DEVOTED

I know something.

I know something no one else knows.

Well he knows. And I know. So the two of us know.

He's sweet like that. Sharing secrets with only me. Our own private world no one gets to see.

I used to get out more. I was on so many committees. One for the library. Another for the Riverside chapter of Green City USA. My major commitment though was to the church. That's how I met Pruitt.

Such a sad tale. Tragic.

He lost his wife and toddler son soon after moving to town. He couldn't have been more than thirty, maybe thirty-one at the time.

No one really knows what happened. The car bounced over the curb through the white picket dreams of little league and graduation and romantic nights.

Pru dropped into a hole of grief. I went by to check on him, that being one of my duties in the church. I guess I've always had a way with people when they're in the grips of hell. And there isn't much worse hell than what Pru experienced.
I know what the rumors were. That I was getting too close. That it was unhealthy what was going on between us. But I promise there was nothing improper.

I did start spending more time here. The man could barely feed himself or care for the house. He needed help, and his family was out of state and being new to town he didn't have any friends.

He lost the job he moved here for and he nearly ran out of savings before I convinced him to start working again.
He writes the most beautiful things. Wrote I should say. Not that he doesn't write now, but obituaries and technical manuals are something I struggle to find attractive.

He says he doesn't need beauty in his life anymore. He's hinted that it's cause of me. See, just the sweetest isn't he. Like sprinkles on a cookie.

I wish he'd go back to writing other things but it's ok. Sometimes he talks in his sleep. The way he describes things makes them come alive. I wish I could record it or write it down or something. It's like watching a movie some nights. Gets a little graphic for my delicate tastes sometimes though.

The way he paints the path of life with his words. The changes in hues - from pink to purple to blue to ash. The grip he holds on my imagination is unceasing.

Pru likes the quiet. At first I thought it was unnatural in some way. My family were all chatterboxes. I never really noticed how noise was a comfort to me. I tried to share that comfort early on after I started to spend more time with him.

I never really knew how violent bereavement could be. I'm glad I could be here for Pru when he needed me. I was able to comfort him, indirectly. My going on about insignificant things, just filling the silence gave him reason to loose his emotions in a way he had found no other outlet for.

I didn't even feel it when it happened. Silly I know. I was so focused on his tears and his release I didn't even know what was happening. I still get that way when he touches me. I kinda enter the place where it's only me and him. Where our pain just slips away.

I feel it later. When he's gone. But when he's here it's like some magic or something. Divine healing for his soul. And what I sacrifice to be his savior is well worth it.

Flesh returns to how it was before. Ready to be used again. The miracles never stop amazing me. I do sometimes wish I could tell him how much it means to me that he chose me to open up with. That he chooses to keep me his confidant.
He has these laws about how people should treat each other. How they should behave. He can't stand to see people be oppressed. To be the brunt of rudeness or crassness. He needed purpose in his life.

He found meaning in following his rules and sharing his rules with others. Purpose and passion. The keys to a happy life. And Riverside and I have provided for him, by the grace of God, his purpose and passion.

When he's away I try practicing saying things aloud but they mostly sound like nonsense. Pru thought I jabbered before. Truly amazing how much I used to say without saying a thing. He should hear me now. I sometimes feel guilty for trying to figure out how to talk again.

It was such a blessing when Pru liberated my tongue and left me mute. Silence was hard for me to get used to. Sometimes I still get scared when there is too much quiet. It starts to feel heavy. So heavy. And not heavy like the chain or the collar. But spiritually heavy.

Makes me understand what it must have been like in those Bible stories where someone was isolated. 40 days. It never seemed like that much.

Doesn't seem like that much now, but that's because I passed that marker long ago. I'm not really sure how long I've been down here. But Pru takes care of my needs. He's such the loyal provider. I want for nothing.

Over breakfast one morning, about a week ago, he mentioned how the police were searching for a serial killer. When he had talked about it more in his sleep I had thought maybe he was gearing up to write an article on it. But it's so much more than that.

Yesterday he brought someone home with him. I didn't make the connection until I saw his work. I tried to tell him with heartfelt glances that I approve. That I'm grateful to be part of it. That he trusts me.

He shared his secret with me.

His beautiful dark secret.

And I love him all the more for it.