Baptism

 

           

“You remember my friend, Trixie?”

            “Uh…I’m not sure….”

            “Well, it doesn’t matter. She owns this huge home in what is it called? One of those islands out there….Tiburon…? Belvedere…?”
            “Yeah, could be….”

            “So, she’s moving to Wyoming and she’s gonna give me the key to her house. It’s completely made of windows with views of the bay and…”

            “Why is she moving to Wyoming?”

            “COIVD’s not much of an issue up there. Anyway, I get the key and can stay there and….”

            “She’s renting it out?”

            “No, she’s just gonna keep the house and let me use it when I want and I was thinking that not next weekend but the weekend after next we could all go up there and hang out….”

            “WHHHHHAAAAA!!!!!!!!!! WHAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!”

            “What the hell is going on?” I manage to mutter, my eavesdropping here on Keller Beach interrupted by a screeching child.

            “That child hurt himself,” Ian explains as I continue to lie buried under my mountain of towels, trying to warm up after my arduous mile-long swim to the Pylons and back.

            “WHHHHHHHHSSSSQQQQQAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!”

            “Jeez, it sounds like it’s in pain,” I comment.

            “Yeah, I think he stepped on something. They’re looking at his foot. The mother looks quite distressed.”

            “Well, he’s certainly distressing me!” I proclaim, sitting up to try to see the injured kid.

            Instead I see a HUGE gathering of people on the far end of the beach from us. Must be at least 50 people crunched around, singing in Spanish and swaying back and forth, holding their cell phones up toward the sea to film 3 people, clothed in white flowing garments, back into the bay.

            “What’s that?” I ask.

            “It a COVID surge in the making,” Ian says. “Social gatherings. Even though most of them look like they’re wearing masks, they’re still all crowded together. No social distancing.”

            “Yeah, that’s how it happens,” I say. “That’s why the virus is still around and still is surging. People have to have their gatherings.”

            “Yeah, I heard on the radio how this couple had their wedding and they just had the immediate family, but the mother didn’t know she was asymptomatic and then she went to the wedding and sure enough, all the wedding party, the bride and groom, they all came down with the Virus. No one died, but still, social gatherings.”

            I nod as I continue to stare at the mass of people swaying, singing, and chanting as the flowing white-robed people back into the frigid sea. “It looks like some sort of ritual or ceremony,” I muse aloud. “A baptism? Do people still do that?”

            “Oh, yeah, Baptists do!” Ian asserts.

            I laugh. For some reason this strikes me as funny. Of course, Baptists have baptisms. But don’t other religions have them too? “Couldn’t they be Catholic?” I ask. “Don’t they baptize people too?”
            “Not like that. They just have the priest sprinkle the holy water and say some mumbo jumbo and then, voila, the lord is with you forever.”

            I shake my head as I start to gather up my stuff, still staring at the threesome, holding hands as they stand waist deep in the water. The singing and chanting from the crowd continues, not missing a beat. Clapping and swaying. It’s a social gathering all right. One that is one with itself.

            As we trudge up the path away from the beach, I stop for a moment to stare down at the scene. “Look!” I call out. “One of them is going under!”

            “Yes, they have to submerge themselves completely for the baptism to take effect.” Why does Ian know everything, I wonder. Or does he just sound like he knows everything cuz he’s an actor. He’s playing a role of I know all about baptisms. Maybe he played an officiator at such a ritual in one of his acting gigs.

            I continue to watch, fascinated, as another of the trio dunks under. They continue to hold hands. The three of them. I think how cold they must be now that their white gowns are soaking wet with the 63-degree water and the 68-degree wind blowing. Yet from this vantage point, I can’t tell if they’re shivering. Maybe once they’ve submerged, the Lord keeps them warm?

            Ian starts to clap along with the singing, doing a little two-step dance, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re so funny!” I giggle.

            He nods, then gathers up the stuff he’s set aside temporarily to allow for his dance. As we march up the path, away from the beach, he tells me how he misses being around people. That the clapping he’d just done, felt like he was part of a group, that he was participating.

            “Yeah,” I agree, kinda understanding, but kinda not. I don’t like crowds or social gathering personally, though I know many if not most people do. I didn’t know Ian was one of these people. He’s such a reclusive, solitary guy.

            Yet, I think this is what happens to us during this Covid isolation. Even those of us who are naturally, ‘Loners’ feel the loss of ‘connection’ with others. I don’t most of the time, but then once in a while I  do miss my friends. Wish they could come over and hang out.

            For now, we can’t.

            Unless one of us get baptized. Or we move to Wyoming.

            Tossing our shit in the trunk, I get in the warm sunny car. “Got any Tiger Milks, Ian?”
            He grins, “Yup, they’re in a secret hiding place.”

            He digs them out of the center storage unit between the two front seats, procuring the delicious snacks. I unwrap mine. It’s very melted. “Maybe not such a good hiding place,” I comment.

            Ian devours his, licking the wrapper, then turns the key in the ignition and does a U-turn and heads back through the Point Richmond tunnel, a V formation of Canada Geese honking at us as we disappear into the little tunnel’s dark depths.