Aspire

Acknowledgements

I'm particularly grateful for the support I've received from the following people:

Ron Elms for both conceptual and editing assistance, as well as positive reinforcement

Janet Fogg for cover design and publishing advice

Members of Uffda, my writers' group -- Janet Fogg, Laura Deal, Shirley Wilsey, Karen Robinson and Zhenille Robinson -- for editing and personal encouragement

Dale Sherrod for personal encouragement

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My Disclaimer

I would expect this novel to stir controversy over how the spiritual reality is presented. My imagined version violates long-held precepts of every religion, and consequently, it must be false -- in other words, fiction. I crafted the overall concept of this book on how I would like the ethereality to be – still a complete and utter mystery, even concealed to us after our deaths, although we might learn more than we knew when we were alive on this earthly plane. When it comes to any one theory on what happens to us after we die, I am agnostic – I have faith in an afterlife, but I have no idea what form it takes. I doubt that any mortal has either the ultimate insight or the intellectual capacity to fathom the exact nature of spiritual reality.

I'm utterly grateful to the members of a Bible Study. I joined the group, in part, to develop a closer relationship with my brother, but as the years passed, I've found the weekly get-together has helped me become a better Christian, loving everyone I meet to the best of my ability. Most fictional stories, especially in the realm of fantasy, ask the reader to suspend belief, and this novel is no different because it constructs a spiritual reality that has no basis in fact. However, I realize that for any strongly religious person, it is asking too much to suspend the most important belief of all -- a core belief on the purpose of life or why we exist. For an evangelical Christian, for example, it is too much to ask that s/he suspend belief in the Good News, that Jesus died for our sins and true belief in Him leads to everlasting life.

My hope is to inspire readers to have an open mind that a spiritual reality exists and that we can ask for help and receive it.

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Glossary

Clarification note – many of the terms are derived from a host of religions and not meant to give preference of one religious paradigm over another. These include, Christianity, Judaism, Sufism [mystical Islam], Buddism, Hinduism, Sanskrit, Shintoism and Taoism. Particular words have been chosen because they fit the story.

Ahtar – one of many names for a spiritual guide; tends to refer specifically to the plane of Ariel and Ulstra. Synonyms include: guardian or guardian angel, Murshid [teacher], avatar, sattva, spiritual guide

Apsaras – (from Buddhism: deities who fly through the air). They aren’t tied to any particular mureed but assist in communication between ahtars.

Avatar – (see ahtar) a spiritual guide from any spiritual tier.

Avidya – similar to a blindspot that is preventing a sentient from attaining enlightenment.

Bandha – in bondage to a life bound by ignorance

Bodisattva – Those who aspire for enlightenment – not only their own but others’ as well.

Collective – a concept that ahtars on Ariel and Ulstrah’s plane use to describe tiers on higher spiritual levels, not unlike human-level devotees using the word, God. Synonyms include: The Collective, The Source, The Tao or Oneness.

Greater Consciousness – see Collective

Impact dream – the last dream a human has before waking, the one the sentient is most likely to recall after returning to normal consciousness.

Mureed – a human who is guided by an ahtar.

Murshid – a synonym of ahtar

Qi – the life force energy of all living beings

Sattvas -- spiritual guides who help other ahtars

Sentients – all beings who have consciousness

Wa – one’s individual peace and harmony with his/her environment.

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Part One - Chapter One

‘You might warn him.’

‘No, he’ll need his rest.’

‘It’s risky … the shock to his system –‘

‘I know,’ Ariel fumed in a gray tint, ‘everything’s a risk. Accidents.’

‘It’s your call.’

Ernie couldn’t hold his head up, nor keep his eyes open. Supine in his favorite recliner in front of the television, he had no chance to remain conscious. The game had entered the third period; the next goal would win it, but Ernie couldn’t stave off sleep. Even the television announcers’ excitement wasn’t enough, for Ernie at the end of the week was exhausted.

‘Maybe they won’t call until morning. Maybe they won’t call the girl’s teachers.’

‘They’ve already started. It’ll be three minutes at the most.’

‘So he gets three more minutes.’

Ariel and Ulstrah sensed the communication network accelerate through the community. In forty-five seconds, someone called.

The phone blasted Ernie out of his slumber.

What the …? Ernie’s heart jumped. The phone blasted a second time before Ernie collected his senses and found his phone. He didn’t want to answer it. Calls at this hour were often angry parents or – .

With its third discharge, the phone insisted he do something. Caller ID had the name of Gail Whittaker, assistant principal at Audubon High.

Hello? Ernie said, gingerly holding the phone to his ear.

Ernie? I’m sorry to call you at this hour, but I thought you should know. Her voice faltered. Marisa Trenchard committed suicide.

It took a beat to sink in. His chest tightened, like the wind had been knocked out of him. No. He pictured Marisa sitting at her desk, looking up at him with her startling blue eyes. It can’t be. Not Marisa.

Her father found her in her bathroom Friday night, Gail said matter-of-factly. She slit her wrists.

Jesus, God, No! He thought he might vomit. He got out of his recliner to head to the bathroom.

I’m sorry.

"Damn it. Not Marisa!" He sat on the closed toilet lid, just in case, and wondered why she, of all students, would do such a thing. He didn’t know what to say in the awkward silence.

Gail finally cleared her throat and asked, Would you stop by their house tomorrow?

Me? Ernie didn’t want to think about this, let alone be enlisted to help. What could I say to the Trenchards?

They need support, Ernie. And word is that you were Marisa’s favorite teacher.

Oh, I doubt that, he said, thinking of an occasion Marisa broke down and cried when he was trying to coach her on writing an essay. I might be responsible for making her life too tough.

Gail asked another question, but Ernie’s mind was elsewhere, trying to digest it all.

What did you say?

The Trenchards asked for you. You evidently made a real connection with them at parent-teacher conferences.

He closed his eyes, recalling their faces at his table. Gail continued, They need you there tomorrow. Then, in a softer voice, she put in, The school needs you to be there.

Of course. His ran his hand through his tufted, brown hair. I’ll do it, but I feel sick.

Don’t we all? Gail waited and then said, "Should I come to see you tonight?"

No, I’ll be okay, he said, glancing at his messy living room. You’re right. I should go there. Thanks for letting me know.

You’re a special person, Ernie. You mean a lot to these people and to our school.

Thanks, Gail. We all do what we can.

‘Why couldn’t they just let Ernie sleep?’ Ariel asked, her aura scarlet. He’d had a tough enough week without this to burden his mind all night … all weekend … maybe the rest of his life.

After he said good night to Gail, he was up the next two hours, reviewing prior interactions with Marisa. She had first endeared herself to him the time when he utterly failed at disciplining a class. Marisa stayed after class and offered him a suggestion how to deal with Randy Rouse, the rowdiest kid. Another time, she spoke up loudly to get inattentive students to see that Mr. Colstad is only trying his best to help us. Can’t you guys see that? And everyone became more respectful as a result. But he couldn’t think of any time that Marisa needed help.

Marisa was the most stable person at school! he shouted and scared his cat, Perkins, who darted behind the couch. He tried to think of his last few interactions with Marisa. Was there something he could have said or done? He even chastised himself for not feeling worse.

Eventually, he went to bed.

Like all language-capable guides, Ernie’s ahtars existed in a dimension that humans couldn’t perceive. Each ahtar was a cloud of consciousness and could emit human-like emotions through color and sound vibrations. A major difference between spiritual entities on this plane and those on other tiers was that Ernie’s ahtars communicated ideas in language, not images, although they were capable of either one.

That night, Ariel provided Ernie a dream when he finally drifted off to sleep. Walking on a bright, sunny beach, Ernie was looking for something that he wouldn’t find, but he would feel the sunshine and hear the waves roll in and out in synch with his breathing. No answers but he felt the Life Force, itself, with the sunshine on his back. Occasionally, Ernie’s subconscious would create some storm clouds and wind, but Ariel did her best to keep the sun shining through. He emitted strong alpha waves.

Ernie rolled his head on his pillow and bumped into Perkins who started to purr. She didn’t normally sleep next to his head. Indeed, if the cat came onto his bed at all in the morning, it was to paw him into consciousness. Not let him sleep. His bedside clock read 6:43. Which meant he got to sleep for a full six hours. Ernie sat up and turned on the light. Marisa Trenchard is dead. Unbelieveable.

Sunday morning was usually his day to catch up on grading and lesson planning. But not today. He needed to visit the grief-stricken Trenchards. They needed him, according to Gail, but he knew he couldn’t help much, other than to say Marisa was the last person in the world he thought would kill herself. She always seemed so upbeat. How could anyone have seen this coming?

He fell back on the bed, his heart aching. He’d never again see Marisa laughing almost uncontrollably at one of his jokes.

Dear God, Ernie whimpered. I need your help. I need so much help. I’m overwhelmed. I’m out of energy. I feel sick. I’m lost. I need you to — .

Perkins interrupted, jumping right on his chest. Without his glasses, Ernie saw an unfocused version her tiger-striped face, not an inch from his nose. Perkins stared at him a few seconds and then nuzzled her head against his chin. They enjoyed the moment together before she turned and smacked her tail against his cheek. She looked over her shoulder at him as she moved off his leg and meowed, ever so delicately, indicating she wanted to be fed.

No, Miss Perkins, I’m not going to feed you yet though you have exquisite timing. Ernie went to the bathroom.

#

On the drive over, Ernie started to worry and his heart began to race. What if I have a panic attack right there in the Trenchard living room? When he was ten, he used to get panic attacks in droves two years after his parents divorced, and his new step-dad started verbally abusing him. He got through it with the help of anti-anxiety medication. In his first year teaching at Audubon, he again needed the medication to make it through the worst of the attacks. He thought about returning to his home to get the pills.

Ulstrah said, ‘He needs to get through this without taking medication.’

Ariel agreed and immediately sent a neutrino to release a tiny amount of serotonin in Ernie’s brain.

Ulstrah triggered his memory of taking deep breaths. ‘You’re going to be okay, Ernie,’ Ulstrah said. ‘Marisa needs you to be strong right now.’

‘Good point,’ Ariel said, and she sent an image of Marisa, looking at him in admiration.

He fought the impulse to turn around after breathing hard and arrived on the street where the Trenchards lived. It must be that two-story Colonial house, the one with so many cars parked nearby. I can do this. For Marisa, I’ve got to be strong.

He parked and then walked to the front porch. His heart still racing, he took two deep breaths and rang the doorbell.

A dark-haired woman with wet eyes answered and said immediately, I’m Donna’s sister, Ashley.

I’m Ernie Colstad. I was one of Marisa’s teachers.

"Oh, Mr. Colstad. She straightened her back. We were hoping to see you today. Marisa loved your class."

I’m so sorry, Ernie said, trying to keep his composure.

Please come in. Donna and Tom are anxious to see you.

Ernie swallowed and followed Ashley into the living room. He glanced into the kitchen and saw two men holding on to Marisa’s father, who sat at the table with his head in his hands. Tom was sobbing uncontrollably. The men took turns whispering into his ear. What could they be saying to him? It’s not your fault, Tom. But whose fault was it? They couldn’t blame Marisa. How could they assuage his guilt? How can I be of any help?

Donna? Ashley said to a woman sitting on the edge of the couch. This is Mr. Colstad. Marisa’s English teacher.

The woman stood and said, Mr. Colstad. Thank you for coming. Ernie instantly recognized that mother and daughter had similar wide faces with brown eyes.

I’m so, so sorry Mrs. Trenchard. I can’t believe it.

None of us can. She reached out to shake his hand.

Ernie sat on the other end of the couch and noted, Marisa was a beautiful person, but I don’t know if she ever realized how much her beauty affected everyone around her. Ernie had planned to say it but got an unexpected response.

That’s just it, isn’t it? Donna’s eyes watered once more. Why didn’t she know?

Ernie bravely smiled and shrugged. He felt a tear spill out and run down his cheek. We … Ernie sniffled and drew a breath. "We … all … loved her."

Perhaps to change the subject, Ashley suggested Ernie sample some of the food amassed on the dining room table.

Dozens of guardians had gathered to assist the entire community of human sentients in the Trenchard household. Most ahtars chanted a low wail to reinforce and to honor the grieving of the human-state beings. Others directed energy waves into the cells of household plants and flowers to enhance their life-force emissions.

For Ariel, guardian-dimension activities fascinated. Here, the nurturing priority of the Collective was obvious. They buttressed the agony of the Trenchards because shared grief helped the healing process. The goal was to minimize individual guilt over causing a young person to give up on life.

Across the room from Mrs. Trenchard were three of Marisa’s friends, sitting a small circle with their heads down, not saying much. Ernie made eye contact with Nigel Gage, the one student he knew, and they each shook their heads. Ashley led Ernie into the small dining room to a table that virtually overflowed with unusual delicacies – turkey-jalapeno wraps, cottage cheese and beets, teriyaki duck skewers, tandori chicken and a blur of other delectables. Ernie learned that Donna Trenchard belonged to a cooking club that had rallied to support the family.

But Ernie wasn’t at all hungry. He took a few olives, a deviled egg and a pastry before returning to the couch where Ashley and Donna sat. Marisa was the most remarkable student I’ve probably ever had, he said, looking alternatively at Mrs. Trenchard and her sister.

"I had her in a freshman English class that was hard to manage, and Marisa kept coming up with ideas to help me teach the class. This one time, for example, the class was about to mutiny over having to read Romeo and Juliet – you know how hard it is to understand Shakespeare’s language – and so Marisa suggested I turn it into a detective game to figure out the words and the meaning of the play. She was such a blessing to my life!"

Donna smiled but trembled with more tears.

We were wondering, Ashley said quietly as she handed Donna another tissue.

Ernie leaned closer to hear her soft voice.

Would you consider speaking at Thursday’s funeral service?

Ernie didn’t know what to say. He worked at spearing an elusive olive on his plate while thinking about the difficulty involved. He couldn’t say no, could he? He looked into her anxious eyes and forced a smile. I would be honored to speak, and added, I hope I am worthy.

You are doing us the honor, sir. My sister and Tom will be glad to hear it.

That night, after Ernie dropped into deep sleep, Ulstrah said to Ariel, ‘I’m so proud of him. To see him find the courage to overcome his anxieties and be willing to give a public address on the hardest topic there is … wow.’

‘Could you give me a flash review of his anxious moments as a little boy? I’d like to be able to anticipate when he might be succumbing to panic as well as you do.’

In a matter of a few seconds, Ulstrah reviewed Ernie’s difficulties in the years leading up to his parents divorce -- how Ernie cowered during their screaming matches. Next, how Ernie blamed himself when his father moved out and eventually divorced his mother. And then, worst of all, when his demanding step-dad found fault with Ernie’s behavior on a daily basis. Ariel watched for the building signs of paralyzing fear that dominated Ernie’s limbic region each time he had a panic attack. She agreed with Ulstrah that his whole lifetime would be a struggle to build confidence and to keep his anxiety in check.

#

On Monday, Principal Marion Eberly had called an emergency faculty meeting prior to first period to let everyone know about the tragedy and how the school personnel were available to help students and faculty deal with it.

When Ernie walked back to his classroom, Rick Sawchuck, a counselor, intercepted him. I’m contacting all Marisa’s teachers, he said. I doubt if any of her close friends will be in school today, but a death can profoundly affect some kids who barely knew her.

Ernie nodded.

Have you planned what you’re going to say to the class Marisa was in?

I’ve thought about it.

Rick explained, It’s delicate – a suicide. We don’t want another Cheyenne.

What happened in Cheyenne?

Oh, it must have been six, maybe eight years ago, I can’t quite recall, Rick said, looking down the hallway and lowering his voice. But they had about three copycat suicides follow the first one.

Really.

So many kids today are stressed. I hate to guess how many we have who think about suicide. The experts who studied the Wyoming cases said the victims were emboldened by the courage of the original boy. Rick looked back into Ernie’s eyes. The ones who followed looked upon it as ‘successful’, he said, making quote marks with his hands, compared to their own ‘failed’ attempts.

Ernie shook his head. What can teachers do?

"Like I said, it’s so delicate, but I called one of their counselors who recommended that the school not glorify, or somehow not be perceived as glorifying Marisa in her classes."

Oh? Ernie stared at Rick, thinking whether he should edit what he planned to say at her funeral Thursday.

Rick shrugged. "How do you know how you’re being perceived? Use your best judgment, I guess. We had quite an intense discussion earlier this morning over half-staffing the flag. I mean what’s the difference between honoring and glorifying?"

Did we fly the flag at half staff?

We can’t. Someone looked up the protocol.

Ernie smiled. Thank goodness for rules. At the monthly staff meeting weeks earlier, a teacher nicknamed Old Doursox had challenged the principal over whether Audubon High was run by rules or by people.

Rick laughed. You take care today.

Ernie walked into his classroom with less than ten minutes to revise his lesson plans. It no longer seemed appropriate to discuss To Kill a Mockingbird, nor give a writing lesson to which no one would pay attention. In fact, nothing seemed appropriate. His thoughts again turned to his deceased college friend, David. Can you help me?

Ariel and Ulstrah wondered the same thing. The two ahtars echoed Ernie’s call into the Collective to enlist David’s help if he could.

‘Do you have any ideas that would help Ernie talk to his class?’ Ulstrah asked.

‘I wish I did,’ Ariel responded. ‘He’s on his own unless you think of something.’

Ernie decided, It’s a day to reflect on what matters. We’ll journal, talk and journal. Suicide must be a matter of losing touch with those who love you. We all feel so guilty. I was thousands of miles away from David, yet I felt guilty, for not helping him, for not realizing he was in such pain.

He started writing down his ideas.

Suicide is the meanest thing you can do to the people who love you the most. I’m not blaming Marisa. She must have been in a secret world of hurt, but she chose the wrong path out of her pain. When you’re feeling suicidal -- and we all have at some point or other -- it means something in you has to die because it’s cancerous to your growth. It doesn’t mean YOU have to die, just that you need to change that vile something that might otherwise kill you.

When the first period bell sounded on Monday, Ernie still hadn’t decided how exactly he should adjust his lesson plan – journaling all period wouldn’t be enough. His attention shifted to his students coming into the classroom full of questions.

Did you hear about Marisa?

Did you hear how she died?

Why do you think she did it?

Was she really into drugs?

When’s the funeral?

They should have closed school.

Are they going to close school?

Ernie found it surprisingly easy, after taking roll, to get everyone to focus on him, but before he said five words, the intercom blared. It was the principal, whose shaky voice revealed how awkward he felt when speaking to the entire school.

This is your principal, he said and cleared his throat. I have an announcement. Marisa Trenchard, a sophomore, died over the weekend, and we’re all terribly, terribly sorry. His pacing was deliberate. Everyone listened. We have counselors from all over the district here to assist you if you feel the need to talk. Teachers, please excuse any students who want to come to the counseling office. I’m counting on everyone here at John James Audubon to pull together and carry on. The funeral is set for 2 p.m., Thursday, and students who have permission slips are excused to attend. Thank you.

Ernie had already noted Marisa’s closest friends weren’t in class, but he didn’t know who else might be affected. First, he reviewed the facts of her death, clearing up some of the false rumors about foul play and drug use. He also reiterated the Principal’s directive that any student could leave to go to the counseling office.

These are times when journals can be helpful. I’ve told you all along they can be more valuable than merely fulfilling an English requirement.

Ernie then gave the students several options to write about and referred to the list on the white board. They could journal about honoring Marisa’s life and what she meant to each student personally. They could write about tragedy striking – imagine if Marisa were your best friend or a sibling, can you empathize with what the Trenchard family and her friends are going through? Or, they could write about suicide itself. Before he could elaborate, Big Jake raised his hand.

Why do you think she did it, Mr. Colstad?

No idea. From what I understand, he said, "each suicide is as unique as the person who died. In other words, it’s hard to type the kinds of people who are suicidal, but the studies of people who nearly committed suicide indicate that something was going horribly wrong in their lives."

Ernie sighed heavily not sure he should proceed with his thought. He decided to go ahead. Personally, I think committing suicide is the meanest thing you can do to the people who love you the most, but I doubt they realize that. We knew Marisa. She didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

Kids nodded in the unusually quiet room. Ernie continued, Does it mean you’re crazy if you’re suicidal? I don’t think so. I think that feeling suicidal means you need to change something about your life, something that’s causing your agony or despair. So if you want – and it’s only an option for the journal – you can write about things you’d like to change about your life, and maybe Marisa’s suicide can have a positive effect.

Ernie was surprised he came up with that last thought. Somberly, the students started writing.

‘He got it!’ Ulstrah intoned. ‘He got it exactly.’

Ariel was impressed. ‘Did you do something special in your exported thought? Ernie hardly ever captures my implants so precisely.’

Ulstrah’s sunset golden tint reflected her astonishment. ‘I wonder if his contemplating the after life has opened his consciousness to us.’

His students wrote much longer than usual, and the discussion that ensued lasted through the period. He was grateful his students honored Marisa’s passing.

Chapter Two

People and flower bouquets filled the sanctuary of Life Force Church, one of the largest in Boise. Community members and students lined the walls and sat in the aisles. Latecomers were ushered into the Fellowship room where they could watch the ceremony on a monitor. Cascading marigolds framed an easel, holding a 3-foot by 4-foot unstaged portrait of Marisa laughing freely.

Ernie felt self-conscious coming in with the Trenchard family, but as soon as he settled in the pew, his attention shifted to the setting. At first he noticed all the people, and then he sensed the abundance of life everywhere he looked. Orchid floral arrangements surrounded the pulpit, the cross, the back and side walls as well as near the altar, Marisa’s picture in one of her happier moments. Three musicians came in from the side, a violinist, flutist and pianist, and immediately began playing Chopin’s Piano Sonata, a mesmerizing piece. Why must we worry so? Ernie thought, looking at her picture. Why do we forget what matters? When I remember Marisa, I’m going to remember that laughing girl. When I start to worry next time, I’m going to laugh it off like she would.

‘Was that your idea?’ Ulstrah inquired.

‘No. His own conception, but what a great memory to call on later, eh?’ Ariel made a mental note because she needed help to assuage Ernie’s anxieties. He worried too much.

‘It’s a vivid image.’

Ernie enjoyed the music, astonished that the performers, who probably knew the Trenchards, could play at all. When they finished, each one sympathetically smiled at Tom and Donna Trenchard before leaving the dais.

The minister read a scripture that didn’t register with Ernie, and then he introduced a half dozen of Marisa’s friends who walked to the altar. A girl tried to explain what Marisa meant to her friends, but tears overwhelmed her. A boy took over the microphone. Two of his friends held him up, and he was able to cry out his eulogy in between sobs of anguish. All six would break down and cry for lengthy moments. To Ernie, the flowers seemed to droop. Pure excruciation for everyone watching.

Ernie stood to speak next.

While the students left the altar, Ernie breathed as deeply as he could, trying to maintain composure. He focused on Marisa’s laughing eyes and tried to breathe her loving, life-affirming spirit into the pain he felt in his back and neck.

He took a moment at the podium once again to sense the immense size of the sanctuary, filled with somber mourners. He directed his sympathetic smile on the Trenchard parents and then looked to his right at the smiling picture of Marisa.

"This is the Marisa I knew, he said and paused to swallow the sudden emotional strike at his throat. He kind of squeaked the next utterance. I can’t believe I won’t see her smile this way again." Again he swallowed as someone in the audience broke composure and wailed briefly. Ernie nodded and his eyes watered, but he breathed twice and increased his volume.

It’s her life that matters, Ariel transmitted, not her death.

When I was in college, Ernie continued loudly, "I had a dear friend David Meyers who took his own life. He laughed the way Marisa laughed. As far as I knew, he loved living, and when he died I couldn’t believe it. In fact … Ernie looked across the full breadth of the room …I refuse to think about David’s being dead today. I prefer to think about David’s life because … it is how he lived, not how he died, that still matters to me.

"David’s suicide is impossible to understand. I had to wonder, was I to blame for not supporting David enough, for not letting David know that he meant the world to me?

Do we all share the blame for Marisa’s suicide? Now in full control, Ernie pictured Marisa’s image next to him. He looked at her. "No, we don’t. For whatever reason, Marisa made the choice. Marisa is responsible for that choice, and though I think she made a terrible mistake, it was her free will that she exerted. None of us suggested that she do what she did. All of us approved, endorsed and affirmed, this Marisa," he said, indicating the picture.

"I refuse to remember Marisa’s mistakes in her life. Instead, I’ll recall the day she waited for class to end, so she could assuage my anger at the class for not following my instructions. She hadn’t misbehaved in the least, and yet she apologized for the entire class because, as she put it, she didn’t want me to give up on everyone. Normally, the teacher is supposed to encourage the students, but Marisa, bless her heart, taught me to forgive and to live up to my potential as a teacher."

Ernie concluded his remarks, saying he planned to recall how Marisa lived, the laughing, loving, wise Marisa, and he expected those memories to help him face problems in life from now on. Indeed, he suggested, that everyone invoke Marisa’s love of life as a way to honor her life and keep her spirit alive on the earth plane.

Only after Ernie returned to his seat did he realize that he had left out half of what he had planned to say. He had three more examples of Marisa’s living attributes, and he continued to think about his omission as the minister spoke. He couldn’t fully concentrate on the message -- something about Marisa’s ascendancy into heaven wasn’t adversely affected by the suicide if she had accepted Jesus into her heart as her personal savior.

Afterwards at the reception in the Fellowship Hall, Ernie met several of his colleagues from Audubon High School, including Gail, the assistant principal. Everyone pretty much said the same things, complimenting Ernie on his part. They liked that Ernie kept his piece concise and to the point. They also agreed with Ernie that funerals for young people are the hardest to take emotionally.

Of all my students, why Marisa?

It makes you wonder if we’re doing any good at all, doesn’t it?

She had so much to live for.

I didn’t think I’d make it through her friends’ eulogy.

"I didn’t think they’d make it."

Ernie, how did you possibly collect yourself to follow those kids?

While most of the service remained vague for Ernie, he had an answer for this last question. Honestly? I kept looking at her picture up there, and thought, this moment is about her life, not her death. He smiled broadly. I felt Marisa’s energy, like I would sometimes in class, and believe me, I plan to call on that kind of spirit the next time I become too worried or too angry.

Gail suddenly gave Ernie a hug, a long hug that gave him permission to be comforted, to be held up. When Ernie felt it appropriate to let go, Gail seemed to pull him tighter, creating confusion in his mind. When she let go, she whispered, I’m going to hold you to it.

Then Ernie turned and briefly hugged each colleague standing there, including stiff Hubert Crenshaw, Old Doursox, as they called him. The elder caretaker of tradition at Audubon was fond of quoting himself when he was a teacher’s assistant at Yale.

His close friend and English Department colleague Ratif Habib squinted at Ernie and said, What can we do later this week?

Eh?

To make sure that we’re following what you proposed in your speech. Ratif tilted his head to work out a crick in his neck.

All four looked at the short, plump man.

Ratif frowned when they didn’t catch on. "You said in your talk that Marisa’s death wouldn’t be something to regret if we embraced her example as how to live. If we don’t act on your idea … if we don’t think up something specific to do this week, won’t we forget it and go back to living as we’ve always lived?"

Impressed, both Ulstrah and Ariel looked at Saul, Ratif’s ahtar.

‘He’s always doing that – I didn’t help him,’ he said. ‘I’m starting to understand that I’m the aspirant learning from a human-level teacher.’

‘You’re serious.’

‘All I know is that I’m impotent in nudging Ratif’s spiritual awareness; therefore, in order to get anything out of our relationship, I must be the mureed.’

Ariel didn’t know what new ideas to suggest to Saul, who always complained about Ratif’s apparent dormant consciousness.

Ulstrah, however, gave it another attempt. ‘From my observations, Ratif doesn’t appear to have unusual ego problems. People chide him and he responds with deep appreciation, as if he were complimented. Students call him Fog or openly mock how he dresses, and he responds with compliments to them. He handles every discipline problem with amazing control – it’s as though you’re watching the Dalai Lama. His ideas or suggestions to colleagues appear to be inspired from our level, but he hasn’t sought help nor indicated the slightest weakness that he needs help.’

Saul looked at each of them, inviting ideas.

‘Maybe he’s a sattva of some sort.’

‘If he’s a bodisattva, why am I his soul-guardian?’

Every tragedy includes opportunity, Ratif said. That was Ernie’s point, wasn’t it?

It was? Ernie thought.

Ratif sighed audibly as he looked at each person in the circle. We can’t let Marisa die in our thoughts, and in order to do that -- Ratif stopped, perhaps self-conscious that he might be coming across as a teacher among teachers.

Exactly, Ernie cut in. "We have to act. Ideas not put into action are … what was Shakespeare’s term for it?" He looked at Casey Swan who once team-taught Humanities with him.

Airy nothing, she said, smiling at the group.

Airy nothing, Ratif nodded. We can’t let Marisa’s spirit become airy nothing.

I wonder what Marisa’s going through now, Ernie thought. Is she aware of what we’re saying about her?

Ulstrah’s lime-yellow tint indicted she was tickled. ‘Doesn’t it make you want to appear before them all as a heavenly host? Something right out of their Old Testament or Quran?’

Ariel smiled. ‘You know you probably shouldn’t even joke about such a violation.’

Suddenly David appeared and said, ‘I wouldn’t recommend it.’

Where has David been? Ariel wondered. Why didn’t he appear earlier, if he had the wherewithal when Ernie asked him to?

Saul, Ariel and Ulstrah all greeted David in amber tones.

Later that night Ernie sat in his recliner with a purring cat in his lap. Teaching is simply too hard to take, he thought. If you don’t care about your students, you’re a lousy teacher, and yet if you care, like I cared for Marisa, you can get hammered. I probably wouldn’t feel any better if Rouse had been the one, but my second period class would run more smoothly. I have to face him again tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. Of all my students, Marisa was the most responsive. Ernie decided it couldn’t hurt to ask Marisa directly for help. Wherever you are, sweet child, can you help me out of this abyss? Should I become a programmer? Or maybe a cab driver? I’m too anxious and pathetic to succeed as a teacher. Perkins suddenly turned in his lap and climbed up toward his face. She had a bewildered look on her face.

Thank goodness for you, Miss Kitty.

Perkins closed her eyes as if smiling and nuzzled his cheek. Ernie gave in to emotional exhaustion and drifted off.

David joined Ariel and Ulstrah, and the trio hummed an artha chord.

He asked, ‘What was one of Ernie’s finest moments as a teacher? He needs to recall one of those right now.’

Ulstrah instantly triggered a memory. Ernie was coaching Marisa on why her paper failed to meet the standards for an A, and though she seemed to be at the point of understanding, she started to cry. Ernie felt absolutely awful and tried to console her but she sobbed louder.

"It’s okay, really, Ernie said, utterly lost at what to do. You’re a sharp, sharp student, and you’re catching on… Hey, it’s okay… He let her cry a moment or two more. You’ve got so much going for you, I can’t begin to list everything. You’re here for one thing, trying to become better – I wish all students would do that. You tune in every day." She continued to weep, her head dropped.

"Marisa, he said insistently. Marisa, look at me."

Another moment passed, but she looked up, now sniffling.

"You’re one of the reasons I continue to teach. If I didn’t have students like you, I’d go do something else. Sell peanuts at the Boise Hawks games or something."

She started to smile, but looked away, evidently embarrassed. I’ve got to go, she said, and quickly gathered her things and left.

Ariel allowed her aura to disclose her confusion. What was Ulstah doing replaying this scene?

Ernie’s memory proceeded to the next day when he arrived at school and on his desk was a card, picturing a bunny in clover on the cover. "Thank you for putting up with me, Mr. Colstad. No teacher I’ve ever had cares as much as you do. You really know how to teach and you wouldn’t do justice to hawking peanuts." Then, Ernie cried.

His reminiscence caused Ernie to wake up, weeping in deep, loud moans. The startled Perkins jumped off and gave a sharp, sympathetic meow herself. Ernie started to worry that he would suffer like this every night, for weeks or months, grieving Marisa. Then he recalled the hug Gail gave him; he could count on her and his friends to pull him through.

When earth-bound sentients fell into deep sleep, their ahtars had the opportunity to shift their attention to each other and discuss how they could best fulfill their purpose. Ariel and Ulstrah were naturally curious about what happened to David after he ended his existence on earth.

But first, Ariel asked, ‘Did you sense Ernie calling for you a few days ago?’

‘I did. I’m here.’ And when Ariel didn’t respond to that answer, David continued. ‘But I didn’t think it wise to intrude. I planned to help you two out if it looked as though Ernie might have a break down, but you handled everything perfectly.’

Ulstrah asked, ‘What happened to you after you committed suicide?’

‘I’m not sure how much time passed, but I found myself in this reality completely free and unattached to anyone, unlike every other ahtar I encountered. We’re called, apsaras or free spirits. It took me years to perceive that my mistake on earth was that I didn’t find life to be meaningful. I didn’t realize that the things I valued – material well-being, acclaim, sexual conquest – didn’t really have value, so on some level of consciousness I became afraid to live. And chose not to when a fit of depression hit.’

‘And now?’ Ulstrah asked.

‘And now I had to find a purpose to exist on this plane. All other spiritual guides are tied to their human mureeds. You all have a built-in purpose to help their souls develop to the point they aspire to a higher consciousness. But as a free spirit, I had to discover a purpose for this existence – something I failed to do on the earth plane.’

David’s aura blinked a black tint before returning to his soft rose hue.

‘It was painful,’ he continued, ‘to be cut off. It might be the most anguish we guides can feel – wanting to assist others without having anyone to assist.’

‘So what is your purpose?’ Ulstrah asked David directly.

‘I can’t be sure,’ he said. ‘Of course, none of us are absolutely sure why we exist and how we should live other than we sense we must have purpose. In some ways you’re fortunate to be tied to Ernie, like a human parent who senses she must help her child grow – your purpose is clear cut. The longer I’ve been a free spirit, I’m convinced my purpose is to connect to each of you and together we discuss ultimate reality and help us grow into the One, the Greater Consciousness.’

‘Is Marisa an apsara?’ Ariel asked.

‘Since Ernie first called me, I spent a little time looking for her. I haven’t sensed her existence yet.’

#

Ernie was pressing to get ready for class the next day, but Ratif wouldn’t let him. It can’t just be something we said at the funeral to make us feel absolution, Ratif said, his eyes bulging slightly. Ernie liked and disliked Ratif when animated. What came out of his colleague’s mouth often provoked thought, but his tenacity was unnerving.

You meant what you said about Marisa Wednesday, Ratif said, barely glancing at his mail slot as he pulled out the handouts. Otherwise, he kept his eyes locked on Ernie. Sometimes people say things because they’re supposed to be said, but as soon as other priorities takeover, they conveniently forget the rhetoric and obligations.

Ernie looked away at his mail slot, trying to remember what else he planned to do in the copy center, and still pay attention to Ratif, the hard-to-appreciate pit bull. No, you’re right. It’s easy to slip back into same old – same old. What was it he needed?

Stop.

Ernie sighed and looked at Ratif, who started cracking his knuckles one by one. Ernie hated it when Ratif did that.

I’m serious, he said and cracked another knuckle.

No kidding.

"What will you do today to act on what we said about Marisa’s life?"

Again Ernie sighed. "Right now, I need to get ready for class."

Same old everyday same old. Ratif said in a tone that mocked Ernie’s exhausted tone.

Ernie nodded. Sorry.

So what will you do today—?

Look, I’ll give it some thought and talk to you at lunch, okay?

Ratif smiled broadly at Ernie for a long moment until Ernie smiled in return. There you go. Ratif patted Ernie on the shoulder.

Walking to class, Ernie wondered what he could say at lunch if he couldn’t come up with an idea worth Ratif’s approval. Did he only care about Marisa superficially? He could picture and hear his colleague’s disgust.

Austin Curry, the only boy with a mop of blonde hair in his English 10 class, came in with the first arrivals. That talk you gave at the funeral was amazing.

Thanks Austin. I didn’t see you there.

Could you believe how many people showed up?

I told the Trenchards that everybody loved Marisa.

Do they know why …?

No. It’s a mystery.

Nigel Gage, violinist extraordinaire, joined in. Mr. Colstad, you’re one famous gentleman about town. Did you know the Trenchards well?

Not really, only through Marisa and parent-teacher conferences.

The classroom was filling up. Hey guys, Mr. Colstad is one of the heroes of Boise, Nigel shouted. They should put up a statue.

Ernie blushed. Let’s all take our seats, please.

Someone on the side of the class shouted, Mr. Colstad is Atticus.

Suddenly, Ernie realized he had failed to make the overhead transparency with his To Kill a Mockingbird discussion questions on it. The bell rang. He couldn’t leave class to do it now. The morning announcements started. His mind racing, he had to come up with an alternate plan on the spot. He thought about giving the students a reading day, but that would set the wrong tone for the week. Besides, he had already suspended all reading days because his classes had failed to police themselves, keeping it quiet.

Pledge of allegiance, he echoed the intercom. All but a few kids stood and recited it.

Maybe he could start with a true-false quiz.

Nigel says you were the speaker at Marisa’s funeral, Tom, the clean-cut Boy Scout in the front row, said. They didn’t have a minister?

Ernie smiled. They had a minister. I was just one of the speakers. Several of Marisa’s classmates also spoke.

Who?

Nigel chimed in. Phillip Duncan, Preston Anderson, Levi Hawkins, Forseca Chen – all her friends and some choir kids.

What did you say, Mr. Colstad?

Ernie cleared his throat, still not sure how to run the class without the overhead. In a loud voice -- "Guys, we need to get on task with To Kill a Mockingbird."

Marisa was a mockingbird, right?

Ernie looked to the back corner of the room. Was that you Sara?

Sara shook her head and tipped her head at Isabel. This ever-so-polite Latina never volunteered.

Isabel?

The class had dissolved into dozens of side conversations. Isabel nodded. Surprised, Ernie smiled at her, and Isabel smiled back amid the mounting disruption. Ernie gave her a thumbs up before virtually shouting, Guys. Listen please. Guys, we have some work to do RIGHT NOW. Settle!

Most of the class quieted. He paused to stare down the last two kids still talking.

Here’s the deal … Ernie scanned the room, pleased that only one student wasn’t looking at him. Amber? She looked up. Here’s the deal. We can prepare for next week’s grammar and essay test by reviewing the subject-verb agreement packets I have carefully put together for your edification … er, for your development. Or we can break into small groups, and --

Who chooses the groups?

Raise your hand, Jackson. Please. You get to choose the groups, but we need to stay on task. What we’re looking for are mockingbirds and crows in today’s society. Ernie walked up the aisle in which Isabel sat. Isabel just noted that Marisa Trenchard was a mockingbird. What did you mean by that, Isabel? Ernie was standing next to her and looking at the class.

Isabel sat silent. He looked down at her anxious face that begged him to let her be. That’s okay, he said quietly to her, and then to the class: Isabel gets what we’re doing. She has some kind of clairvoyance-prescience-telepathic-especial because she’s always reading my thoughts before I think them. He grinned at her and returned to the front.

Okay. What did Atticus mean when he said to Jim, ‘You can shoot all the crows you want but it…

Jays, Jackson spouted off, raising his hand at the same time. Jays, not crows.

Right. ‘You can shoot all the blue jays you want, but it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.’ What did he mean by that?

Jackson whispered something to his friend, Andy. They both played soccer.

What? Ernie asked, looking at Jackson.

Didn’t Marisa kill herself?

Ernie nodded.

It’s a sin, isn’t it?

Oh, oh. Ernie didn’t want to go there.

Ariel sent a disapproving fiery lava-red glare at Jackson’s avatar, Nora, who countered with astonishment. ‘It’s the Truth,’ Nora intoned. ‘It’s something our charges have to work out. Why not now?’

Ariel’s tint darkened further.

Nora responded, ‘It came up in their lunch club – Fellowship of Christian Athletes. I thought we like to encourage spiritual discussions.’

Ariel had to admit she had a point, but answered, ‘We’re not supposed to cause problems.’

‘Ernie can handle it.’

Jackson had broken the dam. Virtually everyone reacted by talking to their neighbors. Ernie picked up bits and pieces.

My pastor calls it the one unforgivable sin.

So Marisa’s going to hell?

No, don’t say that, not Marisa.

Look, if it’s unforgivable …

What makes it unforgivable?

Blaspheming the Holy Spirit.

Ernie whistled sharply, trying to restore decorum. Time out. People … please. The murmurs faded. "It sounds as though everyone is voting to work on the grammar packets. We obviously can’t even listen to the instructions, so let’s just work on the grammar packet in total silence."

Several students groaned as Ernie went over to his desk, ostensibly to find the grammar handouts..

Someone else argued, We were only talking about killing mockingbirds.

That we were, Ernie said, looking at the source of insolence, "except, as I’ve said, what, 400 times before? Only one at a time! This is a very touchy subject. Many of us deeply cared about Marisa. I gave a eulogy at her funeral, and in my research on suicide, I found that some people interpret the Bible to say that suicide is blasphemy of the Holy Spirit, but others dispute that. They say the unforgivable sin is to know you’re in the presence of the Holy Spirit and still deny its existence. I can’t tell you what to think – we’re in a public school and dealing with a religious topic – I don’t even know what to think, myself, other than that I think Marisa was lost and made a mistake."

Ernie paused. Everyone was listening. "We can all agree that she fits the idea of To Kill a Mockingbird. Why?"

Sara raised her hand. Mockingbirds have a beautiful song. The book said they live to sing their hearts out for everyone, so it’s wrong to kill beauty.

Ernie nodded. And Marisa, like every one of you, was a beautiful, extraordinary person.

Jackson put his hand up.

Yes?

Aren’t blue jays beautiful?

Yeah, I agree. Maybe they’re more plentiful in the South, like pigeons. Here in the West, killing blue jays should be a sin, too. Anyway, that’s the idea, we’re looking for analogies, for examples of rare beauty that shouldn’t be snuffed out. You have 15 minutes and then we’ll regroup. Everyone stay on task or we’ll just do the grammar packets.

Ernie watched the students shuffle their desks into groups and start their discussions. He hoped some parent wouldn’t call the principal about his Biblical references. He sat down and thought about Marisa’s laughing picture.

Chapter Three

The second period class went more smoothly since Ernie copied his discussion question overheads in between classes. In addition, he didn’t have to put up a counter argument to blaspheming the Holy Spirit that can allegedly send a suicidal soul to hell. All proceeded in a normal fashion except for one aberration.

Robbie Rouse, the problem child of second period, had something positive to contribute. Let’s think about mockingbird analogies in today’s society, Ernie started. The first period class suggested Marisa Trenchard was a mockingbird.

Why? Robbie wanted to know. His eyes were wide open, intense.

On guard, Ernie didn’t want Robbie to make an inappropriate comment about Marisa. All of her friends were back in class today.

Well, Ernie started slowly, in the book, Atticus said it was a sin to kill a mockingbird because they sing so beautifully, and last period the students noted that Marisa was like a mockingbird because she was so beautiful to other people.

That’s what I was going to say, Robbie said, his expression stone-serious.

That’s what you were going to say, Ernie echoed.

Yeah, pretty much. Not everyone is nice to me, Robbie said, glancing around to his left and right. Marisa was super nice.

Ernie looked at the short little pain-in-the-butt for a long moment, and Robbie looked right back at him unblinking.

Ernie smiled. That’s really cool, Robbie. She was just like that, always giving.

So why’d she …?

Commit suicide? Ernie cleared his throat. I wish I knew. Maybe to get our attention that one soul can act beautifully … can affect all of us.

But we aren’t seeing it, Robbie chimed in.

Yeah, exactly. The class stayed silent, drinking in a rare insight from Robbie Rouse. In fact, Mr. Habib thinks we ought to honor Marisa’s life by coming up with something that would make a difference at Audubon High.

Silence continued. Ernie prayed a little ‘thank you’ to the heavens.

‘Not us, kid,’ Ariel noted. ‘You’re on a roll.’

We could start a donation fund, Allison Cooper suggested.

To prevent suicide? Ernie added. Anti-suicide groups could probably use the money. Everybody needs money.

I need money, Robbie provided.

What about a special event? asked Calvin Boyce, the handsome boy most likely to run for student body president some day.

Okay. What special event?

A day dedicated to Marisa. The Marisa Trenchard Day.

Ernie couldn’t help feeling bemused. Okay, the Marisa Trenchard Day in which everyone does what exactly?

Be nice to people, Calvin said, his excitement growing. Event planners could brainstorm ideas on how to be nice to individual people at this school, the way Marisa was nice to Robbie.

Sounds boring, Robbie put in.

"She was nice to you," Ernie said.

No offense, guys. Robbie put up his hands. She was nice to me, but she was boring. I’d get bored just being nice all day.

Robbie had a point, Ernie thought.

As usual, Forseca Chen was first to arrive to Ernie’s third period Humanities class. The diminutive Chinese-American girl with black-rimmed glasses was probably Ernie’s best student in several years. He stopped cleaning the dry-erase board to walk back to her seat.

Hey, Forseca, Ernie said. What’s the latest on the Wayward Wanderers? Without Marisa is your club still meeting?

Forseca shot a frightened look at Ernie. We can’t talk about it here, she whispered and eyed the door as the next few students walked in.

Okay. Can you meet with me after school? In the library? I’ll be helping you with your research project.

Huh? She frowned at first and then got it. Yeah, that’ll work.

#

When Ernie came to Ratif’s classroom for lunch, he found his colleague, sitting at his teacher’s desk amid stacks of paperwork and delving into his curry and rice.

Without even acknowledging Ernie’s presence, Ratif started, We need to teach our students to love. Loving others is such a powerful skill to have. The short, plumb man paused to look at Ernie.

What’re you talking about? Ernie thought as he pulled up a student desk next to his colleague.

Ratif pointed his spoon at Ernie. Marisa’s gift to everyone was that she gave us all the perfect example of how to love one another. If we could teach that skills, all our students’ lives would work out.

This would never fly. Ernie remained silent. He didn’t want to discourage.

The problem is how can we teach it? Ratif’s eyebrows bounced above his mischievous grin. We’d be heroes if we could figure out how to teach our students to become proficient at loving others – in a public school no less. What a wonderful problem for you and me!

If we don’t get locked up. They both laughed.

Ernie unwrapped his ham sandwich and asked, What’s your other idea?

No - no - no. Give me your thoughts. We can go back and forth.

Ernie cleared his throat. We can support a club dedicated to Marisa’s life.

What’ll it do?

Ernie shrugged. You know Forseca Chen? She told me that at the start of the school year, Marisa started a secret club designed to help students who are having difficulties at Audubon.

Ratif scraped the last spoonful from his container. If it’s secret, why’d she tell you about it? He set the bowl aside.

She wasn’t supposed to. But she needed advice because some fellow named Phillip was trying to take over and turn it into a mischief-scheming sort of gang. He was responsible for putting those pumpkins in Eberly’s parking place.

Ratif nodded and laughed. That was a clever prank.

Maybe, Ernie said, glancing at the clock. But, according to Forseca, it caused a crisis over who was running the club and which direction it was going to go.

The two sat quietly for a minute before Ernie asked, What’s your other idea?

Ratif had lost much of his earlier energy. We raise funds in honor of Marisa, buy a tree to plant on the grounds with a plaque, and have an annual night of remembrance, asking everyone to contribute ideas on how to keep Marisa’s memory alive.

That sounds promising.

Not really, Ratif said and straightened. He placed his hands on the side of his head, closed his eyes and cracked his neck. Ernie winced. Ratif opened his eyes and said, It sounds like another funeral, and in two weeks everyone will have forgotten about Marisa and returned to their daily woes and worries.

Ernie got up and pushed the student desk back in formation.

"I like the club idea -- especially