CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter
It
started when I had this silly call-in show, “Ask The Schizoid.” You asked a
question, about anything, and I’d make up an expert to answer it. Part of the
joke was I didn’t try to make my voice different, use an accent or dialect to
distinguish one character from another. It could be Dr. Dan or Rev. Ray or
Officer Ollie or Gary the Garbage Guy, they all sounded just alike. Even
Prostitute Priscilla and Schoolmarm Sarah.
After a while, people would call in
and ask for a particular expert. “Hey, Schiz, I need to ask Car Guy Carl about the
transmission on an old Caddy,” or “I’ve got a question about credit for Banker
Brandi.”
I’d say, “Okay, Ignorant One. Here’s
our Expert. What’s your question?”
One day, toward the end of the show, this guy called in and said he
wasn’t sure who he needed, maybe Dr. Dan, but probably Rev. Ray.
“Okay, Ignorant One. Tell The
Schizoid your question and I’ll get the right expert.”
“It’s not exactly a question. My
wife’s dying.”
There was something about his voice
that said this wasn’t for fun.
“Maybe you should talk to a real doctor.”
“No. We knew this was coming.
The real doctor said there’s nothing more… You know. Anyway, she wanted to die
at home, and we’re here. I gave her a pain pill. I think she’s alright that
way. But her breaths are… farther between each one. The doc said when this time
came, nothing to do but let it come.”
“Are you alone, just the two of you?”
“Yeah. I’m holding her hand.”
“Maybe you should call somebody
else, somebody to come be with you.”
“There’s nobody like that, nobody
we’d want. But Thekla, she always liked your show so much. It made her laugh,
even when she felt real bad. She said your voice… I thought maybe you could be
with us.”
I swallowed hard and hoped the mike
didn’t pick it up.
“I don’t want to keep calling you
Ignorant One. What’s your name?”
“Tedd, with two ‘d’s.”
“I don’t think the second ‘d’ will matter much on the radio, Tedd.”
“Oh, yeah.” He chuckled, or maybe gasped. “You hear that, Honey? The Schizoid
made a joke for us.”
“Okay, Tedd. Maybe we should get Rev. Ray.”
“Yeah… No, that’s okay. We just want
you, Schiz.”
“Okay. I’m here.”
“Oh, God. She squeezed my hand when
you said that. We’re listening, just like we always do. She heard you, I think.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she just likes to
squeeze your hand.”
He began to sob, very softly.
“I have to keep talking, I’m afraid.
I’d like to just sit here and hold your hand while you hold hers, but they
won’t let us keep radio silence. So, I’m going to hold your hand with my voice,
okay?”
He didn’t answer, just sobbed some
more. I kept on talking, not sure of what I was saying…
“…no matter how many personalities
you have, there comes a time when there’s only one that matters. That’s the one
that does the loving. And no matter how many questions you have, there’s only
one that matters, and that’s the question about the loving…”
I was running out of stuff to say. I
looked over to the control booth. Everybody in the building was standing in
there, just staring at me. I pointed at the clock. The station manager grabbed
a sheet of paper and scribbled on it and held it up to the glass. “Keep Going!”
So I did, right past the news and the weather and on into the next hour.
“…it was a simpler time when the
Beetles sang I wanna hold your hand.
Who holds hands anymore? People meet, don’t even ask names, just say I wanna do you now…” I don’t have much
of a voice, but I sang it. “Then they walk off. Hand never even touches hand.
But there comes a time when all that loin stuff–the excitement, all the
passion, all the conquest–doesn’t mean a thing. All the romance, all the
meaning, is in that simple act of holding hands…”
I had no idea how long I talked. I
couldn’t see the clock. My throat was getting dry, my brain was getting empty.
“How are you doing, Tedd with two
‘d’s?”
There was a little pause, just for a
moment. Then he spoke, like he was understanding we couldn’t let the air go dead.
“I’m alright now, Schiz. She slipped
away a long time ago. I just didn’t want to let go yet…”
John Robert
McFarland
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