Virtual Eternity (the Serialized Novel) Episode 35 - The Marriage and Departure: Starting a new life

This is Episode 35 of the serialized version of the novel, Virtual Eternity: An Epic 90s Retro Florida Techo-Pro-Life Love Story and Conversion Journey. These 52 episodes are presented here free for you every Friday. You can buy the paperback version from Mike Church’s Crusade Channel Store or at Amazon.

Or you can start reading at the Table of Contents: here

The Marriage and Departure: Starting a new life

On a Thursday, February 15, Perry Farrell telephoned me from his office five yards away. “Jonathan, we have a meeting in ten minutes. My office.”

I rushed through my coffee and listened to the cubicle clamor for ten minutes before going over to Farrell.

Farrell sat alone in his office overlooking the grassy swamps and shopping plazas.

“Jonathan, we just got word from the boys up north. They want a guy to lead the marketing effort, finally, for the Phase 4 game, The Shroud. Apparently, some higher-up hand-picked you.”

“Who called you?”

“Everette. He got word late last night in a memo and a phone call from up north. You’re going up there. They finally have a test version of The Shroud ready to go. They need to give you a complete rundown of the software and hardware. And they have other reasons for you to go there. You must’ve really shined for someone.”

“Where am I going?”

“They want you to attend the big trade show in Chicago. Then they want you in Minneapolis to help their research guys for a couple weeks. Then you’ll go to the Dakota site. They’re giving you the corporate tour, Jonathan. They’re grooming you for the big time. You’re entitled to these boondoggles from time to time.”

“How long will it take?”

“You’ll be in Chicago for, oh, two and a half weeks. Like I said, Minneapolis for two weeks, and Dakota after that. You’ll leave this Wednesday.”

“The Shroud. Interesting.”

“Yup. Grin ‘n grip for a few weeks, and then you’ll dig into what’s supposed to be the company’s flagship game. It’s about time those guys got off their butts and finished that thing.”

***

Maureen heard Jonathan return in the early evening darkness. She was napping on the sofa after being lulled by a comforter, but for some reason tonight drowning in more worry than ever, about him going back to Lana or anyone else. She sat up. She knew her black nightgown accompanied the white of her skin and the green of the comforter to match her eyes, as Jonathan liked. As she let the cover down to reveal her chest, she realized she was trying to lure him.

“Working late?” she said. She stretched and yawned, then sat up. The comforter slid down more.

“Yeah, a bit. I had some things to finish.”

“That’s unusual. What’s going on?”

“On Wednesday, I leave for the sites up north. It’s time.”

“How long?”

He crouched next to her. “About six or seven weeks.” His eyes sagged as he detailed his trip.

“I’m sure Greely somehow arranged this,” Jonathan said. “After I got the word about the trip, I called Mrs. Olson and asked her about him.”

“What did she say?”

“He was definitely a close friend of Daniel’s. Her exact words were, ‘He’s an honest man.’ It’s surprising. This guy was so creepy. But I’ d like to understand their passion for killing the project.”

“Why does he care that the whole country turns into zombies?”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan said. “Daniel was the same way. It’s like they feel a duty to disable it. Maybe they feel guilty that they work for Vincula. Greely says people in the Church are pestering them.”

“Well, thinking about plotting someone’s murder is not Catholic.”

“But, Maureen, their goal is to spread their… our message to as many people as possible. The entertainment superhighway is standing in their way. I can see where they’re coming from.”

“You can?”

“Sure. How many people do you think will ever read my poems? Six months ago, I had a tiny chance that some would’ve understood them. Today, I have zero chance.”

“I understand how you feel,” she said. “What someone creates should be shared with others. Otherwise, the act of creating becomes something you do only for your own pleasure. That’s how I felt when I played my cello. I miss that. Maybe that’s why God wants us to know Him.”

“Maybe. So, should I go through with this? Maybe I’ d enjoy it and do something for others.”

“You’ d enjoy it?”

“I’ d get to travel. I’ d get paid. Maybe I can find a new ad idea that’ll ruin this thing.”

“Jonathan, I don’t like it. He actually talked about killing someone? Could you?”

“No way,” Jonathan said. “But maybe there’s a way to buy some time. Then if Greely and his religion are superior to the Magic Theater, they… we can defend it logically and not resort to force.”

“Hmm. That’s more difficult than it seems.”

“I know.”

“What would they possibly say?” Maureen asked.

“I wish I knew. I’ve been trying to reduce everything I‘ve learned about reality and purpose and revelation into a few pages of notes.”

“I remember. You finished? Can I read them?”

“Sure. I’ d like that. They’re in the back of a notebook, under the lamp there. But you’re right. Logical persuasion can’t solve this. Maybe art could. But I do know that killing will not. And the end doesn’t justify the means.”

“It still sounds risky. I’ve heard security is extremely tight there.”

“I don’t need to do anything. But I should try. The company’s gone too far, especially with this Shroud. I hate that I’ve contributed to this.”

“Aw, you helped millions see how cool it was to become a zombie,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks for reminding me. But seriously, that place up there fascinates me.”

“You will go?”

“I should. Will you let me?”

“Could we just leave Vincula?” she said. “Let’s go live up at the orange grove for a while. Maybe we should see what the real estate people will give me. We could forget about Vincula and Magic Theater.”

“I couldn’t live with myself. I’ d always wonder if I could’ve stopped it. Every time I hear of a suicide, I’ll think I could’ve prevented it. Every time one of my poems is ridiculed or ignored, I’ll wonder. This could be my last chance to do something important. I can write, but if these games still exist, no one will care. The printed word will die. Orchestral music and visual art will still live to serve the games somehow. But the printed word, in art, will die.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“It’s only for six weeks or so.”

“I know, but I’m scared.” She rubbed her eyes and exhaled.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“But I love you. I could never love someone else. I’ ll come back. Then maybe we’ ll move up to your orange grove for a while. Uncle Pat can show us what to do every day, before he wheels himself down to the river and fishes.”

“I worry. It sounds like something dangerous. My mother lost my father to a drunk driver. Will I lose you to a computer? Or to your search?”

“I promise,” Jonathan said. “You’re the one. Let’s get married now.”

“What? Jonathan?”

“I’m sorry. I should ask you again. Maureen, will you marry me?”

“Oh.” She looked down at the blanket covering her. “That doesn’t make my fears go away. The part they didn’t talk about in Marriage Preparation was that we’re together forever in the eyes of God, no matter what we change into.”

“I know.”

“Do you understand the leap I’m making, given your past? Yes, I’ve seen and heard and felt your conversion. And your love. But even if you leave me someday, I’m still bound to you. In theory, I couldn’t marry anyone else. And the same goes for you. So, you realize the eternity of this, right?”

“I do.”

“Okay,” she whispered, then smiled. “I do believe you. Well, Father Frank probably could do it for us Saturday... if we didn’t need a big ceremony... I don’t care if people... he feels we’re ready... We’d need to get the license tomorrow. Oh, and we’ d need to have Father Frank hear our Confessions.”

“Yikes.”

“You remember that?” she said. “It’s usually not done until just before Easter for you new people. But they do allow exceptions for situations like this. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. I already jotted mine down. Number and kind. I might need to book the entire afternoon with him for those.”

She laughed. “Yep. It’s ‘number and kind’ for our sins, so we both might need an abacus. But seriously, you can’t imagine how liberating it is. By the way, I once read that you shouldn’t write them down – the devil can’t read your mind, but he can read that paper and will know how to tempt you.”

“I’m not worried about being tempted. They will never happen again. So, will you marry me?”

She looked down at the comforter now at her waist, and pulled it up to her sternum. Then she found his eyes. She stared for minutes, but how long did it take? How long before she could see inside him, their future, his fidelity, his eternal desire for oneness with her, his devotion to their children, his repentance for past sins, his forgiveness for hers, his love for her, and for Christ?

“Yes.”

Two days later, they were married.

***

That weekend, in a hotel near St. Augustine, they proceeded as only the young newly-married do. With few stops, they explored the pleasures of the other under the anxiety that they may never experience it again, but under the acceptance of the eternal, and the realization and joy of what could result.

The physical gap within her, so aching for so many years, filled over and over, like the moral gap she had always longed to be filled, the one which, beyond those poems, he had satisfied with questions and notions. Over the last two months, she reached back in her life and parried his thoughts with what a dozen nuns and priests had instilled, remembering, answering long-lost difficulties.

They stayed away from work that Monday, a national holiday, and Tuesday.

On Tuesday evening, back in Peyton Beach, they both met their need for sleep before workdays they couldn’t skip anymore. Weakened by bliss, by her exploding insides, by new pleasure, and by an anguish that immediately unburied itself, she dropped to the side of the bed. She gasped and gulped air between sobs.

“Maureen, what’s wrong? You’re crying. Are you okay?”

“No,” she panted. “I’m sorry. I kept my promise, and I just let myself realize that. It’s over.” She knew, in a part of herself she could never share, that long-dead souls may have gone home because of her.

“Maureen, I’m thinking about calling off this trip,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ ll tell Perry tomorrow. It can’t be as important as us being together, now. It’s the least I can do.”

This kept her from crying over the next hour, then sleep took her.

But the next morning, Ash Wednesday, she understood when Jonathan changed his mind and packed for the trip. She accepted her fears when he closed the door behind him as the gray Wednesday morning blew the last chill of the season. Then she realized her new husband was driven by an urge to complete his life, to unify it, to justify it, before he would die. He remembered that urge more than anyone she had ever known. He had aimed to leave creations on earth, to enrich and create the struggling lives of those who might care. He understood life’s non-existence more than any other young person. Most comprehend life’s conclusion only when they approach it, after they understand the futility of becoming immortal.

But she knew he drove for something more: revelations that neither reason nor his creating poetry can give. He was listening.

***

“Whoever then is advanced thus far in the mysteries of Love by a right and regular progress of contemplation, approaching now to perfect intuition, suddenly he will discover, bursting into view, a beauty astonishingly admirable; that very beauty, to the gaining a sight of which the aim of all his preceding studies and labors had been directed… it subsists alone with itself, and possesses an essence eternally uniform. All other forms which are beauteous participate of this; but in such a manner they participate, that by their generation or destruction this suffers no diminution, receives no addition, nor undergoes any kind of alteration…Now to go, or to be led by another, along the right way of Love, is this: beginning from those beauties of lower rank, to proceed in a continual ascent, all the way proposing this highest beauty as the end; and using the rest but as so many steps in the ascent; to proceed from one to two, from two to all beauteous bodies; from the beauty of bodies to that of souls; from the beauty of souls to that of arts; from the beauty of arts to that of disciplines; until at length from the disciplines he arrives at that discipline which is the discipline of no other thing than of that supreme beauty; and thus finally attains to know what is the beautiful itself.” Plato, Symposium (210E-211A/B)

Next week: Episode 36 - The Chicago Gaming Trade Show Part One

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