Jerry rolled off a Seattle Super Ferry onto Bainbridge Island, then across a bridge onto the Olympic Peninsula. The narrow highway cut through the trees like a center aisle in a cathedral. Green saturated the tapestry, from carpets of moss to groves of ferns, from stands of pines to acres of junipers. Even the lichen covered rocks were green.
The last rays of sun cast a rich sepia tone on the land as he rounded highway 101 and turned up towards Port Townsend. Entering the town, he cruised down Water Street past Victorian buildings replete with ornate concrete fascia, none more than four stories tall.
The road ended and so did land. He parked and climbed out. In front of him and on both sides The Straits of Juan de Fuca hugged the little outpost, a polyp on the northeast tip of the Olympic Peninsula.
Had he arrived at the edge of creation where primitive forms crawled out of the roiling sea foam to run amok in the untamed forests? For a boy from New Jersey, it sure felt like it. No amount of stained glass could capture this inspiration. In the distance the elder Mt. Baker glowed. Mountain ranges bowed before it, the Olympics to the west, the Cascades to the east. To the south, Mt Rainier offered its own wisdom. Jerry’s chest swelled from the rapturous surroundings.
He glanced at his watch, almost nine, yet it was still light. He couldn’t believe it. He ventured away from the water and up a hill where he discovered Chetzamoka Park. This postage stamp-sized park was as cared for as a bonsai tree. A single picnic table, an ornate Victorian gazebo and a compact swing all placed just so. With bare feet he strolled upon the velvet softness of emerald grass. Its gentle slope ended at bluff’s edge. Jerry gazed out towards Whidbey Island. A capacious container ship chugged by, and then the cathedral quiet resumed. The bong of a distant harbor buoy called all to worship.
He returned to his car, grabbed his sleeping bag and trekked back to the park. Unfurling his bag on a choice patch of grass, he climbed in and revered the canopy of stars above.
The Milky Way frothed. Orion, Pleiades, the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper stood out amidst the chaos of sparkle. And there was a shooting star! And another! The sky quivered with activity. Along the horizon, soft at first then stronger, a luminous green, gauzy haze rippled. Even the sky was green with the Northern Lights! Under this symphony of miracles, Jerry descended into deep sleep.
When he reopened his eyes, a Park Ranger hovered over him.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he said.
“I’m so sorry. Yes, sir. Right away.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not the first one to sleep here. Not bad, huh.”
“I’ll say. By the way, where’s a good place to grab some breakfast?”
“The Salal Cafe. On Water Street.”
***
Jerry eyed the menu. On the front it stated “No Bosses Here.”
A goth woman clomped over to his table and nodded. Jerry ordered poached eggs and coffee.
On his way out he spotted a posted notice: “Waiters wanted. Collective meeting today 4pm.”
***
“You’re where? Doing what?” said Bryce on the phone.
“Port Townsend, Washington. I caught a scent of God and it led me to here.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m on a hunt. Remember?
“When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ll lose your job.”
“I hope I don’t. I hope they understand.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
***
“You’re where? Doing what?” said dad over the phone. Jerry heard what sounded like a pencil snapping.
“Port Townsend, Washington. I’m finding God,” Jerry answered.
“Have you completely lost your mind? You should be finding work. You’re destroying your life. You quit your job and now you’ve run away to some godforsaken place.”
“It’s called Port Townsend, dad.” Jerry imagined his dad in his Manhattan office gazing down below through a haze of pollution at a gridlock of yellow taxis.
“It’s shirking adult responsibility.”
“What’s more important than finding God?”
“I’m going to be blunt here. You’ve got problems. I’m no minister, but I know that it’s about serving. You don’t chase your every whim. It’s not about you, Jerry. It’s about God.”
“Right. And I need to find God in order to serve.”
“Rubbish.”
“Anyway.”
“Jerry.”
“I’ll keep you posted.”