Opinion

If Smee had been conscious and opened his eyes he might have enjoyed the view, at least until he remembered that his short arc over Groundswell would eventually end with a thump as the earth conflicted with his personal trajectory.

The sound of the wind whisping past him, the traffic below in the streets, the bright sun light and fresh air, all beckoned to Smee to awaken. And so, he slowly regained consciousness a bit: enough at least to ponder who he was and where he was and how pleasant it felt to be drifting along like this albeit with a somewhat painful spot in his midsection where Katrina had provided liftoff. He let his eyes stay lightly closed and savored the moment.

He started to remember: Katrina’s son Sean was watching him wave the bottle of shoe polish in front of him, back and forth, back and forth. Smee had allowed it almost to come within his grasp, then pulled it away. The child had to want it bad enough to grab it, then put it in his mouth, hopefully poisoning himself and getting black shoe polish all over himself and the living room rug. Humans were so easy to manipulate at this age.

Almost time to let him have it, first just loosen the lid a bit, and then, and then, Pain. Katrina’s foot had caught him like a soccer ball. “But what goes up must come down.” Smee nodded to himself as he finally regained consciousness. “So pleasant, so peaceful, floating up here, like ….”

“What goes up must come Down. ” Smee couldn’t get the thought out of his head. Then it slowly dawned upon him: yes, it was pleasant, for the moment, but what goes up Must Come Down. The panic hit him all at once: perhaps a few nanoseconds before he hit the earth: again.

—

“She, she’s dressed like a, like a, like a, prostitute!” croaked one wife, her voice hushed in a whisper to maintain privacy, her complexion dark red from the neck up.

Three wives had Jannie pinned by the piano in the choir room after practice. Church would start in just a few minutes. Even without Smee, things were progressing according to his purpose.

The other two wives nodded. “You are the choir director. You can’t let her go out there like that. When she sits down she’ll flash every man in the first four rows of the sanctuary.”

“Can’t you give her a little slack?” pleaded Sis. Edwards “She is a new saint. We involved her in this to help her draw closer to God and this church: to help her find a special place where she knows she is loved and important.”

“Sis. Edwards,” started the second, who was then interrupted by the third.

“We know all that,” reasserted the third, “and we agree with you on it, but it’s not going to work out that way. You know as well as we do that as soon as she sits down that tight skirt is going to show a lot more than her youthful bony little knees. No woman in this church wants her husband staring at some other woman’s underwear!”

“Sis. Edwards,” resumed the wife who had been interrupted “If we try to talk to her about this it is going to just cause hard feelings and confusion.”

“That’s right.” added the first “You are our choir director and our Pastor’s wife. You are responsible for everything that goes on in Worship. You tell us what you want us to do and we’ll do it. But you must be the one who handles this. If anyone has seen her then it is likely already started.”

“Excuse me, Babe” It was Pastor Edwards holding the choir room door slightly ajar. “We are going to start five minutes late. Bro. Brown just walked right into a door post, bloodied up his face a bit, and then Bro. Rodriguez tripped right over him.” Pastor Edwards quickly disappeared into the hall where the women could see through the door two other men were supporting Bro. Brown with a towel to his head.

The three wives said nothing more: they simply looked at Sis. Edwards: but the look said “See. We told you so”.

Jannie sighed. “Ok, I’ll handle it. But you, and anyone else, you’ll say nothing to her. And if someone else tries to talk about it, tell them we’re here to save souls, and people need time to learn and mature. Tell them not to let anyone get them to talk about it. I will handle this.”