Such apparent turmoil wrestled behind Crystal’s dark eyes. I wondered what had gone on between that third meeting and now and what it was that ate away at her every time she gazed into the fire...
“So, you guys were sitting where we are now, and you were picking at tidbits about him?” I gently reminded.
“Yes. He asked for my email address then and permission to write me. He’d love to have me read over some things he’d written for my input, if I were willing. I was willing. I thought it would be a great way to get to know him more, despite feeling completely uneducated and naïve compared to him. He said he would appreciate the freshness of my opinion. He started sending me smaller articles he’d been working on - theological and linguistic papers. His writing is brilliant and fluid and lovely.”
Crystal trailed off. The trace of a frown befell her finespun features. She continued, “We began sharing little highlights from our days back and forth too – visions of glory, precious means of grace… Then struggles with school and schedules and the dreariness of the barren winter outside compared to the ever vibrant spring of our souls. For months we carried on this way, into true spring and the fullness of summer, very close friends.”
“He didn’t have a girlfriend or anything?” I inquired.
“No. No one in all his years had caught his interest enough for him to seriously consider them.”
I gave her my best frown of incredulity. “Not in England, not in the States, not here had he found anybody who remotely interested him?”
Crystal smiled. “He’s an incurable idealist, it’s true. His parents have one of those magical, mysterious loves – the kind you write books about. He’s seen it first-hand. He can’t settle for anything less. His parents only found each other in their thirties and he’s resigned himself to wait as long as it takes to find a love like that. He has good friends, good books, good work, good ambitions. Of course, he feels the need for a wife - feels keenly how it is not good for man to be alone-”
“A wife? Shouldn’t he start with a girlfriend? He sounds so serious.”
“He’s a serious sort of guy. He’s not interested in dating for the sake of dating.”
I seemed to recall having heard about these kind of people once. Some guest speaker at church had a message containing similar ideas. He hadn’t been received well and I’d never met any of these sorts personally before.
“And you were both still just friends at this point?” I asked.
“Yes,” Crystal nodded, “I knew nothing more could ever come of our friendship, despite his rampant charm and our seemingly flawless compatibility. I’d never had such a good friend before, whose thinking meandered on the same plane and paths as mine, who was passionate - rather than mocking -about all the same things.”
“What about from his point of view?”
“Well, I never imagined he could be interested in me in any way beyond friendship. He spoke of others girls in his department easily enough, sharing his latest suave moves and irresistible lines. It all merely delighted me. His presence, his zeal, all delighted me. I’d read of men like him and here was one before me, a good friend of mine. I felt so fortunate just to know him.”
“But he never said anything that might make you think he was interested in you more deeply?”
“Oh he said plenty. Early on he took to beseeching me on random occasions after a good talk or rather splendid email, ‘Marry me’ or ‘Come with me to Peru and be my wife’. I just laughed and finally grew used to such petitions.”
I stared blankly at her.
“What?” she asked.
I let out a huff of exasperated breath and threw up my hands. “Hello!? Why would you think he was joking? Why wouldn’t he be interested in you Miss Gorgeous? Miss Smart and Lovely and Fascinating and Full of Faith? Why would he find you places and want your opinion and want to get to know you so well? You are naïve!” I let my hands fall in a loud, clumsy way. I looked out the glass front door against which the rain still fell, skewing my sight of the road and cars moving outside.
A few minutes passed. Crystal had remained quiet. I finally turned to look back at her again, only to see her hastily wipe away a tear and open her mouth to speak again.
“I didn’t want to fall so helplessly and unquenchably in love with him. I knew full well that my dad would never approve of such a romantic interest. I didn’t think I was close to crossing that line.”
I looked at her with sympathy. “What changed?”
She sighed. “For my birthday last September he gave me a copy of the book he’d written that was all ready to be published. He had dedicated it to me.”
With this, she went into her brown satchel again to bring out another book. She turned a few pages in and showed me the dedication:
To the redeemed near-drowned rat. May you always know God’s umbrella of grace, comfort, and protection around you. I have an unending debt of gratitude to you. Thank you.
“It just hit me then, with a wave of force, that I completely loved him and, shortly after, that I’d gotten myself into a terrible situation.”
“Terrible situation? Why? He’s sensational! Extraordinary! He loves you! Crystal, seriously – where’s the problem? Please don’t tell me you’re going to let your dad’s crazy preferences dictate your life. You’re not even still Catholic really then, are you?”
“Abby – shh! No, listen, you don’t understand-”
“I don’t understand? I don’t understand that you’re perfect for each other and he’s the man of your dreams here to sweep you away into a great love! Listen, chica, this doesn’t happen everyday. The vast majority of us over here on Average Street and Mediocre Boulevard have convinced ourselves that that whole thing - that kind of great love - doesn’t exist. It’s the only way we can attempt to pretend that our lives are good and happy, and not be stung every moment by the plummeting realization that we’re missing out on something significant and better.”
“Abby, please,” Crystal implored, stopping me, “I mean, you are missing out of something significant and better, but it’s not this, it’s not human relationships.”
“What?” I asked, pleading for her to make some sense of this.
”Just hear me out. Please,” Crystal said, demanding my eye contact and commitment to listening. I gave a small nod and she continued, “This all happened last September, remember. From there, I watched and listened more carefully to everything Jack did and said. It became apparent to me that when he told me of his latest episode of charm, he would carefully consider my reaction and sulk in posture just the tiniest bit when I merely laughed with him and reminded him of his honorable intentions. I began speaking more about my future - finishing school, getting my teaching certificate, getting some experience before applying to go to Africa or Papua New Guinea to teach literacy – any place far from Peru. He took the hints and retreated from me slightly, found me in the library less often, showed up to walk me to the bus less often. It killed me, slowly, more each time, everyday less that I would see him.”
“Oh Crystal, why?” I moaned, sinking down into the chair.
She carried on as if I hadn’t spoken.
“It got to the point where I didn’t hear from him in a week – unheard of for us. Then one absolutely dreadful grey, wet day in November, I was again walking to the bus stop, without a jacket. I’d left my umbrella at home by accident, having too many books to carry. Soon, the sound of the rain changed once more as between it and me rose a shield of black umbrella. I merely waited for the words and sure enough – ‘What – no umbrella? No jacket? On a day such as today? Madness! Don’t they teach you anything in these schools?’ The same lopsided grin met me with that contagious playful glint in his eyes. ‘How are you Jack?’ I asked him with earnest. As we walked to the stop and waited for the bus, he proceeded to tell me of his latest assault of charm on unassuming Imogen Maguire. He got her with the umbrella rescue, too.”
I scoffed and wait for her to continue.
“She was very impressive – is doing her Masters in Linguistics same as him, for the same purposes. She’s well-read, a musician – pianist-”
“Ugh,” I injected.
“I know. She grew up in Ireland; they went to the same university, apparently, but never knew each other over there. He was going to accost her at her place of work the following Friday.”
“And how did that go?”
“Swimmingly,” Crystal smiled and turned sideways in the chair, crossing her legs up over one of its arm and facing the dim fire directly. “She’s splendid.”
“And since then?”
“They’ve talked ever since. He won’t get into anything quickly, I know. I see him at least every week.”
“And how do you feel about him now?”
I watched her eyes follow the dwindling flames. Her expression was still. Her eyes filled enough to skew their azure colour, resembling the glass of the front door. She looked down and blinked; tears consequently poured out and down her rosy cheeks.
“I love him fiercely with every fiber of my heart. I know I am still young and indeed naïve, but I think I also have something of an old soul, at least since my mother died,” she looked into her hands, at her mother’s ring. “I can’t imagine loving any mortal man more than I love him. It consumes me. I still think about him all the time, and write, and give him my advice on his papers.” She sighed and closed her eyes, resting her head on the back of the chair.
“But why? Crystal, please, you have to explain this to me. I’m at an utter loss here,” I begged, weakly.
Leaving her head there, she but smiled to herself and then opened her eyes. “Abby, you may think this is a great love, that it is of that significant and better kind that people like to deny exists. But it is small in comparison to the love of Jesus Christ to me. You might, at this point, call them fanatical or even crazy, the beliefs I’ve come to hold, but I count them and Him to be the most precious, most important parts of my whole life. I couldn’t trade them for anything. He is my life.”
“Okay, but why is that in contradiction with Jack? Doesn’t he believe the same things too?” I asked.
Crystal smiled, “Yes, he does.” She turned to look at me, “But my dad doesn’t yet.”
“What? Why does he have to? How does that stand in the way of you and Jack?”
“The Bible says to honour your father and mother. I cannot be a hypocrite and go against his wishes while I live under his roof and, more importantly, while I work and pray to the end that he will come to see and love the truth in the Word of God he hears so often. This isn’t just a matter of opinions, Abby. It’s life and death, heaven and hell. It’s too important and the love that God has given me for Himself is too unsurpassable. There’s no other feasible way to go.”
I blew the air out between my tight lips, shaking my head. A soaring tale I had indeed heard. Forgotten were all thoughts of football and loud men and pizza and twelve days of rain. Though I could not identify with her reasoning, I could follow her logic, see what these things meant to her, and sympathize.
“So, what do you do?”
Crystal turned her resting head to look up at the ceiling, understanding the question. “Some days I’m fine and can focus on school and home and reading. On others, it feels like shackles of iron arrest and weigh down my heart to an indescribably low level. Some days I am thrilled that such a man and such a love exist. Others I grovel before God in prayer, asking that he would take away my feelings for him. I’ve prayed that much, for a long time, though, and haven’t known any relief. But my love for my heavenly Husband grows each day and that gives me joy and hope. I wouldn’t be anywhere if not for Him, Abby.” The corners of her lips rose in a small, meaningful smile, even as the tears still shined in her eyes.
We talked about a few more menial things before parting that afternoon. Jean came by to collect our mugs. I got on my jacket. Crystal was going to stay and read for a while longer. We hugged. I held onto her little frame.
Opening that clinking door on the way out, I looked back to see a trace of sky blue at Crystal’s feet – the umbrella was lying on the floor beside her. She looked up from that black leather-bound book, beamed one last smile my way, and waved. I waved back, stepped out into the deluge, and heard the door clink with a jingle as it closed behind me. Back to Average Street and Mediocre Boulevard, but with many significant and better thoughts to turn over in my head.
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