Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: TRUST (07/21/16)
TITLE: Trust Me
By Daniel Rae
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The boy placed both hands on the cushions that sat somewhere near his chest level. At 4 years old he is slightly under height, but agile. Still, mounting the couch is a welcome hardship, and he takes a deep breath. In one monstrous effort he lifts himself off the hardwood floor, and onto the floral sofa. Then he stands and rests, his arms and hands and chin, on the back of the couch, as he focuses on the driveway. His inner clock has told him that sometime very soon, a white Rambler would swing into the driveway and the most beautiful man in the world, would climb out. Then there'd be a race between him and the man to see who could get to the front door first, a race he always won. Sometimes he'd swing the door open and there'd be no one there at all. But then his dad would pop out from behind a wall and lift him off his feet, tickling him till he couldn't endure another second.
"Robert!" "Get your shoes off the couch!" "How many times do I have to tell you!" The boy slipped from his standing position to seated, and faced his accuser. "I was just waiting for dad to come home." "Well he won't be home for at least half an hour, so since you have your shoes on anyways, I need you to go to the store for me."
The boy slid to the floor and held his hand out. This was becoming a daily occurrence. Why did she have to smoke anyways? She'd promised she'd quit and hadn't. How could he possibly trust her?
She gave him 2 quarters. It was 1967 and a package of cigarettes was 49cents. For a brief second the boy allows himself to be optimistic. He palms the quarters and asks if he can please have the penny. Double Bubble is a penny a pack, and he can already taste it.
"No you cannot." "You bring that penny right back home." "Now get moving." "School's out soon and I don't want you stuck in a lineup, while I sit here waiting."
The boy deflates and heads for the door. Lynn Valley Market is almost a mile down Mountain Highway, and the trip back is a grind. On his way to the store he looks far down the road and prays to see his fathers car heading up the hill. It had happened once before. It could happen again.
I lived alone in a railway shack, on the wrong side of a lousy town.
The tracks blasted right by my windows, 3 times a day. The cinderblock walls shook and squealed, raging like they were on the verge of tearing apart; pounding like they'd been rocked by a cannon-ball.... 21 times a week.
I had no partner; she'd fled several years ago. I had no kids; at least none that would identify with me. And I had no friends, a gradual inevitability. If this cruel world had taught me a single thing, it was to place not a single ounce of reliance onto anyone but myself. Counting on anything else was a foolish mans security; a weaklings misplaced assurance.
So there I sat, a product of my smouldering distrust.
My inner clock was reminded that the train was about to blast by. I struggled to my feet and knelt forward on the couch, just as the train rumbled past my window. For a full 30 seconds, every glass and plate and appliance, shook like the end was near.
It was an evening like no other in my life. People I'd known for 30+ years, spoke on my behalf. Even the slightest word spoken in gratitude, brought tears. I was an unlikely leader; an undeserving recipient of gracious summations. I'd trusted The Lord with my life, and reaped divine benefits. It was He that engineered the details of my life and I had been fortunate to take Him at His Word.
Placing my Faith in Him had redefined my course in life, and blessed my very existence.
I put my arms around my 2 girls, now young mothers, both of whom Id trust with my life. Then I thanked The Lord for His incomprehensible Faith, even in me.
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