The question of Cindy's faith becomes stronger than the aroma of my steeping tea. The magnitude becomes so intense in fact that "Does Cindy believe in God" becomes like an original hit song playing over and over in my head. The words have a faraway and dreamy melody that evokes a distant past, with a slight crescendo at the end. Her eyes glitter and the gold flecks in them come alive. I can tell for sure now that she has a strong Bible foundation. As a child, she probably attended Bible study with her mother, and Sundays I am pretty sure she went to hear the church sermons with both parents. I pride myself on these quick visionary insights.
As Cindy's eyes catch the effervescent glare of the hotel light bulb, I am transfixed by the way her eyes change color. I am about to open my mouth to discuss the beauty and simplicity of the 23rd Psalm when she looks up and smiles shyly at the bell boy struggling with someone's luggage. The luggage looks expensive and is engraved with gold name tags. Is she friends with this bell boy. The bell boy winks. I see a dragon tattoo peeking out from under his shirt jacket.
"I am actually not sure if I do believe in God," Cindy tells me as her eyes wander to the back of the bell boys head. "I guess that makes me agnostic." I strain my head to see the gold tag on the bell boys jacket.
I hear Cindy's words but manage to drown them out with a louder voice in my head. I am transported to the seat of my car, uplifted by another voice playing in my head from channel 128 on satellite radio. " Don't be a victim, but be a victor... Your challenges are your greatest measure of the success to come. Put your shoulders back, hold your head high and go through life confident telling yourself you are strong and powerful."
I swallow, take a deep breath and stand a littler taller. The man on the radio is talking to thousands of people if not millions, but he seems to be speaking directly to me. I suddenly want to be on a plane to Texas, Bible and faith in hand. I smile at Cindy and twirl my hair. I try and recover from my lack of judgement, which seems to have assaulted my ego in some strange way. Something has gone awry. I look around, my eyes darting from the dimly lit hall, to the flickering light bulb, and back to the bell boy.
I read somewhere that it is important to pray for those you either don't understand or don't agree with. I silently say a prayer for Cindy and add a quick one for myself. Why had I read her my story anyway?