The Bishop Tripped, Episode 4

©Randall A. Beeler, 2011

This installment of the Comedy is part of an original novel I am writing, called The Bishop Tripped: the story of a man, who, disillusioned, seeks to escape his life, only to be mistaken for a bishop--all the way to the miter, crozier, and diocesan bureaucracy.

None of this writing is edited. It is written as it happens, with every post I blog. No premeditation, other than a story trajectory in my imagination and the characters who will take it and run with it.

To start at the beginning of the story, either scroll down to, or click on, Episode 1.

So, live and as it happens, here is the next installment of The Bishop Tripped …

His eyes opened, and he saw Matt at his bedside, praying the Breviary.  The Diocesan Vicar looked up and stared hard at him, an unguarded look on his face that Michael had seen rarely, even at seminary. "Who are you?" the Vicar asked Michael.

"Where I am--I mean, where am I?" Michael responded groggily. "This ain't the hospital, so I'm trusting that I won't be sledgehammered again by another syringe-wielding doctor."

The Vicar sighed, "An unfortunate precautionary measure, Your Excellency. Obviously, the hospital was disorienting you. We thought the Episcopal Residence would provide greater comfort and a chance for you to get settled."

Obviously, this wasn't a joke. Matt was dead serious about this whole Bishop thing. "So we're in the Archdiocese of Houston, right?"

The Vicar looked cautiously reassured. "Yes, indeed we are … your new home."

Michael looked around the room--a four-poster bed, flat-light-olive walls tastefully decorated in turn-of-the-century art work and furnishings, including a nightstand, bureau, wardrobe, bookcase, and prie-dieu, from over which an icon of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel stared at him. "Genuine hardwood floors and a Persian rug. Very nice. All the comforts the faithful can provide," Michael murmured.

"Yes, Your Excellence. We in Houston are quite proud of our heritage in Texas, and I know you must be anxious about your ascendancy to an arch-bishopric. We've been worried about the confusion you showed at the hospital. I'm glad to see that transporting you here has taken off some of the edge."

Michael stared at Matt for a good ten seconds during which his old seminary friend never broke character. He was in earnest--this thing, whatever it was, was real.

"Do you have a mirror I can glance at?"

Matt retrieved a small shaving mirror from the bathroom and handed it to him.

Michael couldn't hide the flinch as he saw himself--as someone else. He stared longer at the reflected image a lot longer than he had at Matt.

It was him, and it was not him. The face staring back at him was more worn with cares than he'd remembered, as if the breach with Mara had taken a toll on him that was not revealed till now. Still staring into the mirror, he raised his left hand to his temple to touch the white hair that had never before been there … till now … he looked like Dad had just before he'd …

"Bishop Christopher," asked Matt. "Are you alright?"

Slowly, Michael lowered the mirror and prepared to meet the gaze of the Vicar. This was a moment of decision. He could again try to shake this dream--this amnesia, this nightmare, once and for all. He could get up and scream like a madman that he was no Bishop, that he was far from home, that he was married, for Christ's sake!

Or he could play along. Could be someone else for a while.

His gaze met Matt's.

After all, isn't that what he'd wanted when he'd left Mara in darkness?