Hell Hath a Cell Plan
That Friday was destined to be anything but ordinary. My only thought was to survive the day until I could collapse into the dark quietness of my bedroom, hoping for a few hours of peace before spending the weekend hidden away from the world. I was exhausted and scared. The night before had been restless, and by morning, the dread that had tormented me all night was confirmed; this was no bad dream. I was still reeling from the sickening unease of Thursday evening, a troubling sense that something was terribly wrong. It felt as if the universe itself had shifted, leaving me adrift in a sea of disquiet. Driving to work, I half-expected to see the crew from 60 Minutes waiting in my office. Then I got a call on my cell, a silent caller, someone there but not there. The same call came again at lunch, confirming my fears.
“Could it be her? No, of course not. Could it? Please, Lord, not that. Please.”
I could only hope, yet the possibility stuck around like the last guest at a dinner party, haunting my thoughts. This day would drag on as if the clock were ticking backward.
As soon as I got home, the text messages began to flood in, confirming my worst fears. She was furious, accusing me of hypocrisy as a man of God and insulting her by claiming friendship but not meeting up with her. Her fury boileth over, scalding a venomous promise:
“I’m going to destroy you, just as you did me.”
I didn’t think she had my number, but there it was, and I believed her. You know what they say about a woman scorned. This gal was scorned. She had scorn coming out her ears, and I was convinced she had the capacity to do precisely what she said she would do: destroy me. I could picture her showing up at my door, and shooting me in the face.
My marriage, family, church, job, neighborhood, everything I knew seemed to be supported only by a shaky toothpick. My sins would be broadcast to the world: newspapers, network news, and, worst of all, Community Talk on Facebook. I could see my mugshot on a billboard with “ADULTERER” in big, bold letters. I felt the pounding of a judgment gavel with God Himself striking that sign with a colossal rubber stamp from the clouds, producing a thunderous thump that shook the county: “GUILTY” in 9,000 point, Stencil Military font, slightly misaligned with runny red ink, for all to see and smell. Fear consumed me as my mind raced through the consequences and impending doom. Any time something is impending, it’s stressful.
At that moment, I stared into space, gasping for air as the weight of the situation hit me. My heart pounded, and my arms felt like they were being punctured by a thousand needles. My blood pressure spiked while a blinding light obscured my vision like Paul on that road to Damascus. I was nauseated.
“Why did I ever get involved in this? I really am sick. I need help. How could I have done this? Why didn’t I stop? I should have stopped. And now… now, it’s too late.”
Yeah, this was it. This was the end of the road for poor old Derek.
And the dominos of my life toppled out the front door and off into the setting sun. Roll the credits.
“Could it be her? No, of course not. Could it? Please, Lord, not that. Please.”
I could only hope, yet the possibility stuck around like the last guest at a dinner party, haunting my thoughts. This day would drag on as if the clock were ticking backward.
As soon as I got home, the text messages began to flood in, confirming my worst fears. She was furious, accusing me of hypocrisy as a man of God and insulting her by claiming friendship but not meeting up with her. Her fury boileth over, scalding a venomous promise:
“I’m going to destroy you, just as you did me.”
I didn’t think she had my number, but there it was, and I believed her. You know what they say about a woman scorned. This gal was scorned. She had scorn coming out her ears, and I was convinced she had the capacity to do precisely what she said she would do: destroy me. I could picture her showing up at my door, and shooting me in the face.
My marriage, family, church, job, neighborhood, everything I knew seemed to be supported only by a shaky toothpick. My sins would be broadcast to the world: newspapers, network news, and, worst of all, Community Talk on Facebook. I could see my mugshot on a billboard with “ADULTERER” in big, bold letters. I felt the pounding of a judgment gavel with God Himself striking that sign with a colossal rubber stamp from the clouds, producing a thunderous thump that shook the county: “GUILTY” in 9,000 point, Stencil Military font, slightly misaligned with runny red ink, for all to see and smell. Fear consumed me as my mind raced through the consequences and impending doom. Any time something is impending, it’s stressful.
At that moment, I stared into space, gasping for air as the weight of the situation hit me. My heart pounded, and my arms felt like they were being punctured by a thousand needles. My blood pressure spiked while a blinding light obscured my vision like Paul on that road to Damascus. I was nauseated.
“Why did I ever get involved in this? I really am sick. I need help. How could I have done this? Why didn’t I stop? I should have stopped. And now… now, it’s too late.”
Yeah, this was it. This was the end of the road for poor old Derek.
And the dominos of my life toppled out the front door and off into the setting sun. Roll the credits.
