Jimmy (19 page)

“Is that the filing cabinet that wouldn't be burned up in the lake of fire?”

“Yes. A lot of people would like to know what's in it, but it is sealed until the last trumpet.”

Mama reached over and pressed down Jimmy's cowlick.

“You're overdue for a haircut,” she said.

The phone on Mrs. Kilmer's desk buzzed, and she picked it up.

“You can go in,” she said.

Jimmy followed Mama and Daddy. They stepped into a large rectangular office lined from floor to ceiling with books. A wooden desk occupied the left-hand side of the room. Brother Fitzgerald stood from behind it to greet them as they entered. Jimmy eyed the number of books in wonder.

“Have you read all these books?” he asked.

Brother Fitzgerald smiled. “No, but I've read most of them. I like to collect books.”

“I collect hats,” Jimmy replied.

“So I've heard. Which one is your favorite?”

“My John Deere hat, or the white one from the University of Georgia.”

“Go, dawgs,” the preacher responded. “I spent four years at Prince Avenue Baptist when I was a student at the university. Football on Saturday and church on Sunday. It was a good life. Have a seat.”

There were four chairs in a circle on the other side of the room. Everyone sat. Jimmy sat between Mama and Daddy.

“How have you been doing since you got saved?” the preacher asked Jimmy.

“Good.”

Mama opened her purse and took out a sheet of paper and handed it to Brother Fitzgerald.

“He wrote this down the afternoon after he came forward in the service.”

“Behold, I make all things new,” the preacher read. “Very nice. I'd like to mention that verse when you're baptized.”

“Uh, that's why we're here,” Daddy said. “There is a problem with Jimmy and baptism. He's afraid of water.”

The preacher waved his hand in the air. “Oh, I've worked with folks who didn't like to get their head wet. One woman in Douglasville wore a pink swim cap to keep her hair dry. I'm flexible.”

“This isn't a case of dislike,” Daddy replied. “Jimmy experiences a full-blown panic attack when faced with the possibility of being in the water. He won't go wading in a stream or step into a bathtub full of water. He's never been in a swimming pool or the surf at the beach.”

Brother Fitzgerald sat back in his chair. “I see. What do you think caused the problem?”

They sat in silence for several seconds.

Mama spoke. “Lee, are you going to say anything?”

“Go ahead,” Daddy said. “You're the one who did the research.”

“Do you want Jimmy to step outside?” Brother Fitzgerald asked.

“No,” Mama replied, her face serious. “Before coming to see you this afternoon, I talked to a child psychologist in Atlanta who is familiar with our situation. He suggested it might be time to discuss it with Jimmy. We thought you could counsel and pray with us.”

Brother Fitzgerald sat up straighter in his chair. “All right. I'll be glad to listen. What happened?”

“Lee, you have to do this part,” Mama said.

Daddy sighed. “I can't verify all the details because I wasn't there, but it involves my first wife, Vera, Jimmy's birth mother.”

Jimmy's eyes opened wide. Daddy looked directly at Brother Fitzgerald. Mama reached over and took Jimmy's hand. Usually, her hand was soft and cool. Today it felt hot and sticky. Daddy spoke.

“When Jimmy was about eighteen months old, Vera was at home giving him a bath. Instead of a modern, plastic baby bath, she insisted on using an antique washtub that had been in her family for generations. It was a hot day, and she put more water than usual in the tub. The phone rang—”

“The tub was on a small back porch that we tore down when we built our sunroom,” Mama interjected. “It was directly next to the kitchen.”

Daddy continued. “Vera claims she ran inside to grab the phone and slipped in water that had sloshed from the tub when she carried it to the porch. She crashed to the floor and hit her head. I don't know whether she was knocked unconscious or not. Ten seconds, thirty seconds, a minute passed. I don't know. But when she came around and tried to stand up, she fell down again. Eventually, she crawled to the back porch and found Jimmy underneath the water. She pulled him out, but he wasn't breathing. One of our neighbors at the time was the chief of the fire department. Vera saw his car in the driveway and ran over to his house. Fortunately, he was home and came running. He started CPR, then Jimmy coughed up water and began breathing again. We have no idea how long he'd stopped breathing. An ambulance took Jimmy to the hospital, where he spent a couple of days under observation.”

“Is that why he has, uh, problems?” Brother Fitzgerald asked.

“That's been a matter of disagreement among the professionals who've evaluated him,” Mama replied. “I have a folder full of reports at the house. I could let you read them. There's so much more to this than we're telling you.”

“It's not necessary,” Daddy said. “To answer your question, Vera and I already knew developmental issues existed. Jimmy was slow to develop age-appropriate motor and verbal skills, but at eighteen months it's hard to categorize the severity of those types of problems. Some of the challenges Jimmy faces aren't typically caused by anoxic injury following a near-drowning incident—”

“Anorexic?” Brother Fitzgerald asked.

“No, anoxic. That is, a diminished flow of oxygen to the brain. Depending upon the length of time a person stays underwater, the loss of oxygen to the brain can affect many cognitive functions, including short- and long-term memory. Jimmy's memory is spotty; however, at times, he exhibits a remarkable memory.”

“Which makes me think he had an extraordinary memory that was partially destroyed by the lack of oxygen to his brain,” Mama said. “He's a smart boy—”

“Only one of the doctors in Atlanta gave any credence to that theory,” Daddy interrupted, holding up his hand. “And we're not going to debate it here.”

Mama pressed her lips tightly together.

Daddy continued. “All the doctors and psychologists agree on one thing—a near drowning can open the door to significant anxiety. In Jimmy's case, it involves a fear of water, which makes sense given what happened to him.”

As Mama and Daddy talked, Jimmy felt less and less part of the conversation. He couldn't remember any of the events Daddy talked about, and it seemed the adults were talking about someone else—another boy named Jimmy with a different mama named Vera. He didn't understand the strange words Daddy was using. Mama squeezed his hand, and her voice called him back to the moment.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Obviously, I'm not a psychologist,” Brother Fitzgerald said.

“But you're our pastor, and I”—Mama paused—“
we
would like to ask you to pray for Jimmy. With his limited insight, we've been told that he's not a good candidate for psychotherapy, and I'd prefer a spiritual solution anyway. We'd like to see him helped for a lot more reasons than just so he can be baptized. Before you give us your opinion, there is one other thing that should be mentioned in private.”

Daddy said, “I can tell you in a couple of minutes.”

“Could Jimmy sit in the chair behind your desk?” Mama asked the preacher. “That should allow Lee to speak confidentially.”

“Of course,” Brother Fitzgerald replied with a wave of his hand.

Still holding Jimmy's hand, Mama led him to the far end of the room. Brother Fitzgerald's desk was nice but not as big and fancy as the one in Daddy's office. Jimmy sat in a soft chair with a high back, and Mama slowly turned it around. When he faced Daddy and the preacher, Jimmy could see them leaning forward with their heads close together as they talked. The next time Jimmy came around in the chair, he reached out, grabbed the desk, and stopped the spinning.

“What is it?” Mama asked.

Jimmy pointed to the corner of the room behind Brother Fitzgerald.

“It's a Watcher,” he whispered.

Mama put her fingers to her lips and leaned close to Jimmy's ear.

“What does he look like?”

Keeping his eyes fixed on the corner of the room, Jimmy answered, “A Watcher. He stays here at the church.”

“All the time?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Is he talking to you?”

“Just inside my head. Is that where my brain stays?”

“Yes.”

Jimmy nodded. He remembered the diagram of the human body on the wall in Mr. Jenkins's science class. It was beside Jimmy's desk, and Jimmy would stare at it while the teacher talked to the regular students.

“Daddy was talking about my brain, wasn't he?”

“Yes. Is the Watcher still there?”

“Yes, ma'am. He's watching Daddy and Brother Fitzgerald.”

“Do you know what he thinks?”

Jimmy glanced up at Mama. “About what?”

Mama hesitated. “Can you ask him a question without saying it out loud?”

“I don't know.”

“Try it. Ask him if you're going to get over your fear of water and be baptized.”

“How do I do that?”

“Repeat the words in your head—‘Am I going to get over my fear of water and be baptized?'”

Jimmy looked at the Watcher, who continued to look at Daddy and Brother Fitzgerald. He forgot the order of the words.

“Can you say it again?”

“Are you talking to me?” Mama asked.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Mama repeated the words into Jimmy's left ear. He moved his lips without making a sound.

“We're done!” Daddy announced in a loud voice.

“What did he say?” Mama asked anxiously.

“We're done!” Jimmy exclaimed.

Mama stayed close to Jimmy's ear. “No, the Watcher.”

Jimmy paused for a second, looked up into Mama's eyes, and gave her a slight smile.

“Yes,” he said.

“Anything else?”

“No, ma'am. That's all he said. He said yes.”

“Ellen, we're ready,” Daddy said.

M
AMA
AND
J
IMMY RETURNED TO THEIR SEATS.
B
ROTHER
F
ITZGERALD
rubbed his large hands together. Jimmy had seen the same gesture when the preacher spoke to the congregation before taking up the offering.

“I appreciate the sensitivity of this information and will of course respect your request for confidentiality.”

He smiled at Jimmy. Up close, Brother Fitzgerald's smile was even bigger than Jimmy had noticed from the pew. His white teeth sparkled.

“You have white teeth,” Jimmy said. “How many times a day do you brush them?”

Brother Fitzgerald laughed. “After every meal if I can. I even keep a toothbrush at the church and brush them on Sunday morning after eating a donut and drinking a cup of coffee during the fellowship hour.”

Jimmy looked up at Mama. “Should I bring my toothbrush to church?”

“No,” Daddy replied. “And don't get us off the subject with your questions.”

Brother Fitzgerald held up his hand. “It's my fault. I led him on. I had no idea Jimmy was such an interesting conversationalist.”

“He'll definitely challenge your usual way of thinking,” Mama replied. She leaned over and whispered in Jimmy's ear. “Is the Watcher still here?”

Jimmy peered past Brother Fitzgerald.

“No, ma'am. I can't see him.”

“I'm right here,” Brother Fitzgerald replied.

“Not you,” Mama said. “While we were at your desk, Jimmy saw an angel standing in the corner of the room. He calls them Watchers.”

Daddy groaned. Brother Fitzgerald's eyes grew large as he spoke.

“Mrs. Mitchell, are you telling me Jimmy claims to see angels?”

“Yes, it's been going on for a long time.”

The preacher turned in his seat and looked at the corner of the room.

“Where was it?” he asked Jimmy. “Show me.”

“Preacher—,” Daddy began.

“Humor me, Lee,” Brother Fitzgerald replied. “I'll keep this just as confidential as everything else.”

“Secrecy doesn't matter,” Daddy grunted. “This all came out in court last year when Jimmy testified in a case before Judge Robinson. I'm surprised you haven't heard some of the jokes that come my way.”

Mama patted Jimmy on the knee. “You heard Brother Fitzgerald. Go stand where you saw the Watcher.”

Jimmy slipped out of his chair and walked to the corner of the room. Bookshelves rose on either side of him. He faced the chairs and held his right hand out in front of him with his palm toward the adults.

“Why is your arm like that?” Brother Fitzgerald asked.

“That's what he was doing,” Jimmy replied.

“You didn't tell me that,” Mama said.

“No, ma'am. You didn't ask me.”

“Where is he now?” Brother Fitzgerald asked.

Jimmy slowly scanned the room. The adults followed his gaze.

“I can't see him,” Jimmy said when he completed the circuit.

“Is he still here, only invisible?” Brother Fitzgerald asked.

“He's always here.”

“In my office?” the preacher asked in surprise.

“At the church. I don't know where else he goes. But he always stays at the church. This is his home. I've seen him in the room where the babies stay, and once he whispered in your ear while you were preaching the sermon.”

Brother Fitzgerald let out a big breath of air. “I've never encountered anything like this in thirty years of ministry! You say he spoke to me while I was preaching?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did he say?”

“I don't know,” Jimmy replied. “He whispered in your ear, not mine.”

Daddy looked at his watch.