped her neck or something…like she was working out some kinks or doing some sort of jacked-up techno dance.
I glanced up at him again as he got a little closer. Truth be told, the brother was all that and then some. The closer he got, the more his good looks became prevalent. Sean was a light-skinned black man with green eyes. I was told his mother was white and his father was Haitian. From what I could see, he stood a few inches over six feet tall with a muscular build that would make Boris Kodjoe jealous. He must have been one of those guys that couldn’t survive without going to the gym at least once a day. I would guess that he was also the type of dude to get manicures and pedicures every two weeks and use those expensive body scrubs to keep his skin radiant. Speaking of his skin, it was smooth – no blemishes or razor bumps. His hair was dark black and curly like he had some sort of a texturizer or an S curl, but it was probably his genetics that resulted in him having a good healthy head of hair. With all that good hair, I’m sure he made it a point to see the barber weekly, probably at times when he didn’t even need a haircut.
I think to call him a metrosexual would be a little drastic, but that’s the title society usually pins on men who obsess about their appearance more so than women. But in today’s world what woman wouldn’t want a man who loved to look good? Personally speaking, I sure wouldn’t want to deal with some scruffy looking man who hasn’t had his toenails clipped in ten years.
Anyway, I could clearly see he was all man. He had a strong presence in my classroom, speaking to people whom he didn’t know while walking with confidence through the crowd of curious parents with one hand in his pocket. Yep, he was definitely the pretty boy type.
I heard he was also a cocky son of a gun who didn’t bite his tongue for anyone. If he had something to tell you, he would tell you point-blank. If you didn’t like it, that was your problem. There was no beating around the bush to try and find out his disposition on matters.
I HAD ALREADY dismissed the Caucasian couple I was chatting with. Might as well had since Keisha wasn’t about to leave me alone. I should’ve slapped some sense into her, but I couldn’t do that, being a kindergarten teacher and all. What kind of example will I be to my students? I hadn’t been teaching long, only for about ten months or so, and being only twenty-four years of age, the older teachers would sometimes look at me and turn up their noses like I was too young to be a teacher. I mean, is there a rule that teachers have to be old as dirt? I didn’t think so.
“Girrrl, he’s coming over here!” Keisha patted my shoulder in a few rapid motions with the backside of her hand, while panting at the same time.
She just couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t that she was astounded by Mr. Beauvais’ good looks. Unlike me, she had a man. Keisha was the proud girlfriend of a tall, sexy, mocha brother. I was actually jealous the first time she introduced me to him. He looked like a much younger Brian McKnight, same build and everything. She just so happened to meet him down on the east side where all the college students hang out nonstop until the early morning hours. I always thought it was funny how the one night I didn’t go out with her, she winds up with Mr. Perfect, and I’m still single. I haven’t had a man since Cornelius, but whatever. Keisha and Daryl were good together; she loved him and he loved her. That’s how I know she wasn’t tapping me because she was digging on Sean.
Keisha was excited and shocked to see Sean in my class for one reason and one reason only: Sean Beauvais never showed up for any of his son’s school activities. He didn’t even bother to show up for our kindergarten rendition of ‘Goldilocks and The Three Bears’ back in January. No one was there to watch Roman while he played the teeny tiny bear, and when the play was over, Roman sat in my car for thirty minutes waiting for his father’s chauffer to pick him up.
Getting back to Keisha, I had to say something to the crazy woman. She was putting a hurting on my shoulder.
“Keisha, if you pat my shoulder one…more…freakin’ time…,” I said as discreetly as I could, ready to backslap her.
“Girl, whatever,” she replied, completely ignoring my prelude to a threat. “Looks like Roman is pulling Sean over here. I’m out.” After all that nagging to get my attention, Keisha ran like a coward and dipped in her classroom, which just so happened to be next to mine.
I watched Roman steer his father the rest of the way to my desk. Roman was my best student, and though it was rumored that Mr. Beauvais and his now ex-wife had adopted him, I swear the boy looks just like his father. When Sean finally gets over here, I’ll really get to see if there are similarities between the two. One thing was for sure. They both had those same green eyes.

I couldn’t deal with Mom and her holier-than-thou attitude about decorating crosses. If she had any clue why I needed to do this, maybe she’d back off. I pushed my hair aside and looked down at the wooden beams. My box of paints and Sharpie pens lay close to my side. I had to get the design just right. Roses, or something plainer? It didn’t help that it was so cold in the garage. Why was it so hard to help the dead go to the other side? It’d be a whole lot easier if they told me what they wanted on their crosses. Dead girl comes, asks for help, and tells me she’s into pink roses. Yes, that would make my job a lot easier.
But one thing I’ve learned is, life isn’t easy. Cliché, but true.
Figures, this was how I’d spend my time on a Saturday – sitting cross-legged on the floor in our garage, worrying about finishing a cross for some dead girl. In a few hours, Mom would drag me to Mrs. Swanson’s house for a sleepover. I didn’t really have time to decorate a cross.
And each time I tried to sketch, thoughts of the meeting drove any thought of the design out of my mind. I mean, how could I even think of helping others – albeit dead ones – when my own life was such a disaster?
I didn’t want to go. But Mom was using the whole sleepover as a way to get me to be around Hillary, whom she thought would be such a good example for me. But I couldn’t tell my mother the truth – I hated Hillary. Yes, we’d once been close, but it wasn’t as if we were BFF anymore. No, Hillary made sure of that when I’d been stupid enough to trust her with my secret. A secret that was better left hidden. No one believed the dead could talk to you.
According to my last counselor, the only way that could happen is through serious Steven Spielberg special effects.
When I admitted to seeing one of my dead friends, he didn’t freak. No, he did something worse. He ended up suggesting to my parents that I needed to see a counselor – for serious psychological help. I mean, only crazy people see the dead.
And, I hate to say this, but his anti-anxiety and antidepressants don’t keep them away. Sometimes I wished the drug cocktail could just erase them. It sure would make my life a lot easier.
Sighing, I decided to go with pink roses. What girl didn’t like pink?
A sudden coldness permeated the garage. Jeez, did Dad forget to close the back door again?
I pulled my hoodie tighter. Working in near darkness was bad enough without the drop in temperature.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
I dropped my black Sharpie.
Over in the corner of the garage loose papers and dust whirled around – a funnel growing larger and larger.
A light shone next to Mom’s holiday plastic boxes, illuminating some Christmas ornaments, tinsel, and wrapping paper.
“Stephanie…careful….”
The childish voice grew louder. A chill went up my back. I know that voice!
I blinked once and when I opened my eyes I saw the girl. Her long dirty blond hair was clumped into two pigtails, and her bikini top and cut-off Levis brought back memories of the YMCA pool three years ago where I’d spent my summers.
Allison!
Omigod! I pushed the wooden cross aside. A tingling sensation burned through my whole body. Once I helped a dead person cross over, that was supposed to end the whole rescue scenario. The bright light appeared and poof! Well, not this time.
I scooted away, over the rough, cold pavement. This didn’t make sense. Though I was used to visits from the “other” side, having Allison reappear scared me. I didn’t know what to do.
“Allison, why are you here?” My voice broke.
She took a step toward me. Her lips trembled.
“Careful…danger….”
Danger? Did that mean her murderer was out of prison? Just the thought of that perv touching or killing someone else made me want to hurl.
“No… another….”
Someone else?
“Allison, what are you trying to tell me?” I slowly got up off the ground. “Is the guy who killed you, out?”
Allison shook her head. It still freaked me out how much the dead looked like us, not fuzzy or semi-transparent like they show on TV. The ones I helped still looked the way they had when they’d been killed, complete with all the blood and stuff.
Yet here was Allison. She should be in Heaven singing in one of those heavenly choirs Mom always talked about.
I bit my hangnail, ripping it off. I couldn’t deal with this. Not now.
“Careful….”
The wind picked up, tossing loose papers everywhere. None of this affected Allison.
I had so many questions to ask her. I missed her. I knew she’d understand me, even when others – including my mom – were clueless.
“Allison, what’s it like to be…?”
The wind howled drowning out her answer.
And just as quickly, Allison left.
I felt as if something had punched me in the stomach. I pushed back the sickness threatening to escape. What was going on? But even worse, I didn’t know what to do. One thing had been made perfectly clear. The rules had all changed and no one bothered to give me the new players’ guide.

Sanctuary