My king has many talents, not the least of which is the ability to inspire trust. For a woman like me trust is a complex issue. I ain’t got no problem with roses, it’s all them damn thorns that get in my way. Gabriel may be my Rose of Sharon, but …
He provokes me with hilarious tales of human frailty, deftly weaving a story line that makes champagne giggles bubble in my chest. Gabriel hits me with a punch line that knocks me out. I explode in laughter. He’s bopping around the room like a chicken with no head. His gift of mimicry enables me to really hear the guys at work, his cronies from the past, all stuck on stupid. I can’t help it. The man is too funny. He should be empowered to tell his forever stories, forever more. Except …
Except, this is not funny. The voices in his head are real. He keeps a mental ledger of each misdemeanor, every transgression, committed against his ego. Seated on his throne of self-righteous indignation, Gabriel bides his time. Wanting to exact judgment, he waits patiently to punish some undeserving soul. He wants the world to join him in purgatory. Suddenly, I get this weird sensation, a lizard slithering up the back of my neck. The grimace of a cartoon villain erupting across his lower jaw chills me to the bone. Damn.
He should have told me he was bipolar. He should have told me he was schizoaffective. Don’t he know I got his back? Or is he paranoid too? What does love mean to this man? This is not what I had in mind when I asked God, the Father, to provide for my needs.
Our Father, since you’re in heaven
To whom should I assign the blame?
Till kingdom come
Why must I run
Dodging arrows of shame
Give me this day
The peace of the dead
And forgive me
As I cannot forgive myself
Instead of temptation
Deliver me from deprivation
If they choose not to love
For I have no kingdom
No power
No glory
Other then I find in You
Amen
He claims I am obsessed, but I remember. I remember Gabriel showing signs and symptoms of psychosis.