Oh no, its her

The backstage door closes slowly, dramatically with telltale screech, its sign of neglect and desperate need of attention with WD-40. The brilliant scarlets and burnt tangerines from the setting sun approaching the horizon announce the time of day - the shadow-lengthening, breathtaking lightshow of the evening sunset. Its close to time, but I have to turn and admire the melting orb as it disappears below the dark line, holding my breath, "Can I see the moment it actually all goes...now...no, now...no, this is it..." Day is done.

Between the door posts and rails and window arch, my profile is 12 feet long, caught within the perspective of distance and darkness, cast forth into the waiting contrast. The wind rustles my hair, and it shows in the shadow, "Well, hello there" I speak in my mind to this constant friend with me (Me and My Shadow don't you know?!.), "You're looking slightly stretched today, everything alright?" My mental conversation includes time for response, and without surprise, returning in my own voice, the answer hesitant but plain, "No its not."

The screeching door eliminates the outside brilliant light and I stand still, allowing my eyes a chance to adjust to the impending darkness of the auditorium. My shadow leaves, centimeters at a time with the closing of the door, as I make the mental note "See ya later" with enough time to hear, "You can count on it" in her low voice. Standing still, the quietness of the room was unusual. Stark. Intentional.

I swear, you could hear the Navajo Indian flute warble the soundtrack for "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" with the sound of spurs with every step I took.

Doo-ee-oo-ee-ooo.

"Oh no, its her!"

The chink of the spurs is with my every footstep, and I am slightly confused as I look around..."Hey I know I left the house in pumps. I'm still wearing my uniform, I wouldn't have casually thrown on a pair of cowboy boots to finish off the outfit."
But those spur steps were mine, and continued with my procession through to my seat.

Doo-ee-oo-ee-ooo.

"I told you it was going to happen again, it's her, she's back" (I wish there was a script writer for this, I wish I could mention these are my words, my reactions. But no, they are verbatim quotes from someone offended, and I have to find a way to fix it.) The not-even-trying-to-veil-her-rude-ostentacious-and-brash comment person was directly in front of me, practically shouting to the entire wind section.

Doo-ee-oo-ee-ooo.

She has arrived early and staked her claim to the area she will sit. Her 5 minute trip to my 35 minute trip insures that her first-arrival status is safe as gold in Fort Knox. I am unaware of the reason why she is so bold and specific and intentional about my "wrongness" to whatever her "rightness" is. This High Noon meeting has caught me entirely by surprise, but it had been working in her mind for more than 10 days and it just spilled out in its attack.

My crime: 14 hours earlier I used Sweet Pea Bodywash in my shower, Secret Fresh Powder antiperspirant, and after three pumps of Eternity, I used a hair spray and mousse for my hairstyle; when I washed my uniform last week I used Tide with Febreze and Downy Mountain Spring fabric softener which smells fresh and clean to me, and since I hang them in my closet with my other uniforms, there is a clinging of Eternity from being near other Eternity outfits; my car has a cucumber melon air fresher in it. Add this all together, there was a fragrance to my presence, a gentle wafting which by this time of day has all but disappeared.

But to someone who is ferociously allergic to all things fragrant as she is, I was a deathtrap to her, a necessary situation to require her to need added medication, an air filter/purification system and spray bottle. I was unaware of her condition, but it was plain from her reaction that we needed to face this like adults. I wasn't going to be small minded, and remind her she wasn't attacking Mr. Trumpet player right next to her who was wearing Drakaar (Oh do I like Drakaar) or point out that Mr. Oboe, sitting right in front of her, smokes likes a chimney and still has the remnants from his 10 minute outside cigarette break in a cloud of fog around his head. No, even though all of these other people are in the same boat as me, I am the only one who is wrong. So by meeting her in the center of the abandoned road where the saloon doors are still turning and tumbleweeds are blowing by, we can see the whites of each other's eyes. All these other people are her friends, or friends of her husband, I am the only one she doesn't know so the very public launching is at my expense. Everyone else takes mental note and now we know - for the remainder of our time together, we need to be as fragrance free as possible. A difficult, yet not impossible task. So we do our best, work very hard at it and everything turns out okay and she is, in the end, very thankful for everyone's efforts to help make her presence in this group possible.

This happened over a month ago, but the traces of the encounter linger for those are words I keep hearing again and again.

"Oh no it's her."

I hear it at wrestling practice. In the grocery store At the library. In the school gym for PTO functions. When I pick up the phone at work. In the school parent meetings. Community church functions. At the oral surgeon. At Starbucks. At agency presentations. On the phone calling people and hearing them in the background not wanting to come to talk to me. At Scouts. Not hidden or whispered at all, but boldly delivered, to assure I know their disapproval. I hear it also from the silent motives: those who won't answer phone messages, respond to mail, withold their cooperation and input to "let you know" where they stand.

The embezzlement lawsuit regarding the previous officers has been worked very deliberately and circumspectly within the court system and will continue in its snail's pace, but it the court of public opinion has been ruled and executed against Dave and me very decisively.

Doo-ee-oo-ee-ooo

And I have to admit, I don't want to go into that street with the saloon doors swinging to face another person to speak their mind, to launch their barbed and spiteful opinion at us in vulnerable and public ways. To be their target so they can make a show of their power or inclusiveness. I just want all the tumbleweeds to blow away, aching to hear the simple proclamation,

"Hey, its her"
and know that someone saved me a seat because they knew I was coming. How long will it take before it changes? Before I am not the whispered about, gossip fodder for anyone and everyone? Only God knows, and He has to protect my heart especially when hurt and lonely and not seeing the big changes we hope and pray for. No matter how isolated it can become, I find the words of Habbakkuk 3:17 powerful tonight, from The Message translation:

Though the cherry trees don't blossom and the strawberries don't ripen, though the apples are worm-eaten and the wheat fields stunted. Though the sheep pens are sheepless and the cattle barns empty, I am singing joyful praise to GOD. I'm turning cartwheels of joy to my Savior God. Counting on God's rule to prevail, I take heart and gain strength, I run like a deer.

I know we are not alone. I just don't know how long this has to last.