[private] if you pray to God for rain don't you complain about the lightning; pentecost

[Pentecost]

Do you want to know why I use a knife?
Guns are too quick. You can't savor all the...
little emotions. In... You see, in their
last moments, people show you who they
really are. So, in a way, I know your friends
better than you ever did.

I know he is here. Of course I know, nothing I do is without calculation. The soft wind is bearably noticeable as it whispers through naked limbs and frost-bitten twigs. For years, I have planned this moment. I have raked through every sentence and probability, mother wouldn’t have wanted any less. It is important to her, that I do well now. It is up to me to earn father’s affection in ways she couldn’t, to show him that he made a mistake. It is my time, now. And I am damn prepared. I carefully lift my foot over a fallen log as he slinks deeper, and deeper into the meadow-y abyss. I can smell him. It smells like hope. The darkness swallows us, as if to provide a blanket of privacy for this exact occasion. As if some higher power is cheering yes, Pentecost! Yes. It IS your time.” Are we ready? I think internally. We are ready. I internally answer. I feel better when I ask first. It’s polite. He appears, almost like a sign to say come now, come now, while the air is still warm, as if the moment needed a little warmth for coziness. For years he had been the protagonist of every bedtime story, every lesson, every memory. I had envisioned him taller, perhaps broader, but hell if he is the man mother has told me about then this is it. Our entire future rides on this very moment. He calls to me, like a baritone instrument in an echo-y hall, singing to me a welcoming jingle. He called us boy, the internal celebration a memory to share in the future with him, surely. I already know it. One day, I will be telling him about this exact minute while we converse over breakfast grazing. One day, I will tell him and we will laugh at how nervous I was and how excited I was to hear the word boy. One day, I know it. My world pauses, light shining down to capture his ominous presence like a stage light. I hear instruments playing in the background, and woodland creatures leaning forward with excitement and anticipation.  “Yes!” I call back eagerly--almost too eagerly, I think as I correct myself quickly--before casually meandering closer to his reach. Does he remember me? He must. I take a moment--though it brief and easily mistaken for a stumble or hesitation--to gather myself. This is, after all, the biggest moment of my entire life. And, it is important that I experience the here and now so that later I can relive every inch of every second for days to come. Because, one day, we would relive it together. Remember? You know what to say? An internal coaching strategy, and while though some may perceive it as insanity I understand it as an important, self-supportive tactic for times where my confidence falters. Of course I know. I have trained. I have practiced. I have dreamed. Off we go, then. Mother will be so excited to hear! Though, I cannot help but wonder if she might be disappointed, or angry at my decision to make this our moment. It seems like something important to consult her with, even if he is calling to me now. How rude to leave though, with the stars aligning so perfectly? Even with my persistent stalking, studying, and persistence to manufacture this very exact minute. I am unsure of how it would appear if I were to turn away? Would he chase me? Oh, would he care that much do you think? My stomach butterflies at the vision. It doesn’t take long of course to walk through the few feet of snow to father’s beckoning invitation. I am there like an ignorant puppy, a wiggling mess at the tips of his feet looking up with desperation for acceptance. Please sir, please let me bask in your presence. “Hello,” I say though the words to introduce myself fully hesitate. Instead, I offer, “I am Pentecost,” just incase he forgot. He couldn’t have. Good boy Pentecost, I reward myself. Positive reinforcement, you know? Thank you, because I would never ignore myself. That is impolite.

PENTECOST

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW WHO WERE COWARDS?