“The End of the World” (guitar, instrumental)
Listen to this chapter, “Litany.”
Julie was silent for a long moment. She stared long and hard at Allen. This was so different from her religious-minded Allen—never had he expressed anything like this! She watched as he sat down on the cool bench beside her and buried his face in his hands. Finally she asked in a subdued tone, “Do you think you have to find the answers by yourself?”
“Yes.” He did not stir.
“Don’t you think anyone can help you find answers?”
He looked at her. “You think you are the one to help me find answers?” It was more of a statement than a question, and Julie thought she detected sarcasm in it.
How she wanted to take his hand and say, “We—Bob and Sandra and I—love you, Allen. We want you to be a part of us. I do love you, and I’ll do anything I can to make you happy.” But she only looked through the icy stillness and almost whispered, “Have you forgotten about God?”
“I know God will lead,” he said, “but just how?”
How? Julie was a little baffled. She knew Allen knew. Methodically, she repeated almost the same words he had taught her. “Surrender to God. Be willing to be absolutely honest with yourself. God will do the rest. Just—well, just wait.”
“That’s what I’m doing, Julie. Just waiting. Waiting for Fate to teach me how to react, what to do, where to go. Fate hasn’t brought me into the right circumstances, and I’m…just waiting.” He rose to his feet and started away slowly.
“Fate?” she queried, also rising.
He shrugged. “Providence—Fate—call it what you wish. But I’ll find the answer—by myself. No one else can find it for me, Julie. You may have the answer, but I have to discover it for myself. Don’t you understand that, Julie?”
A strange smile played on her face. “But can’t I help you discover it?” She was almost desperate.
“Try if you wish,” he answered, only because Julie demanded an answer.
Halfway up the stairs he paused dramatically. “Life is cruel, Julie,” he said. Julie knew what the stinging words meant. Life was cruel—if you weren’t surrendered to God. But they both knew—so many times they had talked about this—that nothing can hurt you when your complete faith is in God. Only your own selfish reactions hurt you. Maybe Allen is afraid to know how to react. Yet she knew Allen. Did he think she wasn’t surrendered to God?
Suddenly he started off again, across the lobby and out the door, more rapidly than before. Julie still followed.
“Allen Macintosh! Don’t tell me you aren’t trying to avoid me. If you want me to leave you alone, please tell me so.”
His pace slackened only slightly. “All right,” he said. “All right, I’ll tell you if I want you to go away.”
Now Julie bombarded him with questions, the tactless pointed questions that her emotions had piled up for so long. Mechanically he retorted back answers, but inside he was running—hard. The saline breeze was chill, but his feverish mixed-up mind did not sense it. Julie just wasn’t the same girl she used to be! Love—hmph! He pushed the thought out of his mind. He wasn’t ready to face himself, much less Julie, who once was his inspiration of life itself. But he must never let it show. He could not let Julie see how afraid he really was. Why hadn’t he told her about his dating Bonnie—and Mindi—sooner, much sooner, than this? He knew Julie was apt to be hurt, anyway. Julie loved deeply. Yet if it must happen this way—this very day—it must be the best way.
Allen looked around. His steps had taken him to the old lobby of the municipal building. He tried the doors. They were locked. He would not retrace his steps. God was bringing him to something—and that soon. Would Julie understand?
Tears? Julie? She would never cry! She had decided that after the last time they broke up. She would not be hurt again. She would not! The telephone booths and squares of tan tile swirled into a blur. She heard Allen say something about calling his school as he dropped a dime into the green box. Impudently, she stood in the doorway until he had finished with a routine of “Line’s busy,” and retrieving his dime.
He placed his hand lightly on her waist and, with a squeeze, said sincerely, “You’re a good girl, Julie.”
There were three phone booths, and they stopped at each one, Allen repeating the same litany. The intoxication of frustration was intense. But Allen saw it now, the way it had to be. God knew it was best.
They sat down on a couple of old chairs in a corner. Their conversation was calm now, almost nonchalant.
Lately, Julie had been trying to imagine how it would be the day she and Allen broke up. She pictured a dramatic scene—a seaside sunset, surf gently lapping the golden sand; a warm, quiet fireside in a college dorm lobby; or even the fountain and palms and white iron staircase where they had just been. She saw herself, big brown eyes shining with unspilled tears, yet she herself remaining cool and quiet and looking deep into Allen’s blue, half-pleading eyes almost afraid to meet her own. She would hear him say in a decided yet soft voice, looking down, “Well, Julie, I guess it’s all over now. We just can’t make a go of it—ever. We’ll just have to forget each other.” And she, looking past him, would silently sigh and say in a very steady serene voice, “It was so sudden, Allen, but it must end—forever. So, goodbye, Allen.” And their eyes would meet for a strange quick second as he would gently touch her hand. Then she would watch him until he had disappeared. And then she, too, would fade into oblivion, for the next few hours being sensually unaware of her environment. Perhaps far into the night she would wake up as if from anesthesia and feel the pain, sharp and deep. She would cry, but it would soon be over and that would be all. And in the days and weeks to come, she would live in a weird mist, gradually, ever-so-slowly sifting back into the world of reality.
But it didn’t happen like that at all.