BEGINNINGS
THE CALL
It was not unusual for Angel to be found passed out on the street. Time and again he had been discovered in that condition and, somehow, had always managed to recover. This time, however, was different. There would be no recovery.
At last, the long struggles burdening so much of Angel’s life had come to an end. The traumas of his past and the addictions holding him captive had finally claimed him.
The telephone rang at 7:10 that morning. It was Monday, March 23, 1998.
“Brother Anthony?”
“Yes?”
The brother heard heavy breathing on the other end of the line. There was a long silence before the woman finally found the words.
“Angel...is dead. They found his body early this morning in a vacant lot on Johnson Avenue.”
“Oh, God, no,” the brother replied, anguish filling his voice.
“I’m so sorry. This is...this is devastating news. I don’t even know what to say.”
He spoke very quietly, tears welling in his eyes. Though shaken by the news, his gentle voice offered some comfort to the grieving woman on the other end of the line.
The conversation lasted only a minute or two—just long enough for her to share her sorrow with the one person she knew would understand.
“I’m on my way to open the food pantry and the Human Service Center in a few minutes,” he said softly. “But let’s get together later. I really want to see you. Maybe we can somehow find a way to give a little bit of consolation to each other then. I never imagined today would start with such sadness. I’m so sorry.”
After a few final words of reassurance, they said goodbye.
FREEDOM
Brother Anthony looked up into the broad expanse of sky above the churchyard, framed by the two soaring steeples of the church and the neighboring school building. There he caught sight of what appeared to be a perfectly white pigeon. For a moment he wondered if it might even be a dove. It seemed too beautiful to be an ordinary pigeon.
The bird glided effortlessly through the air, tracing graceful circles between the towering brick buildings. It soared so high that it nearly disappeared from view before swooping almost to the ground and then rising skyward again. For several moments it seemed to dance with a joy all its own.
It vanished briefly behind the tall brick wall separating the churchyard from Johnson Avenue. As he watched, Brother Anthony found himself wondering whether there might be something extraordinary about the bird, as though it somehow embodied a soul finally set free. The thought lingered only for a moment before he smiled to himself, recognizing how easily grief could give rise to such sentimental imaginings.
The bird reappeared, circling high between the church's twin steeples before diving gracefully toward the earth once again. It landed nearby, paused almost thoughtfully, then took a few unhurried steps in the brother's direction. With a sudden flutter of its wings, it lifted into the air, climbed effortlessly into the morning sky, and disappeared once more beyond the brick wall.
Brother Anthony remained where he was, gazing upward, half expecting the bird to return. It never did. Somehow, he sensed that a creature so free could never remain in one place for very long.
As he stood quietly in the churchyard, he realized that the bird's graceful dance through the morning sky had somehow given expression to the sorrow and hope that now filled his heart.
NEW BEGININGS
A BEAUTIFUL DAY
“A great weather report” said the newscaster on WCBS radio; “it looks like winter is finally over . . . today we should expect a beautiful sunny sky and temperatures in the low eighties . . . what a change!”
The donut man turned off the radio as he stopped his truck in front of the gate of the lot on Knickerbocker Avenue; he parked the truck there each morning after he finished his run. “Another day’s work complete” he thought as he pulled the key out of the ignition and the truck’s engine rumbled to a dead stop.
As he checked his milage chart, he thought of home and looked forward to getting there in time to see his children off to school.
The drunk on Johnson Avenue was now the last
thing on his mind as he loosened the zipper of his jacket, locked the gate of
the lot, and headed for the Morgan Avenue station of the L train.
ALIVE
The beautiful white bird soared high in the clear blue sky far above the energetic activity and buzz of the Williamsburg streets below.
Car horns sounded as frustrated drivers impatiently sat in nearly paralyzed traffic on Grand Street; a fire truck roared up Montrose Avenue on the way to what would be the first false alarm of the day; above Broadway, the M train clattered along as it made its way between the Lorimer and Hewes Street stops, carrying hundreds of crammed passengers on the way to their jobs in the city; a number of police cars, with blue lights flashing, sat in and around a gas station at the corner of Leonard and Maujer Streets; traffic on the Brooklyn Queens Expressway, crawled past apartment buildings whose windows faced irritable drivers trying to proceed in spite of slow moving trucks ahead; barely audible music sounded from an open window of a twentieth floor co-op of one of the Lindsey buildings, which in the bright morning sun, cast a long shadow on the smaller structures lining Union Avenue to the west; along the East River, the gleaming towers of the Manhattan skyline dwarfed buildings on the Brooklyn side of the Williamsburg Bride.
The City was alive.
The bird danced joyfully and carefree in the air, then glided low over the peaceful waters of Jamaica Bay and landed briefly on one of its many sandbar islands.
Taking flight once again, it soared high into the sky and gradually faded on the horizon as it headed toward the serene Atlantic Ocean, sparkling in the morning sun of a new day.
