Listen to the Voice

"And most of all...YOU CANNOT LIVE HERE!"

The pastor stopped and waited.  Phil stirred the lobster and tossed the salad.  "Pastor, you seem a bit upset.  Is there anything I can do to make you feel a little less distressed?"

The pastor calculated the chances that a jury would agree that he was temporarily insane when he beat Phil to death with a fourteen pound lobster.  Probably not very high.  Then he wondered if they might consider it self-defense since he was under serious assault by this narcissistic moron.  There would certainly be sympathy, but still probably a guilty verdict.  Maybe they would go for involuntary manslaughter if held Phil's head in the pot of boiling water.  No, too obvious.

As he weighed his various sentencing options, however, another voice was speaking under the steady roar of clerical blood lust.

It was the voice of the Ancient Source of Solace.  "Try learning from him...try listening to him...try engaging him as another person and not as your stereotypical narcissistic moron."  The voice grew in volume and insistence.

Well, thought the pastor, why not?  There's certainly nothing to lose at this point.

"Phil, how do you see this all working out in the long run?  I'm wondering where you see yourself six months or a year from now?"

Phil had been shredding leaf lettuce and dicing some baby carrots for the salad.  The presence of a large knife from the church kitchen had also entered into the pastor's calculations regarding potential homicide.  It was now for the first time that he also noticed the china on the basement workbench.  It...was...the...church's...finest...wedding...tableware...given...as...a...memorial...from...the...Van...Dusen...family.  Perhaps murder wasn't such a terrible option after all.

"Try learning from him..."  Yeah, thought the pastor--must focus on something other than execution.

Phil was quiet for several moments, hands filled with greens.  His chin trembled, and a small tear formed on one cheek.  He took several deep breaths.

"Pastor, I don't have a clue where I'm headed with all this.  I screwed up my job completely.  I lost the company about two million in one day.  The next day they met me at the door with the stuff from my desk and a security officer.  It didn't take long for me to blow through the few bucks I had.  Next was eviction.  I didn't wait for the sheriff's deputy, I just left.  Bill's couch was OK, but I'm not a great house guest.  His wife is a sweet woman, but she's also a clean freak.  I had nowhere else to go..."

Now the tears were flowing.  The lettuce hit the floor.  Ruby had quietly crept to the top of the stairs and sat down, listening intently.

"See him as a real person," the A.S.S. had intoned almost as a prayer.

"Phil, I'm wondering what you might do if you could wave it all off and start over.  Where would you be and what would you be doing?"

Phil gave half a smile.  "Pastor, you'll think I'm stupid if I tell you."

"I guess we won't know that until you tell me, right?"

"Pastor, I draw.  I draw everything.  If I could, I'd work as an illustrator of some kind, or maybe a cartoonist or...it's crazy.  I can't even hold a normal job."

"Don't worry about that, Phil.  We aren't signing you up for art school tonight.  I just want to hear your story.  Maybe we can figure out something from there."

Now the sounds of weeping came from the top of the stairs...