The Sacred Bell

I call this piece creative non fiction. Some of it has been taken from my own personal experiences and other parts of it have been slightly fabricated and the names have been changed to protect those whom I write about.

Feelings of animosity begin to build about Lynn because of her no response no action- hiding out from me, leaving me one too many times to wonder what’s up. She promised to bring me the meditation bell from her shrine. I took that to mean a very deep loving generous gesture on her behalf. I thought of it as a sacred gift but she procrastinated too long giving it to me. I thought I must either take the humble approach and wait and wait and wait maybe forever as if it was never going to happen or I could take the assertive approach and question her about it. It wasn’t just the bell but other things as well, plans with her that always fell through because the bell was not ringing true. It seemed as though it had lost it’s meaning and sacredness. I was ringing my own bell and came to the realization that I had to communicate with her somehow so I composed a letter questioning her about the issues that had been lingering there in my mind for quite some time.

A week before I decided to compose the letter to Lynn I met Teresa out at Davis Nursery. I had only heard about her through my good friend Anne. As I entered the nursery I casually sought her out not even knowing what she looked like. There was a slender woman with graying brown hair and dark complexion like she spent a lot of time under the sun or maybe it was her heritage. She appeared to me a bit tense yet enjoying her work as she stood there sticking labels in the 4 inch pots of annuals. Then I heard another fellow worker call her Teresa and I knew that had to be her. Was she anything like I had envisioned? I asked myself. I hadn’t really formed an image in my mind of what she might look like. I proceeded on towards the perennials randomly picking out two crocosmias, two day lilies and two echinecha purple cone flowers. What else I was going to plant in the yard behind my house I had recently purchased I didn’t know. There were so many possibilities calling out to me in the splendid array of colors, oranges reds golds and violets but the most important factor was picking the right plant for the right place. What would do well in the full sun. Could I count on the back yard along the west fence to get the full afternoon sun? What should I plant in the shade garden directly behind the studio? Would the hosta and ferns do well there? But I needed some flowering colorful blooms in that area also. It was as difficult as trying to find the right woman. I could search the rest of my life trying to decide. The different women that entered my life came and went , some as fast as I met them, others became long time companions but I hadn’t had a lover in years and couldn’t even conceive of what it would be like to actually be in love with a woman again. I sat the crocosmias, the cone flowers, the day lilies and the hostas on the cart and gradually worked my way towards the front of the nursery, stopping to gander some more at the hydrangea. Maybe one would look good in the far north corner behind the garden shed but I decided to wait on it. Then there was the multicolored gazanias popping out at me for $.50 a pot. They were labeled annuals and all this time I thought they were perennials because I planted some one year and they came back the following year bigger and bushier than ever. I thought about Lynn how she was like a slow stubborn blooming beautiful exotic tropical flower that I thought would never reach full bloom. We had met two years ago and our first conversation just seemed to flow like the right plant for the right place but I came to find out as time progressed that she was a very unpredictable one at that. Sometimes it seemed the more fertilizer and water and I gave her the less she showed any signs of growth so I figured maybe she was more of a drought tolerant poor soil kind of plant that needed very little care. Sometimes it seemed it was better just to forget about her for awhile and not give her any attention because when I did her petals often times would close up. She was a quite a mysterious flower. One day she might open up for me and look quite vibrant and full of life starting to unfold beneath the old growth stems but I became so attached to her that she decided to quit blooming and began to turn brown and wilt.

I approached the front counter and there was Teresa ringing up orders while I waited in line. She appeared to me as some exotic tropical flower also but one that needed much nurturing to survive the present elements. When I sat the gazanias down on the counter I mentioned to her the fact that they were labeled annuals and that I planted some last year and they came back just like perennials. She responded by saying something about the weather and how it was so out of balance that annuals acted like they were perennials and perennials acted like they were annuals. Then we began discussing the weather and how we didn’t like the heat and humidity. She said we could consider ourselves lucky though compared to the all the heat and the floods they were having down in Texas and the tidal wave in Papa New Guinea. She finished ringing up the total price of my purchase. As I started to leave she said, “ Oh my name is Teresa,” and I responded, “ Hi I’m Joe. Oh you must be Anne’s friend who was coming out to help plant in the garden.”

“ Oh how did you know?” She responded. “ Well Anne told me she knew someone by the name of Teresa who worked out here. “As her round brown eyes lit up some more she said, “Well it was nice to meet you. Maybe I’ll see you again gardening sometime.” There were other customers standing in line behind me and she needed to tend to her business.

I went back out to the nursery again the following Saturday to buy some more perennials wondering if she would be there and if she was how easy it would be to approach her and take up where we had left off, exchange phone numbers. As I entered the nursery I spotted her over in the annual section among the tables of petunias, watering them down. I proceeded back towards the perennial greenhouse to find the lithodora, daylilies and rudebeckias. Maybe we’ll connect and maybe we won’t, I thought. I pulled my cart to the front checkout counter. She was behind the counter ringing up customers’ purchases. I could sense she was even more tense and distraught. When I came to the counter it was as if she hardly remembered me from the last time but as I began handing her the label codes of the perennials to enter on the computer I said - I can’t even remember what I said; it was probably about the weather again because it was a hot day and she mentioned how uncomfortable she was working in the heat and she had to pull weeds the previous night after closing and said she was getting too old for that. I mentioned that I had taken a hike up to Iron Mountain last Thursday and it was hot up there also. She responded, perking up her ears and said, “ Iron Mountain! Where’s that? I’ve heard of it before.”

“Oh it’s east of Sweethome before Santiam Pass. It’s noted for its wildflower meadows. They’re at their peak right now. It’s a spectacular place to hike.” I explained. “I love to hike. I haven’t been anywhere the year and half I’ve been here!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm.
“ Well would you like to go hiking one of these days?” I asked her casually.“I’d love to! I haven’t seen anything.”, she replied. Customers began lining up behind me at he counter and I knew I’d better cut our conversation short and say goodbye but before I did I said, “ Well, if you want to go hiking sometime you’ll have to give me your phone number. I usually take Wednesday or Thursday off.” “ That’s my days off too!” she responded excitedly. Had I crossed paths with someone who struck a resonant chord in the same octave as me? Even though she appeared on edge I sensed grace and harmony hidden somewhere in her soul beyond all the turmoil and violent storms she appeared to be going through. Maybe I was a calm mild breeze to her and maybe she was just what I needed, a place to say my prayers and dive into.
I called her on Tuesday morning only to get her outgoing message. Her voice on the message sounded more grounded and smooth. I had planned to take Wednesday off to hike Brice Creek. I left her my message telling her if she was still interested in joining me to give me a call. I’d be up until 11:00 in the evening. When we spoke out at the nursery she told me she was in the process of moving again. I heard from Anne that she had moved several times in the year and half that she was in town so I assumed that maybe she was too occuppied with moving to find time to go on a hike. Wednesday morning I got up and decided to go to work instead since I hadn’t heard from her, thinking that I’d take Thursday off instead. She called Wednesday morning after I had already went to work and left a message saying she was ready to go hiking. When I got back from work I played back the message and called her and left her a message telling her I ended up going to work and was planning to take Thursday off instead thinking it would give her time to receive my message and call me back but she never called back. I spent the rest of the evening finishing the letter I was composing to Lynn. Thursday morning I dropped the letter in the mail and did a few other errands and then drove to Brice Creek trailhead. There was a mild breeze blowing and the sunlight filtered through the the tops of old cedar and fir in the shaded forest where the continuos steady rhythm of the creek rushed through my ears and I had time to sit still and listen for the ringing of the sacred bell.