Yesterday, I read a short item about a woman killed by a hit-and-run driver as she walked along the East Freeway. A nameless, faceless, storyless stranger. Today, though, we learn her name, her age, her home address. Daisy Faye Sowell, 38, from Hemphill; recently moved to the Channelview area. Facts and prose that tell us nothing.
How about this? She is the unsung cousin of famous right-wing economist Thomas Sowell. Years ago she was wiped out financially because of a bad stock tip he gave her. As she tried to put her life together, she moved from job to job, never settling in one place for more than a year, or even a month. Somewhere along the way, she discovered that she had an aptitude for juggling. It probably began when she was fumbling with the condiment bottles when she briefly worked at a diner. She practiced with whatever she could juggle – balls, rocks, sticks, gradually working her way up to more dangerous fare, such as knives and rabid squirrels. She finally worked up the courage to audition for a circus act; she immediately dazzled them with her fantastic feats, particularly the part where she drank a glass of water while simultaneously flipping in one hand a pair of daggers and a pair of sleeping kittens. She was hired on the spot. Life went pretty well for her, there in the circus. The pay was bad, but she was happy. She fell in love with a clown, and they married and had a son. It was all so wonderful, until the day she pinched a nerve in her arm. After that, she was no longer able to juggle, and she fell into a deep depression. Her mood only worsened when her son was killed in a terrible clown car accident; a hit-and-run affair and, worst of all, her husband was the driver. The poor father was so distraught that he committed suicide by allowing himself to be trampled by an elephant – they never could wash away the stain of white face paint from the elephant’s foot.
With the circus having nothing more to offer her but bad memories, Daisy Faye went back to her rambling ways. She found her way back home to Hemphill, and took up with one of her old boyfriends from high school. At this point in their lives, they were both bitter. They took their bitterness out on the world. They turned to criminal activity to pass the time. At first, they indulged in small acts, like littering or loitering or riding a bike on the sidewalk. When they felt confident, they stepped up their campaign to armed robbery. Unfortunately, neither of them had the aptitude for such work. Things went horribly awry that afternoon they tried to implement their plan. Three people were killed, including her boyfriend, and she was sent to prison for manslaughter.
She was by that time at the lowest point in her life. One night, when the lights were out and her cellmate was sleeping, she attempted to hang herself. The loud thud she made when the cord broke and sent her to the ground awoke everyone, and the next day she was mocked for her failure to carry through. She fell deeper into the abyss.
Then one day a traveling ministry visited the prison, and the prisoners, including Daisy Faye, were forced to watch the performance of a dancing, singing, yodeling Passion play. But, then, something happened that was as if God had reached down and shook her with his big finger and sent a heavenly shock of electricity straight into her heart. There on stage, barely visible behind the chorus of tap-dancing inn-keepers and pirouetting Mary and Joseph, was a clown on a tricycle, juggling frankincense, myrrh, and gold. It seemed so bizarrely out of place, maybe even inappropriate, but it spoke to Daisy Faye as nothing else ever had. It was a sign meant only for her. She cried out so loud that the rest of the performance stopped dead and the room went silent. They all turned to look at her, with the tears streaming down her face, and right there on her knees, she raised her hands and pledged her life to Christ.
From there her life perked up, she became a model prisoner and was eventually paroled early – indeed, so noticeably changed was she that some of the petitioners for her release were the family members of the people whose deaths she’d helped cause. She came back into the world with her changed persona, and with God on her side, she found the world a more wonderful place. After her release, she toiled in the same menial jobs she’d had for years, but she was a happier person. She even saved enough money to give her husband and son a proper Christian burial.
It seemed to her that the cycle of fate was turning in her favor again. Out of the blue, she got a job offer for a well-paying clerical job at a chemical plant in Channelview. She was so excited that she packed her things and moved there that night. She stayed in a motel, though the job didn’t start for another month. She used to drive to her new job every day just to look at the plant, plan her best route there, and get to know the locals.
One day, as she made her way up the freeway, she spotted something odd, it looked like bodies floating up into the air. She had to pull over the car and get a better look. As she walked along the median, squinting up into the sky, she saw that they were indeed human bodies, and they were indeed rising up into the heavens. “Oh, rejoice,” she shouted, “He has returned to redeem us all.” Raising her hands and walking on her tiptoes, she tried to fly into that crowd. She didn’t see the oncoming traffic, or the truck that sent her flying, or the other cars that pushed her this way and that when she came back down; nor did she see the truck on the other side of the freeway, the one that was stalled, and had helium bottles in its trailer, and balloon mannequins that the driver was trying desperately to keep penned in. It was indeed the Last Judgement, but it was meant only for her.
