Don't Let Go
#2 of Coyote stories
Just because things ended up okay with Matt and Carol Westin in Always By Your Side doesn't mean things turn out well for everyone. Some Coyotes face rejection in places and from people they once trusted.
This is easily the most overtly religious of the coyote stories I've been working on, and I definitely have mixed feelings about the portrayal of religion here. The first draft was much shorter and much, much more sympathetic toward the church. This one is less so, but the character still wanted very much to belong, and so I kept a lot of what is frankly Christian buzzwords and propaganda. I'm not sure how he turns out later on, but I hope after this he finds somewhere better and healthier for him.
He took a deep breath and finally stepped out of the closet he had been hiding in for the past two hours. He probably should not be here. He probably should not have risked driving where anyone could see him and report him to the police. Everyone was on edge after the tumults of the past week when the world fell apart, but here he was anyway, because where else could he be but here? This is where he had been for as long as he could remember, and even though many had stopped coming here, still he felt drawn to... something here, something he did not quite understand, but that something stirred deep within his soul and told him, "This is where you belong."
But that was a different world. Much had changed since then. Much had changed since last Tuesday, when everything fell apart. He had not been out of his small apartment even once since then, not even for food.
Food supplies were running low. He would have to figure out a solution to that eventually. Probably today.
Is this still where you belong?
He had thought he could hide the changes beneath a hat and bigger pants. That was absurd. No normal hat fit. His ears poked around them. And even if he could hide his tail beside his legs, for the most part, it still looked oddly bulged. To say nothing about his nose, which poked well outside the shelter of any hat or hood.
He may as well embrace what he was and forgo vanity.
He had told the pastor he did not feel like coming out today, that he was afraid to be in public following the unleashing of chaos. The pastor said he understood and that others had expressed similar fears. It was a very confusing time for everyone. He didn't really understand, though. He couldn't. The gulf between them was very deep and very wide. The pastor spoke in platitudes. To some they might provide superficial comfort, but to him it was like saltwater on an open wound.
But he had to be here. This is where he belonged. Where else would he go? He could not imagine being anywhere else. Others might pay homage to the Raven, but something had been different here. Had.
The stares began as soon as he left the broom closet. Whispers, too, directed at him, spoken in hushed tones the speakers believed could not be heard, but his sensitive ears picked it up anyway.
"One of them."
"Monster."
"Abomination."
"Call the police. Don't let him in."
And he had not even made it halfway across the foyer yet. With trembling paws, he took a bulletin and spoke a soft prayer. Have mercy on me, protect me. He walked to the sanctuary door and took a deep breath. Maybe he could sit in the back today, in the corner beside the sound booth where no one looked.
A rough arm wrenched him aside. He dropped the bulletin and it fluttered to the floor.
"What are you doing here?"
It was John, the greeter. They'd spoken every Sunday for months. Always seen with a smile and a word of encouragement, today John looked at him with fear and unrecognition in his eyes. He held him at a distance, his fingers digging into shoulders. "Get out of here. I won't let you defile this holy place. You don't belong here. Go."
He was much stronger than John. He could easily overpower him and march his way inside, and fight off anyone who tried to stop him. But the shock of John's reaction numbed him and drained the energy from his body. He went limp as John dragged him to the door and pushed him out.
"John, what--" He finally managed to say through a whimper, but the human didn't hear.
The whispers continued. Some shouted. A mother pulled her child close and glared at him. The sun hit his fur and blinded his eyes. He was exposed. The urge to flee or fight filled him. This was too dangerous. He would be hurt if he stayed, or one of them would be.
"I have to go."
He ran to the car, flung open the door, and threw himself inside. He draped a blanket over his head to hide his form. He thought he heard a "Wait, stop!" calling from the church door but that was none of his concern. He sped out of the parking lot. Home could not offer its shelter soon enough.
***
His bare feet padded in the cool, empty room. It was hard to believe sometimes how lively the place could be as the choir sang and the congregation stood or sang along. Today only the muffled echoes of each footfall greeted him. The women would not have their get-together for at least four more hours, so he had a while longer by himself. He would be gone by then.
He slid a clawed finger along the wooden end of the church pew. This was his row. Everyone knew that. Everyone joked that he sat there so much, the pew had deformed to fit him.
It had been funny once. Now he could not convince himself to smile. Out of habit, he slid into his old seat and lowered himself down, eyes closed. He was vulnerable this way, but it seemed fitting, somehow. For an instant, he felt like he belonged.
He opened his eyes and growled in frustration. It wouldn't work. The pews were not designed for tailed creatures. He did not belong. He leaned forward and knelt, hoping to give his tail enough room so he would not be cramped. It was no use. At least no one was here to see. He had chosen this afternoon on purpose.
No one had to see the exposed Coyote.
They'd already seen their fill.
Why had he done it? The Committee urged all Coyotes to remain under cover for as long as possible, or failing that, to limit exposure to the human community. It was no longer safe. The secret was out. Trust no one. "Why wouldn't they...?"
That was the constant refrain. Why wouldn't they accept us? Why wouldn't they listen to us for just one moment? Why wouldn't the Coyotes just shut up already and hide forever like the humans wanted?
He felt their glares as freshly as he did the other day. He, who had been so well-known and even liked by the congregation, on the fast track to lead a class starting in the spring, now a pariah. A wolf in sheep's clothing.
There was no place for his kind here.
He had not even checked the church web site for the pastor's sermon. He had not wanted to hear what he had to say... if he said anything at all about the Coyote in their midst.
Betrayal, that's what it was. They had all abandoned him when they discovered his true form. No one had tried to contact him all week, and no one had returned his calls. No one left a message online asking how he was. He no longer existed. If they had torn out his heart and crushed it with their fist, it would have been better. At least then he would not be around to feel the pain.
"Why?" In the quiet, in his shelter, he had given the question voice. And once given voice, it lingered. Like so many others, he lived two lives. One interacted with the human world, and the other appeared in the silent place. Eventually the silent form lay dormant, forgotten. How many times had he gone about his private affairs in human form, abandoning his true appearance? "I hid." And when the light came, the light shone in the darkness, and it exposed him for who he was.
And the light condemned him. Coyotes were not worthy of human society, especially not Coyotes deceived everyone every day. Maybe the Raven was angry with its people. Maybe it was judging them for their centuries of lies.
Shaking his head, he stood and tucked his tail between his legs. He stumbled to the altar and collapsed before it. Digging his claws into the soft carpeting, he gave out a long, slow, deep breath. As he did, his body relaxed, and the muscles holding back their tears gave way.
As he wept, image after image of the congregation's members appeared in his mind. Her scowl, his look of fear, the child's cries as he clung to his mother. As one they expelled him from fellowship, so it was only in the quiet of the afternoon that he dared come here. Where was the love? Where was the willingness to accept the outcast? In their rush to appear holy, did they abandon their calling? This was a people lost in a maze of ritual and appearance, dead in their ministry.
And he had not known it before. The same light that exposed him revealed them, too.
He became aware of the floor creaking behind him, and of a soft, warm hand on his head. He sniffed. The scent of human filled his nose. Startled, he cut off his prayer and looked up. The deacon, an ancient gentleman with no hair on his head, covered in wrinkles, gazed at him with watery eyes. He cringed. He was about to be told off, or reported to the authorities, or worse. "I- I can go. I'm sorry. I should not have come."
He pushed himself up, but the deacon pressed down on his head harder. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he said in a whisper. "I was only coming to check on you. Stay here a while."
"But... they told me not to come back." He matched the man's tone. He bowed his head again, his ears pinned flat against his head. "Not as long as..."
The deacon stiffly lowered himself to his knees, joining him before the altar. "Maybe so." The deacon lowered his hand from his head to the back of his neck. "Why did you come here?"
"To..." To what? Pray? Reminisce? The words felt like sand in his mouth, dry and lifeless. "It smells right here." He took another slow, deep breath. The odor of incense was the most prominent, mixed with a blend of stale perfume and human sweat and tears. Why this place? Why the place of judgment? The closet would be less overbearing.
"You are not welcome here," the man said. "I saw what they did." Despite the man's words, his tone and posture told him to stay. They, specifically they, did not welcome you. "I should have said something then. I am sorry for that."
"You're not angry with me?"
"For what? For not saying what you are? I can't blame you for that. I can't imagine what it must be like for you now." He raised his head, and the Coyote followed his gaze to the stained cherry wood cross hanging from the wall. "My apologies for interrupting you."
"Could you stay with me?"
"Of course I can, if you want me to." The man brought his hand from his neck. With the sudden release of pressure, he felt exposed, naked in this once friendly, now hostile place. He gasped. In the absence of the man's warmth, the place seemed cold and hostile again.
The deacon paused. "Is something wrong?"
The Coyote reached for the man's wrist and brought his hand back down. "Please-- don't let go!" I need this. I need to know you care. Please!
The man smiled, a twinkle in his eye, and rested his hand against the Coyote's neck again, just above the shirt line. "I won't."