motivations: forgive

Sorry for the delay! Almost done :)

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Forgive

It was five o’clock in the morning. The sun would rise in an hour, but he was walking around in the house, thinking to himself.
He remembered how his father would do the same, walking around in his slippers and sweatshirt, thinking to himself. He was five years old the first time – he woke up early and went downstairs to sneak some cereal into his room and then ran into his father instead.
“Hey champ,” he had said. “What are you doing up so early?”
“Nothing,” he lied, as little kids caught in the act do.
“Well, if you’re not doing much, you want to watch the sun rise with me?”
“Sure. Where do we watch it from?”
“Let’s sit outside.” So, they grabbed the box of Cheerios from the cupboard and went outside to sit in the foldable lawn chairs in tacky neon pink, yellow, and blue, and they watched the grass and the trees and the squirrels until a cap of yellow peaked out from behind the fence.

And he had loved his father then, in that bright silence, both of them popping Cheerios in their mouths and feeling like men together as they watched the world wake up.
He now paced the house alone, preferring to watch the sun slowly shine through the thinly veiled windows that surrounded the front half of the bottom floor.
He had learned essential lessons from him in those mornings – how to sneak a cookie from the top kitchen shelf without letting his mother notice, how to read chapter books, how to win Tic-Tac-Toe every time, how to climb a tree and bother Mr. Squirrel and his family without getting bitten.
To whom would he pass these lessons on?

His mother was a woman of God, just like Annette, and she believed in the power of love. After his father left them, she wasn’t in love with him anymore, but she still tried to love him to the best of her abilities when he came back. For she had believed that he would come back, even if the guilt trip that caused his return were temporary.
“Love covers over a multitude of wrongs,” she would tell Harry.
“Why cover over them when we should just get rid of them?” he would retort in his teenage years. Just get rid of him, he revised mentally.
But she didn’t give up, and pushed the three males of the family to go on a day trip, although Peter ended up getting sick at the last minute and couldn’t go.
“I don’t have to go if Peter can’t go,” Harry pleaded with his mother. “That’s just unfair to him – he was looking forward to it more than I was.”
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “He can go with you guys another time.” And he knew she was actually saying, plus, he’s already close to your father – you’re not.

He was sixteen when the trip took place. They packed fishing gear and drove for hours in silence.
The silence at first was uncomfortable – neither genuinely wanted to be there – but as telephone pole after telephone pole passed by, they fell into a lull, looking at the road ahead or the scenery passing them by.
They stopped at a roadside diner for lunch. He ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a chocolate milkshake. His father ordered a reuben and a coffee – black, with sugar. They ate silently.

The coffee machine signaled the end of its round, and he poured himself a cup, stirring a spoonful of sugar in. He stared at the windows becoming brighter every minute.

“How are you doing in school?” his father had asked him after the long silence.
“Fine.”
“Getting good marks?”
“Yeah.”
They then continued to eat in silence.

Annette suggested they visit his father together, so they packed a snack and some of his father’s favorite books and made a trip to the hospital.
He was sleeping when they walked in. Harry watched his father’s chest rise and fall inconsistently, the faint fluttering of his eyes behind his eyelids, the jerk of his left foot every few minutes. Annette wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and kissed his temple, and they watched his father sleep together for a while.
He had never given his father credit for being his father – he always considered himself independent and the “real” head of the family. And now that his father finally seemed dependent on him, the feeling was strange.

“I’ve given it more thought,” he had told Annette the other day.
“What do you mean?” She was folding laundry.
“About…you know.”
Annette looked up at him, unyielding. “About?”
“Adoption.” The syllables faltered, but he knew it was something he had to say.
She dropped the shirt she was currently folding and stared at him. “And?” Her voice wobbled.
“It’s…not such a bad idea.” He sighed. “I don’t know how we would go about the process, but – ” He was cut off by his wife hugging him suddenly.
He felt hot tears wet his cheek and shoulder. “Thank you, Harry. Thank you.” She clasped his face and searched his eyes, perhaps for any hint of reconsideration or lying, and upon finding none, kissed him before saying “thank you” one more time.
The two smiled and finished folding laundry together, with a weight now off their chests. But Harry still did feel qualms he knew he would have to conquer everyday until the adoption took place. Or perhaps, even after.

His father slowly opened his eyes, piercing coughs overtaking him as he woke up. He gestured to the glass of water sitting on the bedside table, cringing and shaking his head with every cough. Annette quickly handed him the cup.
He drank hurriedly, body shaking and hacking out a few more coughs before breathing deeply and returning to silence. Annette attended to the water that had dribbled down the side of his mouth as he drank with a napkin, then set down the glass back on the table.
“You’re back again,” he said softly, not enough fiery energy behind his almost-accusation.
“Yes, I am,” Harry replied.
“Thought I told you that I didn’t need you here.”
“I wanted to come see you,” Annette interrupted.
“An unnecessary desire,” his father answered, closing his eyes again.
“Just to drop off some books and see how you were doing,” she persistently added.
He opened his eyes and glanced at the books she had placed on the table. “My eyes are too tired to read these days,” he sighed. “Don’t you know? I’m a dying man. Why read when it will all be forgotten soon?”
“She was just trying to brighten your day a bit,” Harry explained through gritted teeth.
“And a book is the answer to happiness? How trite.”
“You don’t have to read them if you don’t want to.” Harry rubbed his forehead. “We’ll take them back.”
“Of course, you don’t ever think about doing anything for me, right?”
“That’s not what he meant, Saul. We can bring your favorite music next time – Sinatra, right?”
“Annette, don’t try so hard to gain my approval after all these years if you can’t even help continue the Mitchell line.”

Harry saw Annette’s face flush with embarrassment and sadness, the way it always did when he too lashed out at her, and he couldn’t take both his anger and guilt at the same time.

“Why are you so mean to her? What did she ever do to you that was so horrible that you have been terrible to her since day one?” he spat. Annette’s face paled as she tried to stop him from continuing. “If you don’t like me, then pour out your BS on me, not her. She doesn’t deserve any of this from you. None of us ever deserved any of this crap from you. Never. Not Mom, not Natalie, not Annette, not me.”

He watched his father close his eyes again slowly, as if trying to block out his words. “I know you’re listening, Dad. I’ve been keeping this all in because I know you’re in a fragile state, but I can’t sit back and let you put down my wife like that, the one wife that I’ve been faithful to after all these years. And you know what, she may not be able to continue the so-called Mitchell line, but the kid we raise is going to be much saner and happier than the kid we would have gotten through Mitchell blood.”

His father sat still. Harry was waiting for his retaliation, rage and disappointment and frustration and fear coursing through his body, but it never came. The whole room fell silent for a few minutes.
“Annette reminds me of your mother,” his father suddenly said. “And I didn’t deserve your mother, or her love.”
“You’re right,” Harry said.
“But you deserve Annette.” He coughed lightly. “And you deserve a child, just like you, so you can get hell from him.” He paused, giving Harry a half-smile – the first smile he had seen on his face in years. “And so you can redeem my fatherhood.”

Before their diner meal was over, Harry had asked, “Why did you come back?”
“We’re leaving in three minutes,” his father had answered. “I’m going to use the bathroom before we go.”
They caught no fish that day. And he never bothered to ask his father again.

“You know, Harry, when you were born, I had a lot of power. I was intelligent and skilled, renown for my work and my prestige. I was fit and handsome, finally married to a beautiful and loving woman, but after she had you, for some reason, I went into some sort of post-partum depression instead of her. I wasn’t ready to be a father after all, even though your mother and I were so happy during the period she was pregnant.” He looked out the window before continuing. “I stuck it out, thinking things could get better. To help, I drank and hung out with my colleagues, but I couldn’t handle being at home anymore, so I decided I needed to get out. I found the first cute nurse that would have me, which wasn’t hard, and got the hell out of there. I spent time with her and other gorgeous girls, consumed whatever alcohol and food suited my fancies, all while trying to make more money and earn more respect from my field.”

He went into a coughing fit, alarming both him and Annette. She handed him the water glass again, and waited for his coughing to die out.

“I should have been having the time of my life. And while I was living it, I did, I won’t lie. But when I found times of quiet by myself, or as I lay awake at night, I felt the same as I did before I ever left. Everything was meaningless – knowledge, money, power, company. So I came back.” Harry watched his father grow silent again, as if reliving his emotions from the past. “And then, I realized I had missed everything meaningful.” He laughed bitterly. “I watched myself become nothing to you – what did it matter what I meant to others, as a mentor or an inspiration, if I didn’t mean anything to my own son?”

Annette clasped Harry’s hand, and he felt his face get hot as his eyes became wet.

“Your mother was too good to me. And because I couldn’t forgive myself, even though she said she did and that even her God did, I ended up trying to run away more.” His father’s voice started to shake, the walls crumbling as he spoke. Harry couldn’t bear to watch and had to look up to avoid the awkwardness of seeing the image of his cruel and resilient father get emotional. “I’m nothing right now, Harry. I came into this world as nothing and I’m leaving as nothing. I’m not even a father to you or Natalie. And for someone who was always told that he was something, I can’t handle this. I’m dying and bitter and powerless and I’m back in the same place I was over 30 years ago. That’s my real sickness, not this cancer crap they’re throwing at me.”

Harry got up abruptly and walked quickly out of the room. As he stared at the white walls, he finally let go of the tears he had been holding for his father for the past 28 years.

A pair of yellow shoes stood in front of him. Then she bent down to clasp his face. “You okay?” she asked.
“It’s painful,” he admitted, “but refreshing.”
“That’s what forgiveness is, sweetie,” she whispered. “That’s what love is.”
“I guess.”
She handed him tissues, then kissed his forehead. “Wipe your nose. We’re all going to be okay now.”

He nodded, getting up. He looked into the room and for the first time, instead of an unfeeling authoritative character, saw his father for who he really was at the moment - old, small, insecure. Broken.

And things would have to change. Annette and he would have a child. He would suggest to his father to continue treatment at home. Maybe go on another fishing trip, him and his father and his child, be it son or daughter.

And watch the sun rise in the backyard, popping Cheerios in their mouths and feeling like men together again.

© 2009. Sarah R.

je t'adore, mais...

Greetings! I finally have a little bit of downtime to update y'all on my trip :)

1. London is even better than I expected - I definitely would not mind living there at some point in my life. Their public transportation ROCKS.

2. Paris is nice and pretty, I guess, but I really do not like:
a. Their public transportation.
b. Their lack of international-ability (aka very few signs in English, very few people who actually understand/speak English - thankfully, I can kind of decipher some signs because the words are similar to some in Spanish)
c. Their lack of comfortability (aka pharmacies are not open on Saturdays for people who are ailing and need aspirin - aka moi - and so they must suffer for a good hour until we come to one that IS miraculously open, smokers galore, yucky roads covered in bird poop)
d. Their food. Bread & desserts = good; everything else = bad.

3. Family time has been great! Praise God.

4. My parents are awesome. I already knew this, but this trip just confirms all of that all over again. <3 And my brother has grown up so much :0 but he's pretty awesome too :)

5. Carrying around my ridiculously huge camera is good because:
a. It takes SICK shots. EVEN AT NIGHT.
b. It's not that easy to pick-pocket because it's so freaking huge.
c. It's my baby :)

It is bad because:
a. It's SO HEAVY around my neck -___-
b. It's SO BIG.
c. The strap gets sweaty - sorry, tmi, I know - and thus, uncomfortable.

But I'm SO glad I get to test it out in EUROPE of all places :)


Kk. Missing the States though, forsure. And everyone living there <3 And everyone who would normally be living there <3 hahaha :P

Bonsoir!

out of office: in europe for two weeks

London.
Paris.
Rome.
Restaurant/cafe suggestions welcome.

Won't finish Motivations until after I get back, sorry.
Missed my self-imposed deadlines.

I should be sleeping.

I've become a master packer now, thanks to moving around all last summer and going back and forth between Philly and Jersey.

2 Peter 1:5-8.

Analyzing people is fun. Having myself analyzed by someone else is also fun.

High-schoolers in Georgia start school tomorrow. Sucks.

I need to fix my class schedule for the first time in my life.

Book club TBD for fall with a friend. Exciting!

Haven't written this way in a while - this is how I used to write my notes on Facebook. Funny how time changes things. Or maybe formats do?

It's raining hard outside...I like listening to rain inside my house, knowing that I don't need to go outside at all. So different from listening to rain inside my dorm room, knowing that I need to go out at some point.

Isn't that the same feeling with reading fiction or watching documentaries or listening to speakers from mission-field countries? Knowing of people's problems and issues and worries and hurts, but not necessarily having to do anything about it. Or even feeling like you have to.

Colossians 1:10-12.

I think there is a mini-moth flying around in my room, but I've turned off all the lights and I'm typing by the light of my Macbook. also known as, too dark, too sleepy, too uncreative to care.

I am anticipating crazy photos from my trip. Or, at least, hoping for them.

It's all love, all love.
It's all of my stupid love.

The unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit...

God knows what He's doing.

motivations: hope

Hope

You are cordially invited to the matrimonial ceremony of Thomas Lee and Elizabeth Young, the cream invitation stated.

Leah read the card several times over, memorizing the date, time, and location. May 10. 3 PM. A black tie affair. You are allowed one guest.
She spent the next week trying to decide what to wear – floral pattern or solid color? Flats or heels? Hair up or hair down? Which camera should she bring?

Thomas and Liz were old college friends, and though they hadn’t kept up regularly in the past few years, she had still remained rather close with both of them, having consulted Liz about her future when the drastic change had happened.

“Don’t doubt so much,” Liz had said. “Sometimes, we put God in a human-sized box, thinking that He’s just as limited as we are in terms of our knowledge about ourselves and about life. But He’s got it all planned out for us.”
“But I want to know what the plan is.”
“What would you do with that knowledge?”
“I don’t know, be happier?”
“And what if you don’t like what the plan is after you find out?”
“I mean, at least I’ll know what, right?”
“But you won’t know why until you live it out.”

When the day came, she finally settled on a blue floral dress with light green flats, grabbed her small digital camera, and headed out with a cleverly wrapped coffee cup set.
The church was decorated delicately, white and light blue streamers and candles basking in the light of the stained glass windows. Yellow floral decorations lined the pews as festively dressed family members and friends eagerly anticipated the start of the ceremony.
She greeted Thomas and his parents at the entrance.
“Thanks for coming, Leah,” he said, beaming at her. “Didn’t bring anyone?”
“Nope, I’m not as popular as you,” she teased.
“Please.”
“Congratulations.”

She had been to seven weddings in the past two years already. Each time, her mother would ask her how she was doing in her search for the perfect one.
“The search isn’t really progressing,” she would say. “I’m too busy.” Or too lazy. Or too cynical. Or too ugly.
Her mom tried to set her up twice, but each time, she had declined. She didn’t believe in forced unions, maybe because she was idealistic, but also because she didn’t want even that aspect of her life to be dictated by someone else.

People assumed their places as the clock hand approached three o’clock. The music began, Liz’s cute flower girl cousin marched in, soon followed by Thomas’s ring bearer nephew. It was then Liz’s turn to walk in. Her dress was simple and beautiful, and Leah felt a surge of pride in her friend. She quickly glanced at Thomas’s face and saw pure joy reflected in his face. The whole procession of events was touching, and she got the same quirky feeling that she got at every other wedding she had been to – a mix of happiness and anxiety.
Soon, the pastor asked, “Do you, Thomas Lee, take this woman, Elizabeth Young, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto her for as long as you both shall live? If so, answer, ‘I do.’”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he said the two magic words. Asked the same question, Liz answered with a firm, “I definitely do.”

The newly wed couple walked down the aisle hand in hand, picture taking ensued, cheers were shouted, and guests were ushered towards a pavilion area a few streets down, where dinner was to be served.

She found herself sitting at a table with a few acquaintance-friends from college as well as a few people she had never met before. She eyed the tables, smiling at friendly faces and observing the environment with a slightly amused eye.

“Sorry, is this your napkin?” a voice asked to the left. She turned to the interrogator and was met with a semi-familiar face, one that she felt like she had seen in a dream or in the distant past, maybe in an elevator ride or walking down the street.
“No, I think it’s yours,” she replied. She paused before curiosity got the best of her. “Have we met before?”
He nervously patted the napkin down on his lap. “Um, no.” He smiled cautiously. “But we go to the same church.”
She tried to rack her brain for his memory, biting her bottom lip as she sorted through all the faces she encountered weekly.
“Leah Andrews, right? The pianist in the worship band?”
She nodded, embarrassed that she had no idea who he was.
He stuck out his hand. “Neil Nelson,” he said. They shook hands.
“Sorry about that,” she apologized.
“No worries,” he answered. “I just joined three months ago.”
“I see. Well, it’s very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. You’re a wonderful singer.”
“Thank you,” she said tentatively. Because of her notorious singlehood, her voice was often complimented by those suitors in the church looking for a godly and talented wife.
“That wasn’t supposed to be flattery in any way,” he revised, seeing the look on her face.
She blushed at her obviousness. “Right, I understand.”
“So how do you know Thomas and Elizabeth?”
“College friends.” She sipped from her water cup to cool down her face. “You?”
“Thomas and I became good friends after meeting at a conference a few years ago.”
“Oh, advertising?”
“Right. He’s a great guy – he actually directed me to our church when I was looking for one in the area.”
She remembered Thomas asking her for her church’s name a few months back, now making the connection.
“So what do you do?”
“I’m working in pharmaceuticals.”
“Interesting. How did you get into that?”
“Good question,” she laughed a bit forcedly. “Do you want the long story or the short story?”
He glanced at the waiters that had begun to bring out the food. “I think we have time.”

She questioned whether or not it was wise to relay her full story, but because she had shared it so many times before, the well-practiced words came out of her before she could give it a second thought. And for some reason, she trusted him.
A momentary silence washed over both of them after she finished.
“That’s very special,” he said.
She laughed tentatively. “Thank you?”
“No, really.” He became quiet for a few seconds, making his mouth small as if he were thinking deeply. “I can’t say that I’ve had the same experience, but it’s very similar.”
“Really?”
“But it would take some time to explain, and our food will get progressively colder.”
She looked down at her plate of salmon and asparagus, two foods she wasn’t particularly fond of. “I’m all right with that.”
He smiled. “Don’t call me crazy.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”

He told his story slowly, pausing every so often, as if he were afraid that she would stop him at some point and make him swallow back all the ridiculous words he had just said.
He had been working in his office, day in and day out, following the same routines until he started to feel a deep sense of dread wash growing within him. He was increasingly more bitter, then empty, then depressed, to the point where he had trouble sleeping at night and focusing during the day.
“It was hell,” he admitted. “I took sleeping pills before going to bed and anti-depressants during the day to keep myself alert. But I would sit at my desk and feel just as unfocused and tired, and I got to the point where I asked myself, what do I live for?” He took a bite out of his dessert. “Or more appropriately, who do I live for? Why did I have to make sure not a hair or a pen mark was out of place?”
He then overdosed on sleeping pills by accident one night, having forgotten how many he had taken, and he was rushed to the emergency room. He lay calmly in the hospital bed, still unable to sleep – this time, from thinking too much.
“I returned to work two days later, unable to stay at home, and I stared at my computer screen for a good hour.” He pushed around his fork on his plate. “And then I heard something. I heard a voice.”
She stopped breathing for a second. “A voice?” she whispered.
“It was my voice.” He blinked very slowly. “But not my words.”
“Saying what?”
“I told myself to stop living this way. That there was a different way. That I needed to stop hurting myself and trying to put up a façade that everything was okay when it wasn’t. That I didn’t have to do this life alone.” He laughed with short breaths, as if slowly letting out a big breath that he had been holding. “I suddenly remembered talking to Thomas about this God character in his life before, and I called him up and I found myself walking into a sanctuary a few weeks later.”
“Do you think God was talking to you through your own thoughts?”
“Maybe.” He finished the last piece of his cake. “That’s what I’m here to find out, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know what He wants from me, or what He has planned for me, but I think what’s comforting is that I don’t have to rebuild myself on my own – someone else can do it for me without me feeling powerless or degraded. It’s the closest to perfection I’ll ever get.”
“You don’t mind knowing the actual end result?”
“For once, not really. I’m tired of trying to be in control – I can only hope that I’m being auto-piloted towards a good place. I pray extra hard.”

The Sunday after the wedding, she looked for Neil in the fellowship area, but failed to find him. She walked back into the chapel to go about her normal clean-up routine, then had a moment of déjà vu as she saw a familiar sight of a man in a suit praying fervently. It was Neil.

She waited for him to finish, then approached him as he got up.
“Hi.”
“Hello,” he replied. “Done?” He gestured to the stage.
“Almost.”
“What are you doing afterwards?”
“Driving home?”
“Do you mind grabbing coffee? The one here is always burnt.”

The conversation was long. She felt the cashier’s eyes bear into the back of her head as he waited for the two of them to leave. But they continued.
“There’s a reason for everything,” he said. “There’s a reason for why we were meant to run into each other and share our experiences like this. There’s a reason why we’ve had experiences like this in the first place. There’s a reason for our struggles and successes, a reason for our existence.”
“Sure. I guess so.”
“But now the question is, are you ready to find out why?”

© 2009. Sarah R.

motivations: trust

Sorry it took two weeks to get this going - I hope it's not disappointing (though it may be a little confusing.) Hopefully parts 6-8 will be better :)

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Trust

The semester was finally nearing a close. She had an interview that day for a summer internship in New York. She didn’t really know why she decided to apply for the position, except that she knew she had to keep herself busy. And perhaps explore a new city.
She leaned her head against the train window and closed her eyes slowly, the soft lids like a heavy blanket to her tired vision.

Things would have been easier if he had just found another girl.
But he didn’t. And she wasn’t even able to watch him every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday going about his normal lecture routines anymore, so she couldn’t mentally match him up with someone else and hate on her instead. It was slowly draining her. It just would have been easier to hate him if he had moved onto another girl – she would at least have reason to call him severe names and burn all their pictures.

“Excuse me, is this yours?” a woman asked. Allison’s eyes flew open. The woman was gesturing to a green umbrella on the seat across from her.
“No,” she answered, briefly scanning the design and returning to closing her eyes.

Two weeks after their separation, he had asked her out to breakfast – bagels with cream cheese and coffee, just like they used to.
“How have you been?” He had peered over at her from his paper coffee cup.
“All right.”
“Have you been eating well? Sleeping well?”
“Relatively so.”
“How was your paper?”
“Pulled an all-nighter for it.”
“Mmm.” He took a bite out of his bagel, wiping his mouth afterwards to get the cream cheese that lingered at the corners.
“And you?”
“I’ve been doing well. Studying.”
“That sounds good.”
“I’ve been going to the gym a lot more, playing basketball with som-”
“I’ve missed you.” She couldn’t help herself. It was the truth.
He had let out a slow sigh and pushed back his hair.

“Sorry to bother you again,” the woman asked. She looked around in her purse a bit. “Do you happen to have change for a ten?”
“Um.” She pulled out her wallet and pulled out two fives, dropping a sheet of sticker pictures in the process.
“Oh,” the woman bent down to grab the miniature pictures, “let me get that for you.” She took a brief glance at the row of silly, love-struck photos before handing them back. “I’ve never done one of these,” she said, a half-smile appearing. She exchanged her the ten-dollar bill. “Thanks.” She got up to catch the food cart that had already passed.

He had looked down at his nails for three seconds before looking at the shelves of coffee mugs behind her. “Yeah.”
She stared at his eyes, beckoning him to look up at her. “You…haven’t?”
“No, I mean, yeah. I mean,” he sighed again, “it’s been tough, yeah.”
“So…”
“Allison.” He finally met her gaze. “You can’t just say those things to me.”
“It’s true though.”
“However true it may be, you can’t say it like you mean it or anything.”
“So you can’t mean the things you say?”
“You can’t say the things you mean.”
“And what do I mean, Derek?”
“You’re saying it like you want us to get back together.”
“And if I mean it?” She didn’t know if she did.
“That’s why I said you can’t say things like that.”
“So, you don’t want to accept the truth.”
“The truth is that I loved you, but now is not the right time for either of us.”

The woman came back with a pastry and a bottle of orange juice.
“Thanks again,” she said, taking her seat again. Allison watched her take a bite out of her pastry, then dab the corners of her mouth delicately. “So, why New York?” she asked suddenly.
Allison’s words caught in her throat. She coughed, then replied, “I have an interview for a summer internship.”
“Yeah?” the woman responded, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her coffee. “What do you study?”
“I’m a communications and psychology double major.”
“Sounds fun. I took some consumer psychology classes in college – they were fun.”
“Yeah, they sound pretty legit.”
“What kind of internship is it?”
“Advertising.”
She paused before answering, sticking her tongue in her cheek. “You’re not Alexandra, are you?”
“Allison, actually.”
“Right, Allison.” She pulled out her Blackberry and began scanning. “I think you’re supposed to be interviewed with Luke, right?” She paused again. “1:30?”
She started. “Um, yes.”
The woman smiled and stuck out her hand, saw frosting on her fingers, and thought better of it and retracted her hand. “Sorry, I’m Natalie Mitchell,” she wiped her fingers on a napkin before reaching out to shake hands again, “Luke’s boss. Nice to meet you.”
Allison shook her hands tentatively, worried about the prospects of a premature impromptu interview.
“Don’t worry,” Natalie said, as if reading her mind. “I’m not really in the mood for work right now.”
“That’s…good,” Allison tried to laugh off.
“Yeah, it’s been a long week.” She finished the last of her pastry, then smiled politely. “Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

Allison had stayed silent at his last comment, trying not to become emotional again.
“Let’s just change the subject,” he had said. “I don’t want to drag this out.”
“Okay, what should we talk about?”
“What are you thinking about doing this summer?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you traveling like last summer? Or getting a job or something? Taking classes?”
“I haven’t decided. What about you?”
“I think I’ll be staying here, catch up on some classes. Might go on a mission trip to Louisiana with my church.”
“Sounds like a productive summer. I’ve been wanting to – ”

“Get away as far as possible,” she answered.
“I can see it in your face,” Natalie agreed. “Anything else you want to do in New York?”
“Maybe see some museums, take some good photos in the city.”
She nodded. “Sounds like a productive summer.”

“But why a mission trip?”
“I guess I just want to get out of this city at some point. And it’ll help me to clear my mind a bit, just serving others instead of myself for once.”

“It should be fun.” She neatly tucked her used napkins in her cup before handing them to the passing trash cart. “Sometimes, I feel like I don’t ever take time for myself.”
“But it’s kind of a trademark of the working world, right?”
“Maybe. And then, sometimes, upon reflecting, I realize that I work six days a week for myself. So, in the end, I think maybe I just do everything for myself, so I have nothing to complain about.”
“Well, who else would we do it for, you know?”

“Honestly, I think I’ve been ignoring everyone but myself lately.”
“I think you’ve been doing okay.”
“I mean, I’ve been ignoring God, too.”
She scoffed. “He ignores us, it’s not a big deal,” she joked.
“No,” he tapped the table twice. “He never ignores us. We just don’t trust that he’ll be there, so we forget to care.”

“How’s your boyfriend?”
“Excuse me?”
“The one from the pictures, I’m assuming?”
“Oh.” She fiddled with the hair tie on her wrist. “We broke up.”
Natalie’s face lost a bit of color. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had time to recover.”

“How can you trust someone you’ve never seen?” she asserted. Her voice then had dropped to a whisper. “I can hardly trust people I see everyday.”
“Isn’t that what faith is? Being able to just trust without sight?”
“Is that what love is?”

“I don’t know.” Natalie stared out the window in thought. “I left someone behind to come to New York, actually. It was a clean break-up, no hard feelings.”
“Did you…”
“Love him? Maybe.” She sighed, fog forming on the window where she had exhaled. “Yes. I don’t think I realized it until this trip.”
“Oh.”
“I visited him briefly. He’s doing very well – it was good to see.” She patted the tightly coiled bun on her head a few times. “I think…it was good to trust him to be okay without me. Is that love?”

“He knows that you can’t live without Him, so even if He can’t be there for you physically, like we so want Him to be, He wants you to trust that He loves you nonetheless.”
“I don’t know, Derek. There’s no way you can really know. There are more than six billion people in this world – why should I matter, when I can hardly mean anything to someone two feet away from me?”

“But you know, you have to trust that he loves you, no matter who you are and what you’ve done.” She looked back away from the window. “Or rather, because of who you are and what you’ve done. That’s the key.”

“You want unfailing love." He lightly pressed her hand, then got up. "But that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s visible to you at first.”

“Sometimes, love that slips underneath the radar is the strongest kind.” She smiled. “Plus, romance is unreliable, so don’t trust in that kind of love.”

The train slowed to a halt. The two women packed their things silently and headed towards the exit.
“Good luck with your interview, Allison.”
“Thank you. It was great meeting you.”
She handed her a card. “My number’s on there. Let me know if you ever want to go see the Met together.”
Natalie smiled and slipped into the crowd.
Allison hesitated, then took her first firm step.

© 2009. Sarah R.