I am a jukebox of an odd amalgamation of songs I almost know by heart. Rainbow is in my arms and is my safe audience. I don't remember the last time I sang out at the top of my lungs but I did for her and she didn't judge me. Cat Stevens, hymns, patriotic songs, primary songs, ballads from high school choir, This Land is Your Land, Les Miserables, Bruce Springsteen, Johnny Cash. In the still of the night porch lights are on. "Do you hear the people sing? Singing a song of angry men? It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again! When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums where is a life about to start When tomorrow comes!"
A guy in ripped tight jeans and a quasi-trench coat scissors by us. I wonder what he is thinking of. what worries him. Rainbow is swaddled in her soft baby fleece blanket from Grandma Christenson. She tries so hard to free her imprisoned arms. A chill wind tossles the purple and orange leaves in their own personal tornadoes, the trees look like flames. "All the times that I cried, keeping all the things I knew inside, Its hard, but its harder to ignore it. If they were right, I'd agree, but its them you know not me. Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away. I know I have to go. " From Rainbows desperate anguish cry the fire theory seems believable. Fire and going away. After six blocks her rhythmic cry subsides. An equilibrium is found. Her deep eyes have a tired smile. "In the beauty of the lily's Christ was born across the sea. With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me." Singing this I think of ward choir singing with my Dad and singing for President Hinckley. I sense Rainbow feels its peace. We pass by Holly's house. Should I stop? She's probably busy I convince myself. I look at the time on my cell phone. Audrey would be asleep already. "As testimony fills my heart it dulls the pain of day. For one brief moment heaven's view appears before my gaze." I block out my conscience and my own calibrated side reminding myself of the senior devil in the Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis instructing dear Wormwood in the art of damning souls. Pacify the people with their own concerns, fill them with self doubt, and make them feel how unnecessary it is to reach out. Rainbow in all of her innocence cries out again, I use that as confirmation that Holly couldn't possibly want to see me with a crying child, potentially awakening her own. Alas Wormwood succeeds again as I walk by her house. This little girl in my arm has a flawed and hopeful mother. "At my door the leaves are falling ... I go out to a party to have me a little fun but I find me a darkened corner but I still miss someone."