Prayers for Bobby - Leroy Aarons [97]
By now Joy, Ed, and Nancy are assembled, and we are all seated at the kitchen table. Ed, at thirty-two, is growing into the responsibilities of marriage, fatherhood, and adulthood. A mustache now softens the lantern-jaw look of his youth, while a police regulation close haircut casts him in a military mode. His inherent gentleness makes him seem an unlikely policeman. He resembles pictures of his father at that age.
Joy, barely a year older, is a large woman whose long brown hair frames a full, attractive oval face curving to a prominent chin, which, while less pronounced, accents a resemblance to her brother Ed. Nancy, now twenty-four, has luminous eyes and a glittering smile; more than anyone else in the family, she evokes Bobby.
What difference has the loss of Bobby made in their lives?
Nancy, who has very long blond, naturally curly hair, is in transition from a dead-end job as a mail clerk. She yearns to apply her artistic talents professionally, perhaps in computer graphics. Regarding the impact of Bobby, she says, simply, “I came to believe that people have a right to think for themselves and be who they are. It affects the way I treat them. I would hate to put anybody through what Bobby went through. I’m not the one to judge somebody.”
Ed is sensitive enough that exposure to the criminal underside of life can be depressing for him. He hopes in the near future to leave on-the-street policing for an assignment in court services.
“I look back on myself and laugh because I thought I knew it all, and realize I didn’t know anything,” he says. “I’m a lot more cautious. You just can’t come up to me and tell me anything now and expect me to believe it.”
He plays with a wristband, looking thoughtful. “There was a time I thought being gay meant you’re going to hell. I certainly don’t any longer think it’s a sin of any kind. I’m no longer afraid of gay people. I understand them, because of Bobby. If nothing had happened to him, I don’t know where I would be. Playing around in the same field, I guess.
“I don’t believe in hell anymore. I do believe in a hereafter. Possibly even reincarnation. I believe that the holy spirit of God is in everybody, even the worst crooks I meet in jail. And those people who wrote the Bible, I don’t think they’re any different than me. I have no problem with the American Indians and their religious beliefs or those of any others. As long as you’re loving people and trying to help others along in life, you’re okay.”
Ed spoke with characteristic Griffith reserve, yet the enormous dislocation of his belief system propelled by Bobby’s death was inherent in his words. He, Joy, Mary—all are still grappling with the dimensions of their spiritual lives.
Joy, too, is in transition. After working as an accounts supervisor for the same boss for nearly fifteen years, she is contemplating getting a college degree and pursuing a career as a child psychologist.
“I’m taking a class at JFK University and want to take more in the future. I’m leaning toward counseling—of children, maybe future parents of children. Some of it is due to my little niece, Christina. She stirs a lot of emotions for me.” Joy pauses, apparently in the grip of some of those feelings.
“Christina has mirrored for me some of the important aspects of human nature, in regard to how a child comes into this world, thinking and feeling it is a very wonderful and special person. It’s the adults that screw that up. The parallels with Bobby are obvious. But watching a child, and watching how slowly the spontaneity gets stifled and stepped on, really brings it home.”
She looks at her brother Ed, Christina’s father, and turns to glance at the portrait of Bobby on the armoire in full view in the living room. “I think about Bobby every day.