TM 176 - Tell the story of one of your past scars
(Based on the Angel episodes "Loyalty" and "Sleep Tight")
There's a scene in It's a Wonderful Life, that ungodly depressing Frank Capra film that, for mysterious reasons, has become a bit of an American holiday favorite.
In the movie, our hero George Bailey is accused (it goes without saying, wrongly) of embezzling from the bank his family runs. He takes refuge in a bar where, for the first time in his life, he offers up a prayer for divine assistance. As he's praying, a fellow patron who has a grudge against him recognizes his voice and punches him in the mouth. George runs down to the river intending to drown himself, but instead is manipulated into rescuing a man who turns out to be his guardian angel. The angel looks at George's bleeding lip and asks what happened.
"Oh that?" George answers. "I got that in answer to a prayer."
Subsequently, the angel provides George with an assortment of life lessons, involving ringing bells, rose petals, the conniving instincts of old men in wheelchairs, and the certain knowledge that women who are unable to find husbands will forever be employable as librarians.
But it was the busted lip and the prayer that I found myself remembering, on a regular basis, when I was hospitalized for a certain neckwound. It seemed like one of those things that would have made a very good joke, if I had been able to speak and if there had been anyone to share it with.
I don't mean to sound bitter. I was bitter, once, and for quite a while, but the truth is that I made my decision, knowing the risks. When I chose to steal Angel's son, I left the hotel fully believing that I would never see him or any of my other friends again. When everything went so terribly awry, I could not in fairness blame them for withdrawing the friendship that I had so willingly relinquished.
I made my choice, of course, believing that it was the only way to save Connor's life, to save my friend from being the killer of his own child. I believed this because the prophecies I was translating told me to believe it, and because my training as a Watcher taught me to set store in prophecies. I believed that I had left much of that training behind. I thought I had grown beyond it, that I had surpassed my former colleagues with their blind loyalty to the Council.
And then I found the prophecy, and suddenly I was in a parking lot at 2 in the morning talking to a hamburger. Then there was fire, and an earthquake, and as hard as it may be to understand, everything that I did, I did out of faith. I let myself believe -- as I had always been taught to believe, and never quite been able -- that following the signs and giving myself over to a higher power would show me the way.
I have a scar, from my shoulder down across my neck, in answer to those prayers.
I don't say this for pity. I know that Connor, and his father, have many more. Taking the long view, you could say, I got off easy.
There's a scene in It's a Wonderful Life, that ungodly depressing Frank Capra film that, for mysterious reasons, has become a bit of an American holiday favorite.
In the movie, our hero George Bailey is accused (it goes without saying, wrongly) of embezzling from the bank his family runs. He takes refuge in a bar where, for the first time in his life, he offers up a prayer for divine assistance. As he's praying, a fellow patron who has a grudge against him recognizes his voice and punches him in the mouth. George runs down to the river intending to drown himself, but instead is manipulated into rescuing a man who turns out to be his guardian angel. The angel looks at George's bleeding lip and asks what happened.
"Oh that?" George answers. "I got that in answer to a prayer."
Subsequently, the angel provides George with an assortment of life lessons, involving ringing bells, rose petals, the conniving instincts of old men in wheelchairs, and the certain knowledge that women who are unable to find husbands will forever be employable as librarians.
But it was the busted lip and the prayer that I found myself remembering, on a regular basis, when I was hospitalized for a certain neckwound. It seemed like one of those things that would have made a very good joke, if I had been able to speak and if there had been anyone to share it with.
I don't mean to sound bitter. I was bitter, once, and for quite a while, but the truth is that I made my decision, knowing the risks. When I chose to steal Angel's son, I left the hotel fully believing that I would never see him or any of my other friends again. When everything went so terribly awry, I could not in fairness blame them for withdrawing the friendship that I had so willingly relinquished.
I made my choice, of course, believing that it was the only way to save Connor's life, to save my friend from being the killer of his own child. I believed this because the prophecies I was translating told me to believe it, and because my training as a Watcher taught me to set store in prophecies. I believed that I had left much of that training behind. I thought I had grown beyond it, that I had surpassed my former colleagues with their blind loyalty to the Council.
And then I found the prophecy, and suddenly I was in a parking lot at 2 in the morning talking to a hamburger. Then there was fire, and an earthquake, and as hard as it may be to understand, everything that I did, I did out of faith. I let myself believe -- as I had always been taught to believe, and never quite been able -- that following the signs and giving myself over to a higher power would show me the way.
I have a scar, from my shoulder down across my neck, in answer to those prayers.
I don't say this for pity. I know that Connor, and his father, have many more. Taking the long view, you could say, I got off easy.