02-02-2014, 08:56 AM
Tony had to think about it. Jensen didn't hold it against him for a second. Men had to be smart when it came to deciding whether or not to jump into strange, dark waters. Even if to help someone already drowning in them. Men had to charitable, but they also had to be wise.
Jensen prepared himself for rejection, so was a good deal relieved when Tony said he'd do what he could. A weight lifted, and Jensen nodded thankfully. The terms attached to Tony's aid were not entirely unexpected, especially after having met Jon Little Bird - the lawyer that helped him out of the legal trouble following him around like a shadow. He'd demanded similar explanations.
A weary look around the cafe demonstrated his hesitation to talk about it so openly. Nobody was in earshot, but these days, that meant little. He slid from one chair to the next one over so to put their heads together. He was going to lower his voice quite a bit, but there was no point in making Tony strain to hear what was said. He was going to have a hard enough time believing the tale to start with.
"I saw some kids I thought were going to rob - or worse - an old woman. When there was gunfire, I ran."
Tension tightened his voice, and he thumbed the cup again. The ceramic held a lot of heat and warmed his palms nicely. It reminded him of a diner near seminary where he liked to read on Saturday mornings.
He scratched at his collar. Then his poorly shaved throat. And the back of his hair. He rubbed his hands together and took another drink. Pitiful, really, the way he was stalling, but some things were just plain hard to spit out. "When I got there, it was the old woman - not the kids. They were all dead but the last one. His feet twitched beneath her."
He swallowed hard, looking aside. There were other, more gruesome details he didn't wish to remember.
Jensen looked up, hopelessly lost for words to explain the rest. "I did something that scared her off. Then something - miraculous - happened. The kid.. I went to him and prayed - his throat looked like ground meat, but something stirred in me. And I.., I don't know,"
he stopped talking, eyes misted with emotion, but he steadied himself with a long breath and heavy lids.
"Then he was fine. He ran away after that. I don't blame him."
The gift was a burden, not because he sought to discard it, but because he didn't know where to even start. Nor whether he could do it again when the need arose. Perhaps he should trust more in the Holy Father's blessing, but it wasn't the Lord Jensen doubted, it was himself.
There were a few other details he hadn't disclosed, but to a man like Tony, they were probably unimportant anyway.
"Like I said, I don't know what to do with myself now."
Jensen prepared himself for rejection, so was a good deal relieved when Tony said he'd do what he could. A weight lifted, and Jensen nodded thankfully. The terms attached to Tony's aid were not entirely unexpected, especially after having met Jon Little Bird - the lawyer that helped him out of the legal trouble following him around like a shadow. He'd demanded similar explanations.
A weary look around the cafe demonstrated his hesitation to talk about it so openly. Nobody was in earshot, but these days, that meant little. He slid from one chair to the next one over so to put their heads together. He was going to lower his voice quite a bit, but there was no point in making Tony strain to hear what was said. He was going to have a hard enough time believing the tale to start with.
"I saw some kids I thought were going to rob - or worse - an old woman. When there was gunfire, I ran."
Tension tightened his voice, and he thumbed the cup again. The ceramic held a lot of heat and warmed his palms nicely. It reminded him of a diner near seminary where he liked to read on Saturday mornings.
He scratched at his collar. Then his poorly shaved throat. And the back of his hair. He rubbed his hands together and took another drink. Pitiful, really, the way he was stalling, but some things were just plain hard to spit out. "When I got there, it was the old woman - not the kids. They were all dead but the last one. His feet twitched beneath her."
He swallowed hard, looking aside. There were other, more gruesome details he didn't wish to remember.
Jensen looked up, hopelessly lost for words to explain the rest. "I did something that scared her off. Then something - miraculous - happened. The kid.. I went to him and prayed - his throat looked like ground meat, but something stirred in me. And I.., I don't know,"
he stopped talking, eyes misted with emotion, but he steadied himself with a long breath and heavy lids.
"Then he was fine. He ran away after that. I don't blame him."
The gift was a burden, not because he sought to discard it, but because he didn't know where to even start. Nor whether he could do it again when the need arose. Perhaps he should trust more in the Holy Father's blessing, but it wasn't the Lord Jensen doubted, it was himself.
There were a few other details he hadn't disclosed, but to a man like Tony, they were probably unimportant anyway.
"Like I said, I don't know what to do with myself now."