Wake Up!

You may or may not know that I currently run my own book review website (www.BookshelfReview.com). I’m thrilled to announce that some of my reviews will now also be featured regularly at The Christian Manifesto. This is a great site that focuses on Christian entertainment and news in our culture. Check it out!

I entered another short story for the FaithWriters.com Weekly Writing Challenge last week. I didn’t place this time around, but I thought I would share it anyway. My little girl is only 10 months old, but already I am amazed and a bit overwhelmed by how quickly it all seems to happen. I just want to freeze time even though I know I can’t. All parents go through these emotions and that’s where the idea for this story came from. For the challenge I had to illustrate the meaning of the phrase, “Every dark cloud has a silver lining”. Let me know what you think.

I watch through the viewfinder as she takes her first three steps. It’s an incredible feeling to know that my wife and I are both able to be here at this exact monumental moment. The tape is rolling and memories are being captured, yet my heart is breaking. Don’t get me wrong. Nothing thrills my soul more than to see my little girl discovering something new. What tears me up inside is the realization that my little girl isn’t quite as little as she was three steps ago. Slow and steady she is moving forward and I just can’t let her go.

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All too soon the big day is here. Kindergarten here we come. She is dressed to kill with her pigtails and bows and a lunchbox to boot. I’ve taken the day off to drive her myself and there is no where I would rather be. She’s my little charmer and no doubt she’ll do fine. As she hugs me goodbye I hold on a tad too long. If only I could freeze time and forever be in this moment. I hold back a sob as I release her and force myself to watch her go. She charges forward with a confidence I’ve never known. Three steps later she turns and smiles.

The place is packed and it’s almost too much. My wife practically had to drag me here when it was all said and done. It has all happened so fast and I can’t believe this day is here. Excitement and hope fill the air, but all I can do is breathe deep and try not to let it get to me. One by one they cross the stage and accept the diploma they have all worked so hard for. Her name is next and I feel weak in my knees. Three steps across the stage and she is now moving on to a new chapter in her life. I’ve given her every reason to stay home a bit longer, but she is going away to the school she has set her sights on. As much as it kills me, I have to let her go.

We stand arm in arm three steps from the altar. My heart is pounding through my chest and I’m sure the whole room can hear. She has never looked so radiant and the look on his face proves it. I know he loves her. He swore to me he did. But no one could ever love her like I do. She’s still my baby. The minister coughs and I realize it’s for me. I quickly manage to stutter out, “Her mother and I.” She smiles at me in tears and kisses me on the cheek. She moves forward toward her chosen and my hand won’t let go. I try and I try, but I cannot release. Suddenly, a voice whispers, “It’s time to let go.” With a sniffle and a smile I finally do. It’s time to let her go.

On the other side of the glass she is beaming with joy. It’s been a long struggle but you wouldn’t know it from her smile. Never have I seen her happier or more alive. My little princess is holding her own little girl in her arms. Just three steps away.

When I first started to get into writing I stumbled across a weekly writing challenge at FaithWriters.com. Each week a different topic for the challenge is given, and you never know what it’s going to be. All entries have to be between 150 and 750 words. There are four different levels of competition: Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced, and Master. I have previously placed in both Beginner and Intermediate, so this past week I wrote my first Advanced entry. I was somewhat nervous about it because it has been quite awhile since I’ve entered the contest, but I figured I’d give it a shot.

This morning I was ecstatic to find out I won 3rd place in the Advanced level. I was a bit bummed though that I didn’t make the cut for Editor’s Choice. Each week the top 10 from all 4 levels are given the lofty Editor’s Choice award. Each quarter these entries are published in a new Faith Writers short story collection. I have to get Editor’s Choice three times before I can move up to the Master level, so I still have a ways to go. It gives me a goal to work towards at least.

I thought I would go ahead and post my story here for anyone who wants to check it out. For this challenge I had to illustrate the meaning of the phrase, “Actions Speak Louder Than Words” (without using the actual phrase or literal example). Please let me know what you think. Any feedback helps make me a better writer. (You can see all my Faith Writers short stories here).

Sober

by Jake Chism

You look down at the beer in one hand and your three month sobriety chip in the other. What a joke. Just two hours ago you played them all like fools as you discussed how hard the road to recovery has been. All the times you want to quit. The sleepless nights. The headaches. It was quite a performance.

As you glance around the bar you are reminded of why you chose this place. Not only is it half an hour from your house, but you like the way no one bothers you. You originally found this place on a whim, when you had taken a drive to clear your head. Two days without a drink had about killed you, and then suddenly this beautiful tavern beckoned to you like a glorious lighthouse through the fog. Here you could be someone and no one all at once. This is the kind of place where nobody knows your name, and that’s just the way you like it. For the last three months you have driven here straight from your AA meetings to drown yourself in anonymity and booze. What a life.

You look at the fateful tokens in you hands again and are startled by the polarity on display. One hand represents the miserable reality of who you are. A drunk to be sure, but oh so much more. You’re a hypocrite and a liar, too. Not to mention a quitter.

The other hand represents all you want to be even though you believe you can’t. Everyone in the group has come to believe that you are this mighty hero who is beating the disease. Who are you to disappoint them? You like that version of yourself so much better. If only you could be that guy. If only you could change.

The bartender glances down at your hands and gives you a disapproving glare before moving on. The kind of glare you are sure your sponsor would give you if he knew the truth. That same sponsor who has been so encouraging to you from the beginning. Your sponsor is a praying man, a believer in the true higher power. So he had said that first day.

Suddenly you are overwhelmed with the disparity of it all. Who are you kidding? You will never be who they think you are. You will never be who you want to be. At this moment you have never been more sober as you face the ugly truth. You cannot change. So why try? Why all the pretending? You should embrace who you are, even if that means you’re stuck with this mess. There is no way out, only a way to deal. To cope. To numb.

The demon of the drink is calling with ferocity. Just a taste to heal the pain. To make it all go away, if just for awhile. The others may not know you, but this is who you are. No more lies. No more games. It’s time to just be you.

You close your hand tightly over the cursed chip as if to crush it from existence. You grip the bottle with familiarity and ease. This is your favorite part. The moment before you surrender your will to the only higher power you’ve ever known. The calm before the storm.

As you bring the bottle to your lips you are suddenly thrown into the bar as someone crashes into you from behind. You are aware of the cursing and the apologies. You feel the pain where the bottle rammed into your face. But none of it means a thing to you because all you can do is anguish over the loss. The beautiful cure that you so desperately need is flowing down the side of the bar. The one thing you desire is now out of reach and all you want to do is cry.

You hang your head to wallow in your grief. A few minutes pass and you are suddenly brought back to awareness by the distant vibration of your phone. You check the display and roll your eyes. A text from your sponsor. What timing. How convenient. You reluctantly open the message:

I’M PRAYING FOR YOU

As the tears stream down your face you open your hand and stare at the chip. You place it in your wallet and walk to the door. No more lies. No more games. It’s time to be who you were meant to be.