Lost

I didn't know who he was. I didn't even see where he came from. All I knew was that we were now talking on the patio chairs that were left outside of the small Italian cafe. I was traveling back to my apartment after having toured several of the art museums when he stepped out of nowhere and took me by my arm.

"Have you seen them?" he asked.

"Seen who?" was all I could think of with which to respond. His white hair was slightly disheveled, but not so much that he would stand out in a crowd. I thought that he might have been homeless, but I could tell from his clothes and general appearance that he was nothing of the sort.

"They have been here for ages," he continued. "I noticed them a few years ago, but after talking with them, I found out that they were here long before we were."

I started to wonder if this elderly gentleman was either drunk or just senile. His hand was still on my arm, which was making me feel extremely uncomfortable, even being used to the Italian culture. However, when he led me to the corner cafe and had me sit in the empty chair as he sat opposite me, I began to feel even more apprehensive. For some reason, I listened as the old man related his tale.

"I was visiting my grandchildren when I first came to realize that something was different. I have known my grandkids since they were born, obviously. At least, so I thought.

"This time, when I was with little Antonio, he said something that took me back.

"'Grandpapa,' he said. 'I love you.'

"'I love you too,' I replied. This was nothing new, mind you. He had said he loved me many times. But what he said next ... Well, I'll let you hear for yourself.

"'Do not fear. I am here, but no more seen. Free and fair, yet trapped and keen. New like wind and old like time. We live forever and not at all.'

"Now, I ask you, does that sound like something a young boy would say? I thought maybe he was telling me a new nursery rhyme he learned, but it made no sense. When I asked him what it meant, he looked at me like he did not know what I was talking about. I let it go.

"The next day Antonio was nowhere to be found. My daughter and her husband were frantic. They called the police and put up missing signs. Everyone in the neighborhood looked for him, but he was gone. Reports started going around about a kidnapper, and all the parents started watching after their kids. All the children went straight home after school and did not play far from their house.

"I could not sleep. I kept thinking back to what he had said to me. Did he know he would be leaving? Was it really a kidnapping or was there something else going on? Did he tell anyone else what he told me? I tossed and turned many nights, fearful that I knew something that could help, but not understanding what it was. I finally decided to go to the police and let them know what I knew. I thought that they might be able to make some sense of it.

"As I was walking to the station, a little girl came from what seemed like nowhere and grabbed my hand. I stopped and looked down. She didn't even look up at me, but stared straight ahead.

"'Hello,' I said. 'Who are you?'

"She would not respond. I looked around and saw no one. Just then, a couple came walking around the corner ahead and saw me with the child. The woman screamed and ran toward the girl calling her name. The man cried for help and the police. Soon, neighbors came pouring out of their houses to see what the commotion was. The woman scooped the child into her arms and started crying. Before I could react, the man was upon me and had me pinned to the ground. Finally I was able to find my voice and demanded to know what this was about.

"'The police will take care of you,' the man scowled. I began to sense that if there was not a crowd, that I would have been killed by him in that instant. I could feel his hot rage as he kept me trapped there until the police came.

"'What seems to be going on here?' asked the officer as he lifted the man off me. The other officer helped me up, but still had a firm grip on my arm.

"'We found this man with our daughter, the one who has been lost for over a year," the man said, barely able to keep in his emotions.

"I did not know what to say. I stammered in disbelief as the policeman cuffed me and put me into the car. I tried to protest and plea my innocence, but they did not want to hear.

"'We'll sort this out back at the station,' was all they said. Before I knew it, I was in a cell waiting the trial for a crime I did not commit."

To be continued ...

The root of all evil

The numbers meant little to him. What did they say it was? $400,000? It didn't really matter. The bills lay before him in disarray like someone had dumped a pile of leaves on the bed. As he ran his hands under and scooped the money up, it almost didn't feel real. He let the bills fall lifeless on the covers. A few cascaded down and onto the floor, mingling with the others that were there.

What he noticed the most was the smell. It was a musty odor that was unique to all the others. Some of the bills were new and crisp. Others looked like they had been in places that he didn't want to think about. But they all had the same smell. Somehow it permeated through everything. It was like it had its own pheromones, attracting to it the right being - one who would mate with it and cause it to multiply and grow.

But it wasn't meant to be. Not for him. The money held no lustful desire, no longing, no need to be accumulated and stashed away like a priceless antique. For him, it was just paper. A means to an end. He picked up a bill and held it out in front of him. A flick of the thumb ignited the lighter in his other hand. As the small flame caught the corner on fire, he pulled the lighter away and watched the paper burn. The face of the dead president stared back with unwavering attention as it was charred and disfigured by the heat. He dropped the bill into the ashtray next to the hotel bed and watched until only ash remained.

"Easy come, easy go," he whispered.

He grabbed the blue duffel bag that lay next to the bed and quietly stuffed all the money back inside. Leaving a one hundred dollar bill on the pillow, he opened the door and softly closed it behind him. He walked to the elevator and pushed the up button and waited. A soft ding preceded the opening of the doors. A young man in a stiff, red uniform stood inside.

"Going up?" he asked.

"That was the button I pushed," the man replied.

The boy cursed at the guest in his mind, but made no display of his annoyance as he politely asked, "Which floor?"

"Penthouse," the man said.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the penthouse is for registered guests only."

The man pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the young man.

"Thank you for registering," he said as he pushed the button for the top floor.

The elevator smoothly rose higher and higher as the bell dinged for each floor they passed. The man watched the green numbers change on the screen from 48 to 49 to PH for penthouse. With a barely perceptible bump, the elevator stopped and the doors opened to a large entry way.

"Have a nice stay," the young man said. "Just don't stay too long before the registered guests get here."

"Don't worry," the man said. "I'll be gone before they arrive."

The doors quietly closed and the man was left in the room alone. He walked over to the large sliding doors that led to the outside balcony. The wind rushed past him as he opened the doors. He could hear the sounds of the city flowing up from below. Looking down, he saw the cars and people moving around like small ants. Unzipping the duffel bag, he pulled out one bill and let it go into the air. It floated slowly down, spinning uncontrollably in the wind. It took several minutes before it finally hit the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. He smiled slightly as it only took a few seconds for someone to see it and pick it up. They looked around quickly and then stuffed it into their pocket before continuing on their way.

"Now for some fun," he said as he picked up the open duffel bag and dumped the contents into the air. Like confetti, the money spilled out and drifted on the currents. One by one the bills hit the street, cars, people and everything else. As they saw the money everywhere, everyone quickly ran to grab what they could. Cars screeched to a halt as pedestrians darted in front of traffic to snatch another fifty. One vehicle didn't stop quick enough and the lady bounced off the window shield, cracking it and her at the same time. Another two grabbed for a twenty at the same time and a fist fight ensued, leaving one bloody and the other $20 richer. Within only a few minutes, pandemonium had set in and what at first seemed like a gift from heaven turned into a riot.

The man watched the scene below with hardly a spark of emotion in his eyes. Then, with resolution coming across his face, he stepped up onto the railing. He looked one more time to the chaos beneath him and then stepped off. As he fell, he thought of all the people below that would forget the money as they looked at the bloody and mangled body on the street. The windows rushed past him and within a few more seconds he hit the concrete below.

The next day the headlines told of a bank that was robbed. Clear pictures showed the man that held up the teller and demanded money from the vault. In another column it had an image of the same man dead in front of the 5-star hotel downtown. The bank was trying to collect the money that was distributed from the top floor of the hotel, but no one came forward. Soon, the story of the "high-rise bank robber" was forgotten and the money was circulated back through the economic system. The boy that received the 20 dollar bill for mowing his neighbor's lawn and quickly spent it on candy would never know that it came from the suicide of a man trying to prove a point to the world.

Unworthy

We walked far that day. I remember it well. There was much work to be done and we knew that the time was quickly shortening in which to do it.

The roads were dusty. They were always dusty. The dirt would billow under our sandals as we stepped, finding its way into almost every crevice imaginable. The grains of sand were so small, so seemingly insignificant, that I didn't think they would bother that much. But, as they continued to rub against the skin, blisters formed and eventually popped. The more we walked, the more my feet became accustomed to the abrasions. Soon, callouses took the place of the blisters.

Our footwear didn't help any. The thin leather sandals barely protected our soles from the hard, rocky ground. The straps wrapped tightly around the ankle and partway up the calf, almost cutting off the circulation to the foot. It was necessary this way, though. If not, the sandal would come loose and fall off.

I remember the end of that day. We were tired, but energized. We had worked hard and learned much. We came together for a special feast, for it was the Passover. I can still see the room we were in. The candles lit the walls with a glow that almost seemed angelic. The warm spring night air lightly blew in through the window causing the flames to move as if they were dancing.

The food was greatly welcomed as we hungrily filled our energy deprived bodies. I remember the conversations as if they were still playing in my mind. The words our friend spoke seemed so perfect, so true.

As we sat after the meal finished, he rose and walked over to the other side of the room. I saw him pick up a large basin, a towel and a pitcher of water. Since he was always teaching us lessons, I didn't think much of what he was doing. I was waiting for the real-life application as he put the basin down in front of me. I thought about what new insight I was about to receive as he poured the water. But then, my mind went blank as he reached for my foot.

What is he doing? I thought. Not my feet!

His hands wrapped gently around my ankle as he lifted it into the water. My mind raced as I tried to comprehend what he was doing. I couldn't let him touch my feet! They were hideous. They were dirty and calloused. They were unclean! I reached out to stop him, and he looked up at me with those loving eyes. I cared for him so much. How could I let him do such a thing? This was a job for servants or someone else of lower importance. Not him. Please, not him.

"Lord," I found myself saying. "Doest thou wash my feet?"

"What I doest thou knowest not now; but thou shat know hereafter," was his reply. There was a lesson to learn there, but I could not think straight. All I could focus on was his tender hands touching my filthy feet.

"Thou shalt never wash my feet," I said. I couldn't let him. This man of eternal power and authority could not stoop so low as to clean my feet.

"If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me," he said. I could hear the tender mercies in his voice. I started to see things a little differently. He must have been trying to cleanse me so that I could be with him and his Father. I thought back to my baptism and remembered the clean feeling I had when I came out of the river.

Maybe he's trying to cleanse me again, I thought. If that's the case, then he needs to do more than just my feet. "Lord, not my feet only," I concluded. "But also my hands and my head."

If he was going to make me clean, I needed it all.

"He that is washed needeth not save to wash his feet, but is clean every whit," were his words to me.

I sat there almost in disbelief as I watched him tenderly wipe the dirt away. Here was my teacher, my master, cleaning my dirty, filthy feet. I tried to think about the lesson he was trying to get through to me, but my mind was awhirl.

I'm sure I'll understand in time.

As he finished and moved on to the others there, I felt the now clean skin. Somehow I felt revived. I felt like I could walk a thousand miles and work a thousand years. I looked back to the loving man who had changed my life in so many ways. He looked back at me with those understanding eyes and I knew that even though I was unworthy, I would always follow him.

Freedom

This post may be a little bit more risque than my normal posts, but I wanted to try it out and see what reaction I got. Most would read it and think nothing of it. But for me, it's pushing the envelope. Hopefully, you enjoy.

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"Do you hear him?"

"Shh."

The two kids sat hunched in the tall grass, barely breathing. A slight breeze rustled through the weeds, chilling slightly the sweat that beaded on their foreheads from the humid night air.

"This grass is itchy," whispered the first.

"Shh!" hissed the second.

The clear sky shone bright with the stars. A waning moon being the only light around, their eyes were dilated fully. Thin shadows moved across the ground with the wind and toyed with the kids' imaginations.

"How long do we have to wait here? Can't we just go now?"

"Look, pussy, if you want to be a wimp, you can leave by yourself and see if you don't get caught."

"I'm telling you said a bad word."

"Whatever. If you're going to tell, then go. Just shut up!"

The younger of the two boys looked out away from his brother, not wanting to show his fear. They both stared through the grass, straining their eyes to see any glimpse of their target. The heat was starting to take its toll on their patience. The younger one signed just loud enough to show his annoyance, but quiet enough to be able to deny it if his brother said anything.

Suddenly, the elder boy's muscles tensed as a man appeared down the dirt road next to the field they were in. With the little light that there was, his features seemed distorted. His gait swaggered a little as he tried to walk down the lane. Even before he got close enough for the boys to smell the alcohol, they could tell he was drunk. He approached the spot where they were hiding and stopped. They both held their breath as the man loomed over them. The younger felt convinced that he saw them. Another minute and he would have turned and ran, but his own fear kept him from moving. Neither one dared look at the other. They both stared what seemed like straight up. His shirt hung loosely on his stout frame, damp from the sweat of his body. His belly hung over the belt on his jeans, protruding like a pregnant woman.

Just then, the boys could hear a soft zip sound. They watched as something came towards them and caught some of the light from the moon. As it hit the grass and passed through to the ground in an arcing motion, they both turned their eyes toward each other with a disgusted look as they realized what was happening. The urine reeked as it hit the ground in front of them, mixing with the dry earth. As more hit the newly made puddle, it splattered up onto the arms and legs of the boys as they knelt in silence.

After what seemed like an eternity, it stopped and the man zipped back up his pants. They strained their eyes to watch him as he walked away. They waited for a few more minutes after he left before they stood up and brushed themselves off.

"That was gross!" said the younger.

"Just one of many," sighed the elder.

They both looked down the road in the direction the man headed.

"What a dick," said the younger brother.

The other raised an eyebrow as he said, "What happened to your concern for bad language?"

"Doesn't matter anymore. I'm never going back home."

"You finally see it?"

"Yeah. Dad's a loser."

The elder brother laughed. "Well, that's one way to put it." He put his hand on his brother's shoulder as they turned around and headed away.

"So what now?"

"Look around you," said the elder. "Do you see any walls or barriers? Anyone waiting to beat you for any little thing that you do?"

"No."

"That's right. The world is ours now."

"Can I be the captain?" asked the smaller boy with excitement in his voice.

The older brother looked at him with a loving smile as he remember everything that they had been through in the their lives.

"Yeah," he said. "You can be whatever you want."