I needed to go to the beach bar, the Guinness was beckoning my taste buds.  Not only that, I had a feeling I needed to be there.  I’m not sure why, but ever since I met the old man, I have learned to trust my senses or premonitions, or whatever they were, then, act on them.

“Hey Carson.  Good to see you,” said Sam the bartender.

“Hard to stay away, Sam. I think you know what I mean.”

“Yep.”  He handed me a large mug of Guiness, some peanuts and some beef sliders. I quaffed a long, glorious gulp, and then Sam handed me an envelope, addressed from Washington, D.C.  Dear Carson.

“I think you know who this is from, Carson.”

“Yeah, it’s from Washington D.C. so I figured he met the president again.  It’ll be interesting to see what he says, but then, he doesn’t usually give many details at all. Just usually advice or instructions on what is next.”

Dear Carson. I’m back from Washington D.C. again, and it wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences, but then, the last few visits have been nothing to write home about. But here is what is most important:  We are going to church again at the beach church on Easter, but this time, I can’t pick you up at the bar.  I’ll have to meet you there.  And by the way, I met some friends when I was in jail, and I invited them so don’t be surprised if they show up.”

“What?  Jail?  Friends?  What the hell trouble did the old man get into this time?”  Sam just shook his head when he heard this, then walked away to serve other customers, not wanting to hear too much because well, Ollie was a mystery who seemed to live with danger, and he didn’t want to know too much.

Not me. I wanted to know everything. After all, he chose me as his biographer, or maybe story teller or whatever he wanted from me. So of course, I made plans to attend the Easter services at the church on the beach, where everyone knew Ollie.  Or at least, knew what he looked like and acted like, but knew nothing of his past life, nor did they ask.  That’s the way he wanted it.  But he was letting me in slowly.

The church filled up quickly on Easter, because it only had three hundred seats maximum. I think Ollie picked the beach church this year, because the large mega-church he took me to last year was too large for him, and large crowds made him nervous. I chose the last pew in the back, the one that had the reserved” sign on it. Pompous of me, wasn’t it?  But I figured it was reserved for the old man, but if I was wrong, I doubt they would kick us out.  In the pew in front of me, a line of seven men, all dressed in suits, took seats in front of me.  They seemed out of place I guess, because no one else wore suits there.  Some regular parishioners came in shorts, although Ollie didn’t appreciate it, he tolerated it because they attended.  I overheard their conversations amongst themselves: Where is Ollie? You sure this is the right church?  Yeah, he didn’t give the address, but he told it was the only church on the beach, so this must be it.  Do you think he set us up? They looked at their watches.  Then, I decided to look at my watch too, because Ollie was never late to anything.  It was 9:50 am and Church started with the choir at 10 am.

Finally, he came in. With cane stabilizing his left side he entered the pew to my right and sat down next to me.  “Hey Carson, good to see you and glad you got my letter.”

“I would have come anyway Ollie, but I just didn’t know which church you would choose this year.”

“Good point. I figured you would like this one better.”  Then, the men turned around when they heard Ollie’s voice, all stood up simultaneously, shook his hand and it seemed they all started talking at once —hoping to say as much as possible before the choir started singing. They were beaming, and it seemed genuinely pleased the old man made it.

“Thanks for coming boys. I figured some of you would come.  This is a nice place to come on Easter, especially a refreshing break from the Washington mud-bowl,” said Ollie.

The singing started, the men turned around, and Ollie immediately bowed his head and started praying.  After about five minutes of silence, he leaned over, expecting I had questions, and whispered in my right ear: “Three of these fine gentlemen are off-duty secret service agents, assigned to POTUS duty, who let’s say, met me last month, and the other four are jail guards who seemed to take my point of view on life as well, back when I was incarcerated recently. I invited them to church and then to the beach bar for beer and shrimp and crab after the service.”

I had no response to this. Completely stunned. He blew me away again.

After the service, Ollie looked at me and said, “Carson, it’s a glorious day!  Lord Jesus Christ has been resurrected from his death crucifixion, who died for our sins.  The Lamb of God has risen, and we will have everlasting life as well Carson, as long as we believe in him.  I will see you soon Carson. Be strong and always keep your peripheral vision.”

“I believe, Ollie.  You know this. And I know, if you see evil, kick it in the ass.” He turned around and smiled, then limped away.

  I knew someday I would receive the explanation of the reason for his incarceration in Washington, D.C, and his presidential visit, but I had learned the hard way to be very patient with this old man.  During the final songs, he slipped away, out of the church with his shadow man, not saying a word, and the guys in front did not even notice.  As always, I didn’t know whether he would be at the beach bar or not, but I realized he really was never that far from my soul.

Oh, and I was correct. The last pew was reserved for him. With me as his entourage.

Happy Easter!

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