rantallion

I saw it again today. Not much more than a shimmer in the air, really, a wrinkle in the space between here & there in our perfectly ordered lives.

Sophie had stumbled, as though she had bumped into something that wasn’t there. She blamed it on a broken heel (I keep telling her those things will be the death of her), but I could swear it didn’t break until she caught herself.

I guess I could be wrong. I've been wrong before. Still….

It’s not the first time it’s happened. Last Sunday in church I saw the air bend & waver before the pastor, the way it does above a fire (though there was no flame between the two of us). It was as though a shapeless wraith had passed before him, just before he fumbled the chalice splashing grape juice all over his stole.

The senior pastor had laid the bread down on the paten so she could help clean him up with the corporal which had until just moments before been covering the bread.

From somewhere up front I heard a giggle & “Oops!” Seriously! I know it sounds daft, but to me it came through as clear as day. I looked all around but could not find the source. I heard the side door open & close. I saw the shaft of late morning light for just a moment before it disappeared.

I saw no one there.

I mentioned it after the service over lunch at the Olive Garden. No one had heard or seen a thing. Of course, half of them hadn’t noticed the spilled grape juice or the embarrassed look on the associate pastor’s face, either.

So now I’m at home, sitting in the dark where I can see neither shimmers nor wavers, waiting to discover I know not what.

“I know you’re there,” I announce uncertainly.

“Relax, allow your eyes to become unfocused, & see differently…, see in a way you’ve all but forgotten from long ago.”

I hear the voice, soft but distinct, & wonder if I am losing my mind. Still, I try to do as it says.

“Breathe. Take a deep breath, let it go, & see.”

I close my eyes, breathe deeply, & open my eyes as I exhale.

A match flares before me. I see the fingers which hold it, the hand which moves it toward a wick. I watch as the flame grows & steadies, illuminating a face that seems at once both familiar & strange to me.

“I’ve been waiting for you. I had a hunch you were someone who might be persuaded to see.” I search his face, finding hints of a smile, tinged with relief borne of a life filled with far more battles fought than victories won.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Just call me Rant,” he responds. “Most everyone I know does.”

“That’s a strange name. I’ve not heard it before.”

“That’s fair. It’s more of a nickname.”

“Cool.”

“Not really. It’s kind of insulting. People use it to make fun of me.”

“Okay, not cool.”

“It’s okay. It’s actually what got me looking for someone like you.”

I shake my head. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me. I’m totally lost.”

“It’s short for ‘Rantallion.’”

“Okay…?”

“Yeah, my ‘friends’ picked up on it from an email someone got about old-time vulgarities & curse words. As Francis Grose defined it in his 1785 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue: ‘Rantallion. A man whose parts are so small, that they are not worth the trouble of being named.’”

“And they call you that…, to your face?”

“Yeah, it’s what you get for having to take group showers after gym class. No secrets there. I guess they kinda thought it fit. Doesn’t matter what you do on the field, it seems. To lots of folks it only matters what you’ve got down there.”

“I don’t like it. Is there something else I can call you?”

“I’m okay with it. I’ve come to embrace it. They mean it to tease & dismiss me, but I find in it a source of great power & strength.”

“Okay…, tell me more about that.”

“As I said, it’s what motivated me to find you.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It’s what they call people like you, too.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. They don’t know what size my..., my ‘parts’ are…, or do they?”

“Nah, they wouldn’t go to the trouble. It’s just their way of dismissing people like you who are so full of themselves they can’t see anyone else.”

“Hey! I’m not like that!”

“Aren’t you? Tell me, what was the name of your waiter at lunch last week after church?”

“It’s….”

“Exactly.”

“Wait, a minute! Just give me a sec….”

“What color was his hair? Eyes? How old was he? What race?”

“Umm…, uh…,”

“Her name was Anita & she was Latina.”

“I gave her a tip!”

“Seven percent. Quite generous!”

“It was seven point two!”

“I stand corrected. The point is, you’ve been conditioned not to see us. We don’t matter to you, so you don’t matter to us. Truth is, we don’t really see you, either. (Of course, we’re not supposed to. If you catch us daring to look up, you consider us uppity.)”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Tell me, what’s my name?

“Rant.”

“It’s Rance. I’ve been delivering your newspaper every morning for the past fifteen years. You literally see me every weekday on your way to work. And some weekends, too, when you get up early enough.”

“Rant…, Rance…. I see how they came up with nickname.”

“I do believe they found it a convenient fit.”

“So we’re all rantallion to you?”

“Yep.”

“No matter the size of our, um…, member?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because you think everything is owed to you, that somehow you deserve all the wealth & power you enjoy.”

“Don’t we? I mean, we work hard, eight hour days, five days a week, sometimes even more. And our preachers keep reminding us that God wants us to be happy & wealthy & the fact that we are proves that God favors us.”

“The vast majority of you have no clue what God favors. Nor do you have the faintest idea what hard work entails. For that matter, I’m guessing very few of you are even really happy.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Are you happy?”

“Well, uh, I….,”

“Don’t even bother. I already know the answer. It’s why I picked you.”

“Huh?”

“Somewhere down deep inside, you know that something is off, that somehow things aren’t quite right.”

“What do you mean?”

“All your life people have told you how things are supposed to be. But every time they do, you have your doubts & wonder if it’s really true. It’s why now you can actually see me & we can have this conversation.”

“I don’t believe you. Sure, I have my doubts from time to time. Doesn’t everybody?”

“You’re the first I’ve found among your group.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Everyone else who runs in your circles is so sure they’re in charge & running the whole show, they have absolutely no notion of what it actually takes to keep things going.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me ask you a question. Where does meat come from?”

“The grocery store.”

“Aaaank! Wrong! How about vegetables?”

“The Piggly Wiggly?”

“Aaaank! Wrong again! How about fruit?”

“I know this one! I pass by the fruit stand on my way home from work! It’s at the corner of Fifth & Broadway, right in front of the five & dime.”

“Aaaank! Still wrong! Meat comes from animals, either hunted or raised on a ranch or farm. Fruit & vegetables are usually cultivated & produced by farmers, though sometimes people simply forage for & gather them.”

“Really?”

“I told you. Not a clue. Tell me, when you’re driving from one town to another what do you think is in all those fields you travel past?”

“Fields? You mean all that grass?”

“Aaaank! Though technically, you’re correct. That’s wheat, corn, milo, oats, millet & a whole lot of other stuff, all of which is required to make those things you pick up from the shelves at the supermarket. And all of it takes a whole lot of work from a whole lot of people your kind can’t even bother to see. You think you run everything? Without us you don’t run squat! You think you’re all important, going around engaging in all kinds of pissing contests with your fancy cars, beautiful homes, & “stylish” clothes, but to us you’re just…,”

“…rantallion.”

“So small & insignificant it doesn’t even pay to give you a name.”

“So, what do I do now?”

“Well, you’ve got a choice to make. You can go back to living your nice comfortable life the way you always have for the most part. (Somehow, I don’t think that’s in the cards for you. I did pick you, after all.) Or you can move forward just a little more aware & a tiny bit wiser. I should warn you, however, that if you find yourself paying attention to the rest of the world while your peeps are around, they’re likely to think you’re off your rocker. They might even come right out & ask you, ‘Who are you talking to?’”

“They already think I’m a bit of an odd duck.”

“Like I said….”

We sit here for a while, letting the candle burn down between us. Finally, I ask, “Will I be happy?”

“Only time will tell.”