CHAPTER FIVE

Philip was only out of the hospital for three days before he heard the terrible news. His grandfather had passed away some time in the night. The funeral would be held at the end of the week. He didn’t have enough time to even consider going back to the hospital to see him. And the way he left things… He kicked himself as his vaulted regret compounded into remorse. Sometimes, Philip really, truly, utterly hated himself. A deep loathing, self-resentment harbored in his bones. A bottomless dislike of his natural self.

Philip had three days to prepare himself. He was living with his parents, for he was still not use to his new condition. Blindness made every single part of life difficult. Simple tasks that he took for granted he now despised. Just getting out of bed in the morning and changing his clothes was an ordeal. Every day, he would have to suffer through his father’s dehumanizing laughter or a comment from his mother about the clashing colors he wore. And every time he would snap back at them with a wicked mouth. He could no longer see the sun, so his world was full of darkness.

And in this darkness he would rot.

Days went by and Philip barely got out of bed. He laid there, rubbing his fingertips across the scars over his eyes, bathing in the torment of self-pity. He had forsaken his life, renounced God, and burnt every bridge he had come to form in his life. There were only three people who came to visit him: his attending physician, Dr. Randolph, who was still looking after him, the military scientist, Dr. Fitzsimons, and his ex-wife, Sarah. Many of the meetings would go on without much conversation. Sarah would come visit, but spend most of her time with Philip's parents, awaiting the day he would come out of his depression. Dr. Fitzsimons would come to show his support and give Philip a routine check-up, which was just a repetition of what Dr. Randolph did more frequently.

Finally, the day came when Philip had to get out of his bed, take a shower, and leave his house. It was the day of his grandfather's funeral. While in the shower, Philip thought about his last conversation with his grandfather.

The Harvest Moon, all that Cherokee nonsense. Funny, how the old man needed religion to get him through his last days, how cliche. And yet, maybe there is some truth there. I don't deny that there are gods, but I doubt those primitive Indians had it right. And yet, the god in my dream was a storm. The Cherokee and most Indian tribes believed the elements to be supernatural entities. What if my grandfather was right? And I blew him off. I am truly an asshole...

Philip was almost on the brink of tears. If it hadn't been for the water pouring down his face from the shower nozzle, he might have caught himself actually crying. But in his personal darkness there was no way to see, only feel the water upon his face. He finished up in the shower, got himself together, and went back to his room to start getting dressed. A task that he no longer could handle alone. There waiting for Philip in his room was his mother.

He had almost forgotten what her face looked like. It had been so long since he last saw her. Even when Philip was home before the military, he rarely ever went home. He kept to himself, through and through, waiting for his life to take course. When it did not naturally, he forced it to by enlisting. And we all know what happened since then.

Now, Philip was back home with his mother, and she dressed him in polite dark colors, with a suit jacket, and a plain black tie. It was like he was five years old again. Total regression. He let her do it with few words. Even though they were in the same room, she felt as though they were miles apart. Philip, refusing to leave his dark little world, and his mother trying to hold back the fear that she utterly failed to make a significant connection with her only son.

"Glasses." Said Philip, but it sounded more like an order.

His mother choked on his command. The sheer lack of change in personality that she thought would surely come to fruition unbalanced her. Philip was always an introvert, he kept to himself in school, not making many friends, even in marriage he jumped ship because the intimacy was too much (or that's what she thought was the problem). And now that he was locked in his own world, Mrs. Dresden prayed that it would have an adverse reaction to his psyche and get him to make a crucial change in his life for the better; become an outgoing person, maybe even patching things up with Sarah. But, it unfortunately only exacerbated things, and Philip fell further into his solitude and depression. So, they sat in silence, except for that one interrupting command. When finished they went downstairs, Philip grabbed his smooth, ivory cane from the umbrella stand, and together, Mr. and Mrs. Dresden, and Philip filed into their 1973 white Cadillac.

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Mr. Dresden was much like his son, with only one distinct difference, when Mr. Dresden found his wife his entire world changed. He became the man that she saw in him, and that man was far from a recluse. Mr. Dresden saw his meeting Mrs. Dresden as a necessary change in his life. If he did not go through this change, then he would have ended up...well...like his son. Together, they drove to the cemetery. Philip did not want to be there. But he knew he would feel even worse if he skipped it. There was no way to please himself. Everywhere he turned, misery awaited with a smile.

They were the first ones to arrive at the cemetery. For they had skipped over the Church portion of the funeral due to Philip's lack of initiative in getting out of the house. Philip took both his father and mother's arms and walked in between them. After some time waiting in place, he could feel the air around him vent into the lungs of the gathering mourners. That was odd.

His listened to the priest drone on, giving the closing ceremony, and then finally they lowered his grandfather's casket into the grave. Philip laughed, not caring if the other people looked at him. This Christian priest was preaching about a man that no longer believed or followed in his religion.

Philip pictured an ancient medicineman leading a rain-dance around the grave, to honor the Cherokee gods. Philip's mockery sadistically brightened his spirit. The sliding of the ropes lowering the casket lingered in Philip's ears and sent a soft shiver down his spine, giving him goosebumps. The pitter-patter of the footsteps rounding the hole gave Philip the clue he needed to figure out that everyone was throwing their flowers down the grave and paying their last respects.

"And so, lays John Archibald Ridge in his final resting place, now and forever, in the glory of god."

The priest gave his last prayer and Philip heard the shovels digging into the earth around him. the dirt being poured into the hole. He tried to picture it in his head. After a couple minutes of repetitive sounds, Philip was tugged by his mother, they were getting ready to leave.

"I'm gonna stay." He responded to her tug.

"But how will you get home?"

"Jesus Christ, Mom! I'm not helpless."

And without anymore debate they left Philip graveside. He sat on the grass, assuming that he was facing the newly dug grave. The air returned to its full presence and Philip felt a sense of relief. Now that he was alone, he could truly say goodbye to his grandfather. Philip tried to say the words he wanted to say to his grandfather before he died, but only a couple of words came out before he completely broke down.

"I'm. I'm so sorry. I-"

Philip grasped the blades of grass brushing up against his pant-legs and the tears tried to leak through his scar tissue. But they could not get out, and Philip's misery was building up. His eye sockets felt horrible, tiny pustules filling with teardrops. He was grotesque, a monster. Simply not human. He could not cry. What person can’t cry? Philip tore the grass out of the ground like he wanted to tear the scarred skin off his eyes. But at the climax of his grief a gentle drop of water made a tiny splash on his cheek.

The temperature dropped significantly, the wind kicked up, and the skies darkened. Philip was beginning to see, dim images, inverted colors, green and blue absent, grey, and black forthcoming. A storm was brewing, and with it, was Philip's redemption. He stood up and took a look around at this new world of bright storm clouds and black earth.

Commotion in the Sky,

clouds clashing, Asundered Heavens,

The STORM HARVESTER Approaches....