Moving on

She is so beautiful. I cannot believe my good fortune to have found a partner in love who is not only smart, and tenacious, and principled, and funny — and did I say, gorgeous? Of course healthy relationships must be more than skin deep. But beautiful skin, dark hair, and blue eyes, a fit and shapely body, a beautiful smile, well, they all do their part. I am smitten.

Ronni and I have been lovers for a couple of months now. I hope this intimacy will last, but with everything else going on, who knows, and “who” hasn’t told me yet — the protests; the barricade; the count appearance; the sentence; and most recently working at the library to serve out my community service requirements — my days are full, and then some. Yes, through all this complexity our relationship has strengthened in so many ways. Still, what does the future hold for us? Have we a future together?

My conviction of a misdemeanor civil disobedience offense has caught the attention of many in our community and beyond. I get phone calls to join participants in other protests. I demur, as I must be careful to avoid other conflicts, at least for the time being. Joining other protests risks violating the terms of my sentence. I have been asked to write articles for activist journals which I have done. One or two radio and television interviews have put me in the spotlight on occasion, a little too brightly though for comfort.

Most congregation members agree with my action, some more than others, however. A couple have left for other spiritual flocks; others just stay home. Happily, people I have never met pop into church to have a peek at what we are doing. Truthfully, they don’t find anything very radical. No show here, folks; we do what we do in a fairly ordinary way. That said, when I leave the building to enter the community, I am more vocal and free to speak my mind.

Ronni has informed and strengthened my resistance, a growing tenacity, both helpful strengths when my supervising minister calls me into the regional office. Some correspondence of concern has been received, suggesting that maybe it’s time for me to move to a different community and congregation. Despite being instructed to avoid the media, well, sometimes things just slip out. It is now strongly recommended that I move on, possibly to a place more urban, somewhere where my politics are less dysfunctional.

I guess three years in a first posting isn’t bad. The prayer book phrase “things done, and things left undone” is a fair assessment of my time in leadership here. I don’t see myself staying here forever. That said, I do hope to be attracted to a new setting, and not so much pushed out from where I am now. And of course, what about Ronni? We are deeply in love — or is it lust? — What about us, I wonder?

“OK sleepyhead, it’s time to get up,” I say.

“What?” she mumbles incoherently.

“Things to do, places to go, people to see,” is my usual mantra.

“It’s Saturday, your day off; my day off; roll over and go back to bed, please,” she moans.

“Nope. Coffee’s on. Gotta get up. We need to talk through some things,” I say.

She rolls towards the window, sliding off the bed sheet, falling to the floor with an athletic thump. She utters an expletive — at least she’s awake now. I am serious; we do need to have a conversation, the conversation, about us, and about our future. I have been offered a new ministry position, a larger responsibility in a downtown setting, a good job, ministry-wise — broader scope of responsibilities; more resources including music, and a ministry team to coordinate. It could be a lot of fun. It feels like a logical next step. So the question is, if I take this new position, will she join me, or do we try to somehow navigate a long-distance relationship? Or do we break up, with some pleasant memories to cherish?

“You didn’t have to push me out of bed. That was unkind,” she calls, as I come out of the kitchen.

“Just get up. Oh, you are up. Good for you,” I say.

We both move to the breakfast table in my simply furnished church house. We have been as discreet as possible regarding her sleeping over, but in a little town, nothing goes unnoticed; trust me on this. No one, however, seems to care.

“I have some news for you, news that I think you may, or may not like,” I continue. “I have been offered a new job. No application or interview. Just a rather strong suggestion that it’s time for me to move on. It’s not an order, but a fairly strong nudge. It is a larger church, downtown. So I must ask, will you come with me?”

“You want me to leave home?” she says. “I grew up here, and haven’t thought about leaving, though I guess in one sense, I already have. My life is here; my roots are here. This little town does strangle me a bit, okay, but I love the outdoors, the woods, the waters, and even some of the weirdos. Everything for me is right here, on my doorstep; and that includes you. Moving to the city would be a big change. The idea of city lights does not appeal, I must say.”

“Surely you could adjust to new surroundings? You did attend college for a while.”

“Yes, but I didn’t finish my program, remember? It wasn’t all wine and roses you know.”

“Right, but you are older now, and, well, there’s two of us, if indeed you think the two of us could actually ‘become one,’ if you know what I mean.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

“I have been waiting for you to ask me the same question. You’re the more assertive one, aren’t you? I think.”

Still rubbing her eyes: “Serious stuff, and so early on a Saturday morning. Can I have more coffee, please?”

Thinking the hook is in, at least partially, I pour more coffee for us both, and  press on. “We could still live together, unmarried. I kind of feel I am ready to take the next step, though. What about you?”

Ronni pauses, then speaks. “Yes, I think I am ready for a deeper commitment. I am worried about finding work, though I’m not all that fussy. Steady income is all I need, at least for now.”

I take a chance, and go further. “What do you think about ‘settling down,’ and the possibility of us starting a family together?”

“It does sound like a lovely plan. But hey, who is asking whom here? Don’t we need one of us to propose first? I’m not hearing those enticing words. Shouldn’t you go down on one knee? And what about a ring? Have you though  t this through at all? I want a very, very special ring.”

“Well, I thought you are asking me, so same question to you. What about the ring; do you have the ring? And who will officiate at our wedding? I presume a religious service, in a church. Right?”

Ronni throws a wrench in. “Can’t weddings happen outside a church, you know, in the outdoors, in the woods? That would be kind of appropriate given our recent history together, wouldn’t it?”

“Weddings in mainline churches, including mine, must still be held in church buildings. These services are not allowed outdoors yet. Of course, if we want something outdoors we could find a civil officiant. What about Sargeant Jaimeson? He could wear his fancy uniform; he could arrive on a horse.”

“I doubt he has ridden a horse for a long time. Maybe never,” she says.

“I suspect you are right,” I add. “Who would be in our wedding party? And where would we hold the reception? People come for the food, you know. Won’t be cheap. ”

“We could have the reception at the Seaside restaurant.”

“I’m not sure that Paula has forgiven us for the blockade yet,” I remind her.

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” Ronni says. “Anyway, am I right that we are doing this, getting married, yes?”

Throwing my hands in the air, I almost shout. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

We collapse into each other’s arms, laughing and crying, spilling a cup of coffee on the floor in the process, as we consider how our lives will spill over, one into the other.

I whisper quietly: “Yeah, let’s do it.”

This is the final chapter in the series Stories from Somewhere, fictional reflections of an unidentified place at an unknown time. Other chapters are listed here.

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