In Preparation for Receiving The Reverend

Sitting at the edge of her bed, the only things present to her senses were the sound of the razor that roared over her head and the plop sound of the clumps of hair that landed on the ground. Transfixed, she stared inwardly into the mirror by the bed. The daytime hollowed-out feelings were now replaced by a frigid sense of purpose. Shaving her head, she wasted no time in the systematic removal of her hair, an attempt to expeditiously conform to the rules present in the handbook that comfortably leaned against her spine. She liked the way it felt against her, calmly exuding protection, the steady spine resting firmly against her nervous, crawling skin. The Richmond Spoon that once lay dormant within the comfortable confines of the hutch now brightly rested on the bedside table, wrapped in tissue paper, the blue of the pamphlet reflecting in the color scheme of the tissue paper, featured in a rotund band that fastened at the center. The Initials "RR" were drawn out over several hours the day before. The night after she read the pamphlet, the same night she stared into the cobalt blue stone on the Spoon and saw the twilight in her husband's eye in the gem fade away.

It had all seemed so natural, the way one force faded away and another quickly rose to take it's place, like a cross-fade on a four channel mixer, ensuring smooth transitions, so did her mind, replacing the cavernous emptiness of the loss of her husband with the encephalitic rise in the presence of Reverend Reevers within the hierarchy of her inner priorities.

Various headshots of the Reverend now adorned the ornate corners of the fireplace, replacing the space previously occupied by wooden roosters, china piglets, and graduation pictures of the children that forgot about her long ago.

The day of the seminar came without hesitation on her behalf, the morning found her with both feet firmly on the floor by her bed, head shaved, dressed only in a flowing white robe. She had memorized every word of the pamphlet, each paraphrased into her own mind, running on a continuous cycle, each minute of the clock triggering the retelling of another paragraph, each hour reversing the order a little bit, truncating the summary, then recoiling back to the front cover; announcing Reever's name with a low end rumble.

The clock spurned much of this on; ticking impatiently away as the hour of departure arrived. She telephoned Candy McTruner the very next day after all of her priorities changed, the day after her cocoon of a parcel arrived in the rickety mailbox, the last day the mail was checked. Every alarm clock in the house rang out at 8AM. Still in her robe, she calmly rose from the bed and out to the car, having memorized the route days prior to the event in Black Rock. She knew the roadway to the Radisson as some learn their lineage, changing lanes often to maintain momentum, passing slower cars to assure that she was the first one there.

But she was not the first to pull up to the Radisson on that morning. For hordes of other white heads and a few black ones appeared on the horizon line as she sped through the overpass, jetting down the off-ramp, until the sign at the front of the Radisson appeared reading "Welcome Reverend Reevers" filled the frame.