What if?

There could be a bug. An ugly, creepy critter. 

Who knows?

She could get bitten by a vampire.

A monster could lunge out at her and maul her.

Or maybe.

Jazmine’s mind wandered frantically this way and that, exploring all the endless possibilities.

She was scared, that much was obvious.

“Calm down, Jaz. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” said Merle, her fearless and intrepid boyfriend and guide.

“Easy for you to say, you’ve been in how many caves?”

“Don’t you trust me then?”

“It’s not a matter of trust, it’s a matter of –AAH”

Jazmine jumped with fright, hitting her head on the ceiling of the cave. Merle laughed, his sentiment resounding off the walls.

“That’s my favorite part about caves; the ECHO!”

“Shh! Stop that, Merle!”

Jazmine gripped the back of her boyfriend’s shirt.

Merle laughed again. “You really need to ease up.”

They continued their spelunking journey in silence, well, if you consider Jazmine’s terrified thoughts escaping her brain and pounding off the walls as silence.

Was that a spider?

Where did that gust of wind come from? Was it the breath of a creepy cave bear?

What if the bats are just waiting for us around that corner?

“Merle, let’s go back. I can’t handle this.”

“Oh come on, don’t be a wuss. Why don’t you talk or sing or something to get your mind off it?”

“And practically beg all the monsters to come attack me? No thank you!”

Merle laughed.

“I find it funny that you’re not claustrophobic or scared of the dark, you’re scared of the bugs.”

“Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night and found a cockroach crawling around on your hand?”

Merle laughed again as Jazmine shuddered at the memory. If only she had known that it was a toy roach.

They squeezed through a tight tunnel which opened up into a massive cavern.

“Wow, this is cool!”

“See? Caves are cool!”

“I feel safer in a bigger space I guess,” said Jazmine, releasing her grip on Merle’s shirt and timidly exploring around the cave.

“Hey look at this map engraved on the wall,” Jazmine said from across the chamber. Merle walked over to check it out.

“Hm. That looks like this cave system,” he pointed to a segment of the map, “that’s where we just were, and this is the cavern where we are now. It looks like it goes a ways farther and leads out the other side.”

“Hey look, there’s a poem here also.”

She began reading slowly, squinting to make out the crudely carved words in the rock:

Where bones are buried,

And something else too.

Ignorance is bliss!

What will you do?

“What does that mean?” Jazmine wondered aloud.

“And there’s an arrow pointing to this spot on the map,” said Merle, furling his brow.

“Dude. It’s a treasure map!”

Merle’s eyes brightened and he looked at his girlfriend and they shared a hearty laugh.

“There’s no way this is a treasure map, right?”

“Let’s go check it out anyway!” Merle never was able to quench his curiosity. “Modern day Indiana Jones!”

They were off, hunting treasure a hundred feet beneath the earth’s surface. When they reached the portion of the cave where the arrow had pointed on the map, they began exploring, looking for some ancient chest. Merle was giddy with excitement, Jazmine was meh at best.

“C’mon, why aren’t you getting into this?”

“Merle… we’re following a crude cave map in a creepy dungeon where bugs and bats and monsters live to try to find some golden crown worn by the king of Atlantis!”

“Hey, nice imagination!”

Merle was about to give up searching for the hidden treasure when something shiny reflected his headlamp. With a shout, he rushed over to it.

“Just a rock,” Jazmine said unenthusiastically, “let’s get out of here, I’m hungry.”

“Look Jaz, this spot in the ground is soft, like dirt or something. I bet the treasure is here, help me dig!”

“You’re nuts.”

Merle rummaged through his small backpack and grabbed the chisel and hammer that he always kept in case he found some rare gem. Chiseling away at the soft ground, he uncovered the earth. A mere foot below, his chisel struck something hard. Merle’s heart skipped a beat.

“Jaz,” he said, eyes wide as the sky.

He frantically dug and dug until the object was uncovered. It was a small wooden box.

“JAZ!”

Merle held the box up into the light of his lamp, and he looked ecstatically with his girlfriend.

“The map was real!” he said much too loudly.

“What– is this for real?”

Jazmine took the box from Merle and peered at it. Merle grabbed his water bottle and poured a little water over it, cleaning off the dirt.

“Open it?” Jazmine suggested.

“Yeah,” Merle’s voice cracked.

Slowly, with breath suppressed, Jazmine lifted the tab that held the lid of the box shut.

What’s inside? Is it gold? Some rare artifact?

What if nothing’s inside?

What if it’s a joke?

What if there’s a spider!

“A watch!” Merle’s echoes lingered in the cave.

They examined the watch in the light. It was made of brass, a large face with hands that had stopped working ages ago. It had a rusty chain extending from it.

“Just a watch,” Jazmine sounded disappointed.

“Well, who knows? Maybe this was Captain Blackbeard’s old pocket watch or something.” Merle’s sense of humor was relentless; what a guy. “Well this was a rush. Let’s take it with us and we’ll see how much it’s worth when we get home. Maybe we’ll be rich!”

Little did the two spelunking love bugs know that this was only the beginning of a lifetime of treasure-hunting adventures.

“I’m just reading so much lately.”

“So?”

“I don’t have time to write anymore!”

“You don’t?”

“No! All I want to do is read now. I think I’m giving up writing forever.”

“Dramaqueen.”

“Ugh. Maybe you’re right.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes I am right.”

“Oh.”

“You have time to write. You always have time.”

“How’s that?”

“You just have to make time.”

“Yeah, maybe…”

“Not maybe.”

“Okay, I guess so.”

“It’s not about how much time you have; we all have the same amount of time in a day. It’s about what you do with that time.”

The men on the ship crowded port side as the mountain shook in the distance. A terrible thing was about to happen.

The mountain trembled like the lower lip on the face of Earth, and it grew in violence. It was a massive mountain, forged in the very center of Earth, unparalleled in brilliance. And yet, here it was, shuddering with horror, ready to burst into a million shards and grace these sailors with its spiteful omnipotence. Not only was the mountain itself quaking, but the ground around it was pounding, the water beside it, pulsing. The waves began to grow, outward and faster toward the men on the boat.

The men scurried to their positions and tried with all their might to evade the shattering landscape around them, but the mountain overtook them. They were tossed in the tumultuous waves, the worst storm any of them had seen, and all this with sunny skies above. The ship struggled to hold its own, the men on her praying and cursing alike.

Then the mountain culminated in a billion tremors, veins popping, muscles snapping, and with a mammoth descent, tumbled into the heart of the sea. Boulders shot through the sky, cannonballs in the midst of a raging battle, and rained fiery terror upon the sailors. How small was the ship now, compared to the magnificence of the mountain? The poor vessel was pummeled and destroyed, the men left to fend for themselves. Most of them heaved overboard with the hope of survival. Those who stayed accepted their fate kneeling, arms wide and face lifted to the sky. They were soon to be a distant memory.

Within minutes, it was over. The war had ceased, the waters had stilled. All again was quiet. The screams of terror that pierced the air moments before were all but forgotten, remembered only by the calm sea as it carelessly swallowed up the remains of the once mighty vessel and its fateful crew.

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.”

Psalm 46:1-3

“I’ve always loved her.”

My friend chuckled. “Love is weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s just that… I can’t love her.”

My friend nodded. “Love is confusing too.”

“Why can’t life go the way I want it to?”

My friend said nothing.

A canyon of a pause enveloped us as we sat there. I looked at him. There was a mountain of care in his eyes; I saw that so clearly I cried. He watched me dry my eyes on my sleeve.

I sniffled. “Haven’t you ever been in love?”

My friend laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Oh sure. Plenty of times.”

“Then why don’t you ever fall apart like me?”

A soft smile crawled onto his face. His eyes met mine and he said, “I refuse to be defined by my relationship status.”

Those were the last words he ever said to me. I took his advice.

“Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.” ―Rudyard Kipling

A man is waiting for the bus. A mother and her young daughter walk over and join him on the bench. The daughter notices the man next to her seems sad.

“Why are you sad?” she asks.

He looks down at her, unable to conjure a smile. “You wouldn’t understand, little girl.”

She looks a little confused. “Why not?”

Her mother nudges her and gives her a look that says “leave the poor man alone.” The girl dismisses her mother’s warning quite rebelliously and turns her attention back to the man, discontent with his answer. The man looks down at her and says “Well if you must know. My wife died.”

“Why?” the girl asks.

“Dear, you mustn’t bother the man–”

“No, no. It’s okay,” the man reassures the girl’s mother. Returning his gaze to the girl, he says rather slowly “She was sick. She died a few days ago. I was just thinking about her when you came and sat down. That’s why I’m sad.”

For the first time in the conversation, he smiles. It’s a sweet, sad smile that seems to pinpoint his exact emotion.

The little girl smiles back at the man– giving him a big, toothy grin– but a moment later furrows her brow and says in her most genuine voice “I’m sorry your wife is dead.”

After a long silence, the man says “me too” and a tear rolls down his cheek. Before her mother has a chance to stop her, the girl scoots closer to the man, looks into his eye and offers him as big a hug as she can manage. He accepts the embrace and a beautiful moment is shared between the two.

The bus arrives.

The train droned on.

Through misty window, through tinted glass, the girl looked. And when the window looked back, she knew it was true.

I’m a failure. The thought settled in, making itself comfortable in the combines of her mind. She allowed the thought to become her, to transform her identity. She truly believed it.

I’m a failure. 

“No you’re not.” The voice caught her off guard. She raised her head and looked into the eyes of a man. She stared at him, wondering how he could have heard her thoughts. Did she say it aloud? How could he know?

“You’re not a failure.” Those were caring words– gentle words. His head cocked ever-so-slightly as he said it, his brown hair falling with gravity across his forehead.

She couldn’t formulate words; she just kept staring at him. How did he know? Who is he?

“I don’t know what you’ve been through. I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done. But I do know that everybody is special, that everyone has gifts and talents that make them unique. Everybody fails, yes. But nobody is a failure.” His red lips cracked into a soft smile.

She wanted to believe it; anyone would! But when she turned her gaze back to the window, back to her past, she simply couldn’t accept what wasn’t true.

“If you knew me you’d agree with me.” she looked back into his eyes. They were big. Inviting. She looked deeper. This was a man who had a deep love for people, a man who cared about those around him. He didn’t make judgments about them or spread hate like most people did. No, this man was different.

Before they could exchange any further words, the train pulled into the station with the toot of a whistle and a creak in the wheels. But before the man left, he reached in his bag and pulled out a book and handed it to her.

“I hope you change your mind.” With a soft smile and a nod, the man turned and left the train car.

She looked at the book in her hands. It was a Bible. With one final glance at the condemning window, she exited the train. She had made her decision: she would accept her failures and move on. She refused to be defined by them.

She gripped the wheel and pushed the accelerator to the floor.

He flipped on the lights and siren and pushed his engine to the limit.
She glanced in the rear-view mirror and clenched her teeth, willing to go faster.
He gained on her; he would catch her.
She could outrun him; she would outrun him.

They whizzed down the vacant highway, turning the serene country night into a Las Vegas weekend.

She was the outlaw.
He was the law.
She felt she could do anything right now.
He would catch his fugitive and be the hero.
No hero could ever stop her; she would escape.

They crashed through the peppermint blockade at a toll booth, leaving the operator wondering what in the heck just happened.

Again, she looked behind her.
He was gaining on her.
She frowned.
He smiled.
She screamed and punched her steering wheel; doubt infiltrated her conscious and called out to her. You’ll never make it!

Joline slammed her brakes and came to a complete stop in the middle of the turnpike. She jumped out of the car and sprinted to the edge of the road, hoping to beat the cop on foot. Nothing but pure adrenaline coursed through her veins. She left the asphalt road behind her and entered a jungle of knee-high grass, which only slowed her progress. A mere football field away was a grove of dark pine trees: refuge.

Jon halted his car behind the fugitive’s and chased after her. She was young and spry; she was faster than he. There was no way he could catch her on foot. He drew his .9mm and penetrated the crisp air with three vicious shots. The first two bullets missed their target but the third struck her calf, sending her to the ground. He holstered his weapon and sprinted toward her. Just before he reached her, she leapt to her feet and with all the speed she could muster with an injured leg, raced for the trees. Again Jon drew his handgun and this time it only took one shot to keep her down. The pursuit was over; the outlaw was captured.

“Let’s go out and see America.”

That’s what I told you, and I meant it. I expected you to be skeptical; you never were someone to board my crazy-idea trains on a whim. But this time was different and you surprised me.

“How long?”

“As long as it takes.”

So we dropped everything we were doing in life; we dropped out of college, quit our lousy part-time jobs, and just like that we left. We pooled our money, sold some junk, and took your van.

We both agreed that it was irresponsible, but did we care? Sometimes you have to live a little. That’s how we justified it anyway.

Within a month we were out of money, the van had broken down for the hundredth time, and our spirits were at an all time low. We had no choice but to return home.

That was when the accident happened.

Now as I return home without you, something feels weird; everything feels weird. I stare out the window and the world is no longer described by the lines, colors, and points that defined it before. Instead it blurs by like a Van Gogh masterpiece, the blues and greens morphing into one, the lines and points combining into a single nonsensical mess. My world feels hazy and everything is wrong.

I’ll be home soon and then I’ll have to face life. I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready, will I?

I’m an optimist, but sometimes bad things can’t be undermined. This is one of those times.