A STUDY IN LOVE 
by 
Nija Knight 
May, 2021 
Director of Thesis:  Luke Whisnant 
Major Department:  English 
 This thesis contains three original short stories all centered around the theme of love. 
Through this theme, I explored what it means to love yourself, love others, and love as it relates 
to Christianity. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
A STUDY IN LOVE 
 
 
A Thesis 
Presented To the Faculty of the Department of English 
East Carolina University 
 
 
In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree 
Master of Arts in English 
 
 
by 
Nija Knight 
May, 2021 
 
 
 
 
 
© Nija Knight, 2021
 
 
 
 
A Study in Love 
by 
Nija Knight 
Director of Thesis: ______________________________________________________________ 
Luke Whisnant, M.F.A 
Committee Member: ____________________________________________________________ 
Liza Wieland, Ph.D. 
Committee Member: ____________________________________________________________ 
Amber Thomas, M.F.A 
Chair of the Department of English: ________________________________________________ 
Marianne Montgomery, Ph.D. 
Dean of the Graduate School: _____________________________________________________ 
Paul J. Gemperline, Ph.D. 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
This thesis is dedicated to Aunt Bessie, Ka’Liyah, and Isis. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 
I would like to thank my parents and the English professors at East Carolina University 
for their continued support and guidance.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
CHAPTER 1:  REFLECTIONS ............................................................................................  1 
CHAPTER 2:  ANCHOR LEG .............................................................................................  16 
CHAPTER 3:  FAITH OF A MUSTARD SEED .................................................................  36 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Reflections 
 
“Today is going to be different,” Raymond said; he stood in front of his bedroom mirror. He 
tucked in his white dress shirt and pulled the zipper up on his navy-blue suit pants. He reached 
for his burgundy tie and wrapped it around his neck. 
 You really think you look good, don’t you? No one is going to compliment you on what 
you’re wearing; nobody cares. Raymond looked up and saw Ray’s reflection in the mirror. 
 “What do you want?” Raymond questioned. He straightened the knot of his tie and 
walked over to the shoe rack housing his dress shoes. 
 Hey, I’m just pointing out the obvious. No one has ever cared about you, Ray said. 
Raymond didn’t have to look at Ray to know that he had a lopsided grin on his face. 
 “I’m not wearing this to look good for anyone else,” Raymond said. “I just want to look 
professional.” 
 Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, you should wear your burgundy shoes instead of the 
navy-blue ones. Only a stupid person wouldn’t match their tie with their shoes. Look at this. 
 Raymond clenched his fists at his sides and inhaled deeply. After a few seconds, he 
turned around and looked at Ray. 
 How do I look? Ray asked. He spun around slowly with his arms outstretched at his sides. 
Raymond studied Ray’s identical navy-blue suit and burgundy tie. When Raymond looked down 
at Ray’s burgundy shoes, he knew he was right. Ray was always right.
 
 
 
 
 “I guess I’ll wear the burgundy ones,” Raymond said. He pulled the pair of shoes off the 
rack and placed them on the floor. 
 I’m glad you’re finally realizing that I’m never wrong. You should stop being stubborn 
and let me run the show. 
 Raymond ignored Ray and stepped into his shoes. Once he was fully dressed, he returned 
to the mirror and studied the final look.  
 We’ll be able to fool anyone with this look, Ray said. Raymond made eye contact with 
Ray in the mirror and saw the same lagoon-colored eyes that he despised since he was a child. 
Seeing and hearing Ray every single day was enough to drive him over the edge. 
 “Yeah,” Raymond said after a slight pause. Ray’s left eyebrow rose in question. 
 We don’t have all day, Ray said. Let’s get moving. 
 Raymond grabbed his wallet, cell phone, and checkbook off the nightstand. He picked up 
and pocketed his keys from the small dish on the table beside his front door and exited his 
apartment. Raymond didn’t bother locking it as he wasn’t planning to return. When he reached 
his small red 2003 Kia Spectra, he yanked the driver’s side door open and got in. Raymond 
buckled his seatbelt, put the key in the ignition, and cranked the engine. Looking to his right, 
Raymond came face-to-face with Ray. 
 There’s no turning back now, Ray said.  
 Raymond pulled out of his parking spot and headed in the direction of the highway. 
 
 2 
 
 
 
*** 
 
Fifty-three minutes later, Raymond parked his car in front of Hendrick Lexus Charlotte. He 
checked the time to make sure it was after seven-thirty in the morning. 
 You know, I have to give you credit, Ray said. Raymond noticed he had his feet up on the 
dash, and his arms were crossed over his chest. I still can’t believe you quit your job yesterday 
and went to the bank to transfer money. 
 “Weren’t you the one who told me to do it?” 
 I did, but this isn’t the first time I’ve told you. You’re not one to listen. 
 “Well, let’s just say I’m tired of fighting with you,” Raymond said. “We’re both getting 
what we want now.” 
 Ray hunched his shoulders and removed his feet from the dash. He vanished without a 
word.  
 Raymond shook his head and pulled down the sun visor. He scrubbed a hand over his 
face and ran his fingers through his chestnut-colored hair. Before he closed it, he checked his 
teeth and practiced a friendly smile. 
 “I’m ready,” he whispered to himself before getting out of his car. 
 “Good morning, sir,” the young, black-haired man said when Raymond entered the 
dealership. “What can I do for you today?” 
 3 
 
 
 
 “Good morning, Mr. James,” Raymond responded after seeing James’ nametag. He 
flashed his lopsided smile. “I’m interested in purchasing a 2019 Lexus LC 500. I talked with one 
of your salesmen on the phone yesterday and was told that you had one on the lot.” 
 Raymond saw James’ eyes glance in the direction of his old Kia. James cleared his throat. 
“Is that so?” 
 “Yes, sir,” Raymond said. 
 He doesn’t think you can afford it, Ray whispered into Raymond’s ear. Even with your 
fancy suit on, you still don’t fit in. 
 Of course, he doesn’t think I can afford it, Raymond thought. Two days ago, I wouldn’t 
even be standing here. 
 He knows you’re pathetic, Ray said. 
 James cleared his throat once more. “Mr.…” 
 “Raymond Kirkland.” 
 “Mr. Kirkland, I’m not sure if that’s the right car for you.” 
 “What a shame,” Raymond said. “And to think I was planning to purchase in full.” 
 James was attacked with a fit of coughs. “Purchase in full?” 
 “That’s right, but if you don’t think the car is for me, I’ll just have to reconsider and take 
my business elsewhere.” 
 4 
 
 
 
 “No, sir, Mr. Kirkland,” James quickly responded. “That’s not what I meant at all. Why 
don’t we take this meeting to my office?” 
 Raymond knew a phony smile adorned his lips. “That sounds more like it.” 
 It certainly does, Ray said. 
 James led Raymond through the showroom with white marble floors and took him to a 
medium-sized office with glass windows all around. Raymond glanced at the framed pictures of 
James presumably with his wife and children. 
 Sucks that you’ll never have a family, Ray said from behind him. Raymond took the seat 
on the opposite side of James’ desk. 
 You remind me of that every day, Ray, Raymond thought. You don’t have to keep doing it. 
 It’s better if you don’t cling to false hope, Ray said. 
 “So, Mr. Kirkland,” James started. “What made you want to purchase an LC 500? 
 “It has been my dream car for some time now. I figured now would be the perfect 
opportunity to treat myself to something nice.” 
 Why don’t you tell him the truth? Ray questioned. What would he think if he knew your 
actual plans? 
 “You know, I aspire to be like you in the future,” James said. He began pulling out forms 
and placing them on his desk.  
 HA, that’s total BS, Ray said. 
 5 
 
 
 
 “Would you shut up?” Raymond whispered. 
 “Excuse me, sir?” James said. 
 “You would be surprised what I had to go through to get to this point.” 
 “Of course, sir. Only a hardworking and determined man would be able to come to a 
dealership and purchase a car of this caliber out of pocket. I can only hope to do something 
similar in my 60s.” 
 He shouldn’t pump your head up like that, Ray said. He’s only saying it to make the sale. 
 “I almost forgot to ask,” James said, half laughing at his neglect. “Would you like to test 
drive the vehicle before you make your final decision? I can go get the keys.”  
 “That won’t be necessary,” Raymond responded. “I’m in kind of a hurry.” 
 “Of course, sir,” James said. “Let’s get these papers signed.”  He pulled out two pens and 
continued adding papers to the stack. “Since you’re paying in full, we won’t have to run a credit 
check or calculate figures. I’ll need your insurance information and a valid driver’s license.” 
 Raymond began gathering the documents. “Is there anything else you’ll need?” 
 “Will you be trading in your Kia?” 
 
*** 
 
 6 
 
 
 
Despite James’ best efforts, Raymond didn’t leave Hendrick Lexus Charlotte until after one. 
Now, he flew down the highway with the top down on his brand-new LC 500. He’d entered 
Topsail Island into the GPS and was on his way.  
 This car drives like a dream, doesn’t it? Ray said. Raymond scoffed at Ray wearing the 
same aviator sunglasses as him. 
 “I wouldn’t have bought the car if it didn’t,” Raymond said. 
 Are you getting smart with me? Do I need to remind you who- 
 “That’s uncalled-for,” Raymond interrupted. “You’re me.” 
 If we’re being technical about it, I’m the better part of you. 
 Raymond looked into his side-view mirror before switching lanes. “I wouldn’t say you’re 
the better part of me.” 
 I’m the strongest part of you. You wouldn’t know how to function if I weren’t here. 
 “Without you, I wouldn’t have contemplated committing suicide for most of my life,” 
Raymond said.  
 Ray turned his head and looked at the passing scenery. I just tell you like it is. Why should 
I lie to you? Why would you want me to create a false sense of happiness? 
 “What’s wrong with me being happy?” Raymond countered. “Why should I be 
depressed?” 
 I don’t have an answer for you, Raymond.  
 7 
 
 
 
 Raymond and Ray sat in silence. The wind whipped Raymond’s hair haphazardly around 
his head, and he inhaled deeply. 
 “Will it ever get easier?” Raymond asked no one in particular. 
 You won’t have to worry about it after tonight. We won’t even remember. 
 “You’re right,” Raymond said. He nodded his head and added a bit of pressure to his 
right foot on the gas pedal. “After tonight, we won’t have to think about anything else.” 
 Raymond continued driving down the highway. He turned up the music and bobbed his 
head to the beat. Ray shot him a crooked smile and rested his head on the headrest. 
 
*** 
 
Daddy Mac’s Beach Grille? Ray asked after Raymond pulled into the parking lot and flipped the 
switch to put the top back on the car.  
 “It looks like a decent restaurant. Figured I’d at least have my last meal.” Raymond rolled 
up the windows and exited the vehicle. The air was cooler now that he’d arrived on the island. 
The sun slowly sunk and caused purple hues to dance over the water. Raymond breathed in the 
salty air and enjoyed the evening breeze. 
 It’s too bad that I can’t eat anything. I should be able to participate in our final 
festivities. 
 8 
 
 
 
 Ignoring him, Raymond entered the restaurant and waited to be seated. The small 
building was packed with people, and the sound of laughter vibrated against Raymond’s skin. 
Jealousy hit him so hard that he unconsciously balled up his fists. He stared at the small family 
having dinner in a corner booth. 
 “Welcome to Daddy Mac’s Beach Grille. Would you like to be seated indoors or 
outdoors, darling?” A small woman with short blonde hair and baby blue eyes stood behind the 
waitress stand.  
 Focusing on the waitress, Raymond answered, “Outdoors. I’d love a nice view of the 
beach.” 
 “You got it, hun,” the waitress said. She grabbed a menu and led Raymond to the outside 
deck. Finding a suitable table, the waitress placed the menu on top of it, grabbed silverware from 
her apron and sat it down, and retrieved her pen and notepad. “May I take your drink order while 
you decide on what you’ll have?” 
 Raymond sat down and quickly flipped to the beverage section on the menu. “Sure, can I 
just have an iced tea with extra lemons?” 
 “You don’t want to try our Sea Turtle Mojito? It’s a crowd favorite.” 
 Why not get drunk tonight? Ray asked, appearing in an empty seat at the table. We don’t 
have anything to lose. 
 “No, thanks,” Raymond said. “As you can see, I’m here alone and don’t have a 
designated driver.” 
 9 
 
 
 
 “Ah shoot,” the waitress said. “There I go running my mouth again. I’ll go get you that 
sweet tea. Take your time with the menu, sug.” The waitress scurried to the door and disappeared 
behind the glass. 
 See, you made her feel awkward, Ray said. You probably ruined the rest of her night. 
 It wasn’t that serious, Raymond thought. I wasn’t trying to come off as rude. 
 You should apologize to her once she comes back, Ray said. That’s why people don’t like 
you. 
 Raymond opened up his menu but didn’t focus on the words. Instead, he thought about 
what Ray had said. 
 “Here’s your sweet tea, sweetie,” the waitress said. “Are you ready to order?” 
 Her sudden return made Raymond jolt in surprise. “Actually, I wanted to apologize for 
earlier. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.” 
 The waitress laughed. “There’s no reason to say ‘sorry,’ hun. I should’ve used my brain.” 
 See, she believed that you called her dumb, Ray said while he shook his head. How can 
you live with yourself? 
 Raymond laughed nervously and randomly pointed to the first thing he saw on the menu. 
“I’ll take this, please.” 
 The waitress craned her neck to see what Raymond had selected. “Shrimp and Grits? 
Great choice!” 
 10 
 
 
 
 You hate grits, Ray said with a snicker. 
 “Can I get you anything else?”  
 “No, thank you,” Raymond mumbled, causing Ray to start laughing harder. 
 “All right, darling. It should be out in fifteen or twenty minutes. If you need anything 
else, just give me a holler.” 
 “Thanks,” Raymond said to her retreating back. 
 Let’s see how much you’ll enjoy your final meal, Ray said; his eyes gleamed under the 
fluorescent lights. 
 You mean our last meal, Raymond thought. He watched as the smile slowly slid off of 
Ray’s face, and Raymond felt a twinge of pleasure in his heart. 
 
*** 
 
At eight-thirteen, Raymond drove to one of the many beaches and illegally parked his Lexus near 
the shore. He watched as the dark waves ebbed and flowed; the few remaining seagulls 
squawked in the distance and many beachgoers were headed home. Raymond pulled out his cell 
phone and halfhearted looked through his notifications. He already knew that no one had tried to 
contact him-no one ever did. 
 Why don’t you check Sammie’s profile one last time before you go? For old times’ sake. 
 11 
 
 
 
 “It’s like you want me to suffer,” Raymond said. 
 You said you love her. Don’t you want her face to be the last thing you see? 
 Obliging him, Raymond opened his Instagram app and searched for the all too familiar 
account. He instantly regretted it when the first picture he saw was Sammie smiling lovingly at 
her new husband. Her wheat-colored hair flowed in waves down her back, and her husband had 
his arms wrapped around her waist.  
 Look at how happy she is, Ray began. Remember when she told you you made her 
miserable? Remember how much that hurt you? 
 “She never said the word ‘miserable,’” Raymond said, thinking back on Sammie and his 
final conversation. “She said she didn’t know how to help me or make things work, which in turn 
made her unhappy.” 
 Same difference, Ray said, tsking at Raymond. It hasn’t even been a year yet and she’s 
already moved on. You’re easy to forget. 
 Raymond dropped his phone in the cupholder and got out of his car. He emptied his 
pockets and took off his shoes and suit jacket. 
 Just think about how free you’ll be, how liberating the water will feel. 
 Raymond slowly walked to the edge of the shore and let the water soak through his dress 
pants. His feet sunk into the squishy sand and he wiggled his toes. 
 “You’re coming with me, right?” he asked Ray. 
 I told you I would, Ray said. I’m the only one you can depend on. 
 12 
 
 
 
 Raymond took a step into the water. Moving forward, he didn’t stop until the water was 
at his waist. 
 If we’re lucky, no one will find us, Ray said. What’s the point in having a funeral when no 
one would even show up? 
 Raymond exhaled deeply and continued walking. When the water reached his neck, 
Raymond began swimming. The waves were hard to swim through, but he managed. He didn’t 
bother looking back at the shore because he feared he’d want to go back. Ray floated beside him. 
 You should swim further out. Keep going until you can’t feel the bottom of the ocean. 
Keep going until there’s only you and me. 
 Raymond pushed forward; he didn’t stop swimming until his chest burned and his arms 
ached in protest. 
 That’s it, Ray said. Now, let the waves take you. 
 A wave crashed over Raymond and caused him to hold his breath. The weight of it 
pushed him down, and he began swimming upwards. When Raymond broke through the surface 
and gasped for air, Ray stared at him in disbelief.  
 What the hell do you think you’re doing? Ray yelled.  
 Raymond coughed and flailed his arms and legs about. Another wave shoved him down 
before he had a chance to hold his breath. 
 Don’t fight it, Raymond heard Ray say. Fighting is useless; you’re useless. 
 13 
 
 
 
 Still throwing his arms around, Raymond felt his lungs burning from the exertion. He 
thought about his mother when she had bought him a red velvet cake for his fifth birthday. 
Raymond struggled to blow out the candles and she had laughed until her stomach hurt. Her 
laugh was his favorite sound.  
 Finding the strength to resurface, Raymond heaved and tried to breathe. 
 You think you can renege on me? Do you think I’ll let you live after everything we’ve 
been through? Ray disappeared and Raymond was jerked harshly underwater. Panicked, 
Raymond looked down and realized Ray was dragging him down by his right foot. Ray sent him 
a menacing smile and tightened his grip on his leg. 
 I’ll be the anchor that keeps you here. 
 Raymond let out a silent scream and fought to free himself from Ray’s grasp. He 
repeatedly kicked his feet. Visions of his mother and Sammie devastated at his funeral made him 
strain. How could I leave them with that guilt? he frantically thought. Don’t I love myself enough 
to want to live? I want to live!  
 Using the last bit of energy he possessed, Raymond kicked out his foot and broke the 
connection. He swam until he broke the ocean’s surface for the last time. Raymond turned over 
on his back and floated until he’d conserved enough energy to find and swim to a nearby buoy. 
He climbed onto it and prayed that someone would find him. Exhausted, he fell into a fitful 
sleep. 
 
*** 
 14 
 
 
 
 
The blaring sound of a horn startled Raymond awake. He nearly threw himself off the buoy 
before he remembered his surroundings. The sun’s rays reflecting off of the water caused him to 
squint his eyes. 
 “Hey, mister,” someone on a boat said through a megaphone. “Are you okay? Are you 
hurt?” The boat came closer, and Raymond realized that it belonged to the local lifeguards. 
 “I-I’m fine,” Raymond croaked. His throat felt like the inside had been rubbed with 
sandpaper, and all of his limbs were as limp as the seaweed floating beside the buoy. Even in this 
state, Raymond was thankful to be alive. 
 One of the lifeguards reached out his hand, and Raymond clutched it as though it was last 
his lifeline. When he was safely on board, he dropped to his knees and remained on all fours; he 
marveled at the sensation of having something solid underneath him. 
 “Sir,” someone else said, “I’m going to check you out, okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” 
 Raymond expected to hear Ray’s voice criticizing him, but it never came. Stunned, 
Raymond searched for Ray’s ominous presence. The feeling was completely gone. 
 “I’m free?” Raymond whispered. 
    “Sir?” 
 The corner of Raymond’s lips lifted upward, and a toothy smile settled on his face. “My 
pesky reflection is gone.”
 15 
 
 
 
Anchor Leg 
 
“On your mark. Get set.” 
 At the sound of the pistol, Destiny experienced a familiar adrenaline rush that made her 
knees weak and her fingertips tingle. Shaking her hands and jumping in place, Destiny inhaled 
deeply through her nostrils and exhaled through her mouth. She grabbed the toe of her left Nike 
sprinter spike and pulled her foot up until the heel touched her butt. She ignored the dull pain she 
felt in her knee and proceeded to do the same thing with her right foot.  
“Golden Gate in lane two has successfully handed off the baton,” the female announcer 
said. “Hampton U in lane three is close behind.” 
 “One,” Destiny whispered to herself as she watched the handoff between Tara and 
Kimberly. She stretched to her left, careful to stay in her lane. Peering at the runner in lane one, 
Destiny noticed the tension in her shoulders. Feeling the tension in her own shoulders, Destiny 
rolled them down and felt the muscles relax. She blew her black bangs out of her face and 
focused once more on her teammate. She caught a glimpse of Kimberly approaching Whitley in 
the changeover box.    
 “Golden Gate still in first after the second handoff,” the commentator said. 
 “Two,” Destiny whispered. She dropped down and lightly placed her hands on the track. 
The muscles in her legs bunched as she braced herself and got into position. As Whitley 
approached her, she pushed off the ground and used the momentum to begin running. Reaching 
  
 
 
 
backward with her right hand, Destiny wrapped her fingers around the baton Whitley offered and 
clutched it.  
 Me, she thought as she went into a full sprint. Destiny couldn’t hear anything but the 
sound of her own ragged breath and the slap, slap, slap of her sprinting spikes hitting the ground. 
Keeping her eyes on the finish line, Destiny completely tuned out the runners to her left and her 
right. She pumped her arms and ran as fast as she could, and she didn’t stop until she knew she 
had crossed the finish line. Slowing down to a jog, Destiny let the cheers from the crowd wash 
over her. She checked the scoreboard to confirm what she already knew: Golden Gate had won 
the semi-finals, and they were headed to the national championship. She placed her hands on her 
hips and fought to catch her breath.  
 “We did it,” Destiny heard Tara exclaim before she felt the increased weight on her back. 
Tara wrapped her arms around Destiny’s neck and locked her legs around her hips. 
 “Tara, you’re going to smother me,” Destiny said. She laughed while she struggled to pry 
Tara off. 
 “You know,” Kimberly started to say from behind, “if you kill our anchor, we’ll 
definitely lose the championship, right?” Destiny and Tara both craned their necks around to see 
Kimberly approaching with Whitley. Kimberly forged a scoff and looked directly at Tara. 
 “You do have a point,” Tara said, releasing Destiny from her grasp. “Our anchor is pretty 
important.”  
 The four ladies laughed and gathered into a celebratory group hug. When they finished, 
they made their way over to Coach Peterson. 
 17 
 
 
 
 “Hell yeah, ladies!” Coach Peterson said. “That’s what I’m talking about.” She high-
fived Whitley and placed her arm around Destiny’s shoulders. “That was one hell of a handoff 
between you two.” She turned her attention to Tara and Kimberly. “You two were in sync with 
each other. I couldn’t be prouder of the work y’all put in as a team today.” 
 “Thanks, Coach P.” Whitley used her arm to wipe the sweat from her brow. 
 “Thanks, Coach,” Tara said, “I tried to do what you showed me during practice.” 
 “I did notice a few areas that require a bit of improvement before the championship,” 
Coach Peterson said, “but we’ll discuss that on Monday.” 
 Thank God, Destiny thought. With the adrenaline rush dying down, the dull ache in her 
knee had turned into a persistent throb. She had to force herself to apply pressure on her left side. 
She pretended to examine the half-empty stands so that no one would see her grimace.  
 “We’ll also go over your individual and team stats on Monday,” Coach Peterson 
continued. “In the meantime, Tara and Kimberly, you two should get warmed up for the 
hurdles.” She studied her clipboard. “Hampton U’s runners are pretty good, but your individual 
times are faster than theirs. I’m expecting good results from both of you.”  
 “Yes, ma’am,” Tara said. She grabbed Kimberly’s wrist and tried to drag her away. 
 Kimberly dug her heels into the ground which caused her box braids to whip in her face. 
She looked down at Tara’s fingers clamped around her wrist. “What did I tell you about physical 
contact?”  
“Argument incoming,” Whitley whispered to Destiny and Coach Peterson when Tara 
released her hold on Kimberly and took a step back. 
 18 
 
 
 
“We’ve been roommates since freshman year,” Tara said. She blew a stray brown curl 
out of her face. “Look at Destiny and Whitley. They get along just fine.” 
“What do we have to do with this conversation?” Destiny questioned. Whitley agreed 
with her.  
“Last time I checked, I’m not Des or Whit,” Kimberly stated, examining her red 
fingernails. 
Tara pouted and went to grab Kimberly again. “Oh, c’mon Kim. Des and Whit seem 
more like sisters than roommates. I just want us to be as close as them.” 
Destiny walked over to Whitley and lightly punched her in the arm. “Tara does have a 
point there, Kim.” 
 “Ladies, ladies,” Coach Peterson interjected, “sorry to interrupt this ‘family’ moment 
you’re having but Tara and Kimberly need to get ready for the hurdles.” She pointed to the 
section of the track where the metal hurdles had been carefully put into position. “Let’s go.” 
 Tara’s pout deepened when Coach Peterson stood between her and Kimberly. Destiny 
laughed at their retreating backs. 
 “Want to go sit in the bleachers over there?” Whitley pointed to the navy blue stands 
across the track. “We’ll be able to watch them compete.” 
 Destiny felt her knee ache in protest. “Actually, I think I’m going to have to miss their 
race. I didn’t get to use the bathroom between the sprint or the relay, and you know how weak 
my bladder is.” 
 19 
 
 
 
 Whitley scrunched up her nose. “Yeah, you use the bathroom every fifteen minutes.” 
 “You’re exaggerating.” 
 “Whatever you say, Des,” Whitley said. “I’ll be over there in those stands. Find me when 
you’re done.” 
 Destiny agreed before turning and making her way to the locker room entrance. Opening 
the door, she hobbled her way inside and flopped down on the bench closest to the locker her 
stuff occupied. When she placed a hand on her left knee, she could feel the heat and knew that it 
would soon swell. Destiny opened her locker and grabbed her red and gold track bag. Reaching 
inside, she found her iPhone and dialed her father’s phone number. 
 “Destiny,” her father said, answering on the second ring. “How was the race? Did you 
work on your blind handoff with Whitley? Did you pump your arms the way I showed you the 
last time you came home?” 
 Destiny sighed. “Hello to you too, Dad.” She took the phone from her ear, turned the 
speakerphone on, and placed it on the bench beside her. Destiny heard her father chip his teeth. 
 “How was the race?” he asked again. 
 “We came in first place.” 
 “I knew you would. I knew you would make it to the championship.” Destiny heard her 
father clapping in the background. “Next step is winning the championship and applying for the 
Olympic Trials.” 
 Not this again, Destiny thought. “But Dad—” 
 20 
 
 
 
 “This upcoming week is going to be a busy one,” her father continued without hearing 
her. “Should I come and talk to Coach Peterson? Should I hire a personal trainer? Do you need 
new sprinting spikes?” 
 “Dad,” Destiny said a bit louder. “We have to win the championship first. Don’t get too 
ahead of yourself.” 
 “Too ahead of myself? We’ve been dreaming about this moment since you were five.” 
 You’ve been dreaming about this moment since I was five. “Yeah,” Destiny said while 
rubbing a hand over her face. “I guess you’re right.” 
 “Just imagine how proud your mom would be watching you make the Olympic team. 
How proud she would be knowing that you’re following her footsteps.” 
 Destiny didn’t realize she had begun to cry until she felt the first tear land on her arm. 
She knew that her mother would be proud of her; Destiny believed that no matter what she 
decided to do, her mother would have supported her. What would her mother have done if she 
knew Destiny didn’t like running; if she knew that Destiny only ran to please her father? 
 “Destiny,” her father said after the long pause, “are you still there?” 
 “Yeah, Dad, I’m here.” Destiny wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. 
 “You must be tired,” he said. “I’ll give Coach Peterson a call on Monday. You just worry 
about resting and getting ready for the championship.” 
 Defeated, Destiny said, “Sure thing, Dad. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up the phone 
and let the conversation play over in her mind. Forgetting the pain she felt in her left knee, she 
 21 
 
 
 
pulled both knees up to her chest and rested her chin on top of them. She let the tears flow freely 
and wondered why things turned out the way they did.  
 
*** 
 
On Monday morning, Destiny arrived at the Golden Gate University track and field complex 
thirty minutes early. Practice wasn’t scheduled to start until seven o’clock, but she wanted to do 
some extra stretching and warming up. Saturday’s relay and sprint had left her knee swollen and 
sore. After competing and returning to the hotel that night, Destiny had soaked her knee in the 
bathtub for two hours (which Whitley had questioned) and took her trusty painkillers. When she 
was sure that Whitley was asleep, Destiny had hurriedly put on her worn black knee brace and an 
icy-hot patch. By Sunday night, Destiny had managed to get the pain down to a tolerable level. 
   Just one more week, Destiny thought as she sat down on the ground and spread her legs 
apart. She reached for her right foot. I just need to make it through this last week. She winced 
and said “ouch” when she reached for her left foot. 
“Des, you’re here early,” Whitley called out from down the track. Destiny’s head 
snapped up when she heard her voice. 
“So are you,” Destiny said, trying to cover the pain with a smile.  
Whitley dropped her workout bag on a nearby bench. “Are you okay? Is something 
wrong?” 
 22 
 
 
 
“Of course not,” Destiny lied. “I’m fine. What’re you doing here so early? I thought you 
were still asleep in your room.” 
Whitley eyed her before saying, “I wanted to clear my mind and reflect on Saturday’s 
competition. I feel like I do my best thinking out here on the track.” 
“Same,” Destiny said. She pulled her legs in and did the butterfly stretch. While she held 
her position, she watched Whitley begin lunging. 
“Hey, Whit,” Destiny said after a few minutes of silence. 
“Yeah?” 
“Why did you start running?” Destiny questioned. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you 
why.” 
Whitley paused mid-stretch. “Why did I start running? I guess I started because of my 
older brother.” 
“Does he also run track?” 
“No,” Whitley replied. “When we were younger, we would also race each other. He 
didn’t believe me when I said I was faster than him. Even though I wasn’t, I was determined to 
prove him wrong. Honestly, I ended up loving the race and now I’m here.” 
Destiny twisted her body to stretch her back muscles. “I would’ve never guessed that’s 
how you got started.” 
“What about you?” Whitley asked. 
 23 
 
 
 
“Running is all I know,” Destiny said matter-of-factly. “My mom ran in high school and 
college. It was her dream to make the Olympic Team.”  
“Was?” Destiny heard the pity in Whitley’s voice and avoided her eyes. 
“She was killed in a car accident a couple of months before the trials. She didn’t get to 
fulfill her dream, so I’ve decided to do it for her.” Destiny grabbed her right elbow and pulled it 
across her chest. 
“I’m so sorry, Des. We don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to.” 
Destiny smiled at Whitley and reached over to pull her brown ponytail. “It’s fine, Whit. 
I’m just trying to make my parents proud. After my mom died, I wanted to make my dad happy. 
Running seemed to mean a lot to him so I feel like I’m helping our family.” 
Whitley pulled Destiny into an unexpected hug. “That’s why you’re my best friend.” 
Destiny playful pushed her off and continued with her stretching. “Alright, alright. 
Enough of all the mushy stuff.” 
Whitley laughed. “Feel like doing some partner stretches?”   
“Y-yeah,” Destiny said after a moment of hesitation. “Sure, I’m down.” 
“Why don’t we start with a hamstring stretch?” Whitley suggested. “I always find it hard 
to stretch mine on my own.” 
Oh no, Destiny thought to herself. What am I going to do? “Sounds like a plan,” she said. 
Whitley sat down beside her. “Des, lie down on your back and give me your left leg.” 
 24 
 
 
 
Destiny reclined until she felt the track against her back. She kicked her left leg up until it 
rested on Whitley’s shoulder. Destiny involuntarily balled her fists when Whitley placed a hand 
on her knee and applied pressure. Whitley began to slowly push Destiny’s leg in the direction of 
her head. The movement caused tears to gather in Destiny’s eyes, and she bit her bottom lip to 
keep from yelling out in pain. It wasn’t until Whitley put more weight on Destiny’s leg that she 
shrieked and repeatedly tapped her shoulder. 
“Oh my god,” Destiny screamed. “It hurts so bad.” 
Shocked, Whitley carefully placed Destiny’s leg on the ground. “What did I do? Should I 
go get help?” 
“No,” Destiny said while she gripped her knee. “Just give me a minute.” Destiny 
squeezed her eyes shut and willed the throbbing in her knee to stop. The pain had her on the 
brink of passing out.  
“I should tell Coach P,” Whitley said, standing to her feet. “We need to get the team 
doctor to look at you.” 
“I said no.” Destiny let go of her knee and lunged for Whitley’s legs. “If you tell anyone 
about this, I’ll never forgive you. I told you I’m fine. I know my body better than anyone.” 
Destiny’s outburst surprised Whitley and she lapsed into silence. It took her some time to 
process what was said. Whitley looked down at Destiny’s arms wrapped around her legs. Destiny 
dropped her arms and stood to her feet. 
“Trust me, Whit,” Destiny begged. “We’re so close to winning the national 
championship.” 
 25 
 
 
 
“But–,” Whitley started before being cut off by Destiny. 
“I swear I’ll get my knee checked after the championship. The team needs me, and you 
know it. I’m the best anchor that we have.” 
Whitley shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t think you should run if your knee is hurting 
that bad.” 
“But it was my mom’s dream. It’s all my dad talks about. I can do this, I swear.” 
“I’m not in a position to tell you what to do, but I’m your best friend and I care about 
you.” 
“I know you do,” Destiny said. “As my best friend, you should support me no matter 
what. If you were in a similar situation, I would do the same for you.” 
“You can’t be serious.” 
“I’m dead serious.” 
Whitley stared at Destiny before taking a step back. “I won’t say anything to Coach P.” 
“Thanks for understanding, Whit.” Destiny held out her arms and tried to hug Whitley. 
“But I won’t be responsible if something happens to you,” Whitley, crossing her arms. 
“Destiny, Whitley,” Kimberly called from the entrance of the field, “you’re both here 
already? Where’s Tara? I thought she was here since she left the suite before I did.” 
 26 
 
 
 
“I haven’t seen her,” Whitley said, still staring at Destiny. “Practice is about to start. I’ll 
help you go look for her.” Whitley turned without saying another word to Destiny, and Destiny 
watched her walk away.  
 
*** 
 
By Friday night, Destiny had had just about enough of the tension between her and Whitley. 
Whitley had been giving her the silent treatment, and Destiny was sure the rest of the team had 
noticed that something was off between them. Things were considerably worse at practice; 
Whitley and Destiny were having a hard time communicating and successfully passing the baton 
to one another. Blind handoffs were an absolute nightmare and for the first time, Destiny found 
herself dropping the baton. As the team practiced on the track for the last time before the 
championship, Coach Peterson threw her clipboard and timer to the ground. 
“What the hell are you two doing,” she shouted from the sidelines. A few members from 
opposing teams looked in their direction. “You call that a handoff?” 
Destiny stopped running and jogged back to where the team huddled in a loose circle. 
She bent over and tried to catch her breath. 
“I don’t know what’s gotten into the two of you, but this is unacceptable,” Coach 
Peterson said. “Where’s the chemistry? The communication? Where’s the teamwork?” Coach 
Peterson looked at the girls expectantly. When no one responded, she continued. “When I ran 
 27 
 
 
 
track, we relied on teamwork and if I was having problems, I went straight to my teammates and 
coach. We’re supposed to be a family.” 
When Destiny finally stood up, she saw Whitley eyeing her. She stared back. 
“I don’t know what it is,” Kimberly spoke up, “but I’m getting sick of it.” 
“Me too,” Tara agreed. “The championship’s tomorrow and we’re going to lose if you 
two keep this up.” 
“Who says you’re going to lose? You know losing isn’t in our vocabulary. 
“We’re not going to lose if Whitley hands me the baton like she’s supposed to,” Destiny 
countered. She sent a pointed look in Whitley’s direction. 
“Really?” Whitley retorted. “Well maybe if you ran faster, we would actually place 
tomorrow. You and your knee––” 
“Need to win the championship is placing high expectations on the team.” Destiny 
quickly interrupted Whitley and went to stand at her side. “As team captain, I know that I can be 
intense at times.” 
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Whitley said, turning to Coach Peterson. “She’s––” 
Destiny reached down and secretly pinched her arm. Whitley scowled at Destiny and she stopped 
talking. 
“Whatever the problem may be,” Coach Peterson said, “I expect you two to put it aside 
and perform like you’re supposed to tomorrow. Your team is counting on you and so is the 
Golden Gate community. I don’t know what else to say to you all. Practice dismissed.” Coach 
 28 
 
 
 
Peterson reached down and picked up her discarded clipboard and timer. “Destiny, I’d like to 
have a word with you before you go.” 
“Okay,” Destiny said, following behind Coach Peterson. When they walked far enough 
away from the rest of the team, Coach Peterson cleared her throat. 
“Your dad has been talking to me about the upcoming Olympic Trials.” 
Destiny felt a knot form in her stomach. “Has he? Isn’t it still a bit too early to be 
discussing that?” 
“I did tell him that, but he was pretty persistent.” 
“That’s my dad,” Destiny muttered. 
“I’ve been watching your stats for this season and I think you have a strong chance of 
qualifying. If you’re serious about trying out, I’m more than willing to help.” 
“I haven’t given it much thought,” Destiny lied. “I don’t think I’m ready to compete in 
the Olympics.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. 
Coach Peterson placed an encouraging hand on her shoulder. “I wouldn’t be saying this 
to you if I wasn’t confident in your abilities. I’ve seen your growth as a runner, and I can see 
your passion for running. How about you start thinking about it after the championship is over. 
We’ll discuss it then.” 
Destiny shook her head. “That works for me.” Maybe I’ll be able to find a way to get out 
of doing it. Would my knee be able to handle all that? 
 29 
 
 
 
“Why don’t you head back with the team? I’m going to go talk to Staton U’s coach 
before we go back to the hotel.” 
“Okay,” Destiny said. She turned around and walked back to her teammates. When she 
reached them, Tara immediately questioned her. 
“Spill,” Tara said, looking from Destiny to Whitley. 
“There’s nothing to tell,” Destiny said, plastering on a fake smile. “It’s just the stress of 
knowing that the relay is tomorrow.”  
“Destiny,” Kimberly said. “You must think we’re stupid.” 
“I’m serious,” Destiny replied. “I’m headed back to our hotel room so that I can rest. See 
you tomorrow.” She left the group and went to go pick up her things. She turned around and 
waved at her teammates before leaving. 
 
*** 
 
On the day of the championship, the team silently changed into their red and gold uniforms in the 
locker room. Destiny pulled out her headphones and listened to music until it was time to go to 
the track.  
 “This is it,” Coach Peterson said to the team as they waited to get in position. “We’ve 
spent all season preparing for this moment. I can’t go out there and run this race for you. You 
have to want this win for yourself. You have to rely on each other.” 
 30 
 
 
 
 “Runners to your positions,” the announcer said over the loudspeakers. 
 “Bring them in,” Coach Peterson said before placing her hand in the center of the circle. 
The girls hesitated before following suit. 
 “One, two, three, Devils,” they chanted.  
 Destiny made her way to the anchor position. For a quick second, she relished in the 
sound of the crowd and welcomed the charged atmosphere.    
“On your mark. Set.” 
Time for Destiny seemed to pass slowly as she bounced up and down on her tippytoes. 
She felt her heartbeat knock against her chest; the blood drained from her head and left her 
feeling lightheaded. She shook her hands to get rid of the chill she felt in her fingertips. When 
she glanced to her right, the runner took her time stretching her body to the left. 
“One,” Destiny said to herself as she watched Tara and Kimberly make a clean exchange. 
She lunged forward and stretched her hip flexors.  
“Staton U is in first, Golden Gate in hot pursuit,” the announcer said.   
 “Two,” Destiny whispered when Kimberly reached Whitley. Her knees buckled when she 
bent down and touched the ground. Just like she’d practiced countless times, she began running 
when she knew Whitley was close. Blindly, she reached back and grasped the baton that Whitley 
shoved into her hand.  
“Me,” she said as she broke out into a full sprint. In the corner of her eye, she saw Staton 
U’s anchor coming up beside her. Forcing herself to run faster, Destiny completely shut out the 
 31 
 
 
 
agonizing pain that attacked her knee every time her left foot smacked the ground. All she could 
see was the finish line and the bright yellow ribbon that marked her goal. As they drew nearer, 
Destiny leaned the top half of her body forward and swung her arms behind her. This time, she 
didn’t have to see the scoreboard to know that she had won the race. Continuing with her 
forward momentum, she ran a bit farther on the track. She smiled at the crowd and waved at the 
Golden Gate fans.  
Destiny felt her left knee pop. Pain gave way to a numbing sensation that traveled up and 
down her leg. She fell to the ground and rolled until she hit something hard. The back of her 
head smacked the track.  
 
*** 
 
When Destiny finally came to, she found herself lying in a hospital bed. She heard someone 
crying softly to her right, and someone tightly gripped her left hand. She protested and tried to 
pull it free before slowly opening her eyes. 
“Des?” Tara said, letting go of her hand. “Let me go get the doctor.” Tara ran from the 
room, and Kimberly took her place. 
“What were you thinking?” Kimberly said with tears in her eyes. “I should really kill 
you.” 
“No,” Coach Peterson said. “I should be the one who kills her. Thank God you’re alright. 
How could you do this to yourself?” 
 32 
 
 
 
“Sorry, Coach,” Destiny whispered. She couldn’t look her in the eyes. 
“Do you know what you put me through?” Coach Peterson continued. “Do you know 
how hard it was to call your father and explain to him how you ended up in the hospital with a 
concussion and a busted knee? He’s eight hours away from here.” 
Destiny grabbed Coach Peterson’s hand. “You didn’t call him, did you? Please tell me he 
doesn’t know.” 
“Of course, she called me,” Destiny's father said from the door.  
“Dad,” Destiny whispered. 
He walked over and pulled her into a hug. Coach Peterson ushered Kimberly and Whitley 
out of the room. 
Once he let her go, her father said, “It was incredibly irresponsible for you to run when 
you knew you were in pain. You know that right?” 
“Yes,” Destiny said. 
“What was the purpose? The doctor said that from your x-rays, your knee has been torn 
for months. Months, Destiny.” 
“I wanted to make you proud. I knew that running was the only way you felt close to 
mom. I didn’t want you to give that part of her up.” 
“Do you think you suffering injuries is worth something so meaningless? You shouldn’t 
be sacrificing your body to do something just to please me.” 
 33 
 
 
 
“But the Olympics—” 
“Mean absolutely nothing to me,” her father said. He squeezed Destiny’s hand. 
Destiny began to sob. “Oh god, Dad. What did I do?” 
While Destiny cried, a doctor in a white lab coat came in and stood at the foot of the bed.    
“Hello, Destiny,” said the doctor. He offered her his hand. “My name is Dr. Shelton.” 
Destiny placed her hand in his and shook it. 
“There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you and your father,” he said. 
The tone of his voice sent a wave of nausea through her stomach. Destiny responded by 
shaking her head.  
“How long has your knee been hurting you?” 
“A few months,” Destiny said. Dr. Shelton shook his head while looking at his notes. 
“I see,” Dr. Shelton said. “From the looks of your x-ray, your meniscus has been torn for 
quite some time.” 
“So,” Destiny’s father said. “What’s going to happen to it? Now that the season’s over, 
she’ll be able to rest as much as she needs to.” 
Dr. Shelton looked at Destiny’s father and then look at Destiny with an unreadable 
expression. “Destiny, an injury this severe is going to require surgery and months of 
rehabilitation.” 
 34 
 
 
 
“S-surgery?” Destiny stuttered. “Rehabilitation? But I’m the captain of the track team. 
Next year is my last year at Golden Gate. I need to be on the field.” 
Dr. Shelton took her hand in his. “Destiny, there’s a possibility that you’ll never be able 
to sprint again.”  
Destiny looked towards her dad. “What are we—” 
Her father laid a hand on top of her head. “Forget about sprinting, Destiny. We don’t need 
to run anymore. All we need is each other.
 35 
 
 
 
Faith of a Mustard Seed 
 
Two years ago, I never would’ve imagined myself sitting on this unfamiliar couch with 
Michael’s ashes in a small moss-colored urn on the mahogany coffee table. I would’ve laughed if 
someone had told me I’d be wearing all black, mourning the loss of my newlywed husband a 
week after his funeral service. As I stared at what was left of Michael, I felt someone slightly 
squeeze my hand. 
 “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry this happened to you. Michael was such a nice young man.” 
 I looked at the face that I had only seen a few times at church and Michael’s funeral 
service last Friday. I whispered something along the lines of “Yeah, he was,” and looked down at 
Michael once more. 
 “You poor thing,” I heard the older woman say. Her grip tightened on my hand, and she 
quickly shook her head. “I always tell my Richard to stay away from those risky sports. I’d just 
die if I heard he was snowboarding down some mountain.” 
 A sharp pain stabbed at my heart and caused me to jerk in response. If the older woman 
had noticed my reaction, she ignored me and continued her unknown personal attack. 
 “Honestly, I never understood why someone would willingly throw themselves down a 
slope,” she said. “You may be wearing a helmet to protect your head, but what about the rest of 
your body? What’s going to protect it?” 
 I had been the one that begged Michael to spend our honeymoon in Aspen. I was the one 
that wanted him to try snowboarding with me. I was the one…
  
 
 “Excuse me, Mrs. Brown,” someone called out from behind. The older woman turned 
around. I glanced at the slender figure standing in the doorway before focusing on the square 
window to my right.  
 “Ah, Casey,” Mrs. Brown said. Although she still had my hand in hers, I couldn’t feel the 
warmth. “I was just telling Erica how sorry I was about her husband. Isn’t it just so tragic?” 
 “Yes, ma’am, it is,” I heard Casey say. “That reminds me. Didn’t you tell Pastor Bennett 
you could only stop by for a few minutes since you have to attend choir rehearsals this evening?” 
 Mrs. Brown checked her wristwatch. “Oh dear, I completely forgot about rehearsals.” 
She stood up from her position on the couch and looked down at me. “Listen here. If you ever 
need anything, and I do mean anything, come see me at church.” 
 “Thank you, ma’am,” I whispered. Mrs. Brown tsked and gave my hand what I knew she 
thought was a reassuring pat. She let go and shuffled through the doorway. 
 “That poor, poor, thing,” I heard her say before disappearing out of sight. With Mrs. 
Brown’s absence came a wave of hysteria. I tried to inhale deeply, but I could only manage short 
and shallow breaths. I hesitated before picking up Michael and grabbing the rest of my 
belongings. Pushing past Casey, I darted towards the exit of the small funeral home. When I 
reached my small Prius, I sat Michael’s urn in the front passenger’s seat and awkwardly strapped 
him in. I scurried to the driver’s side and slid behind the steering wheel before starting the car. 
Unable to stop the sudden flow of tears, I rested my head on the steering wheel. 
 Someone tapped on my window. “Mrs. Doddridge.”  
 37 
 
 
 Startled, I sat up and wiped my face with my shirtsleeve. Casey smiled, and I rolled down 
my window. 
 “Yes?” 
 “I don’t think we’ve had the chance to formally meet,” she said. “My name is Casey 
Cullen, and I’m a member at Walking by Faith.” She bent down and offered me a slim hand. 
 “I’m Erica,” I said, taking her hand in mine.  
 “I wanted to apologize on behalf of Mrs. Brown. We’ve all kind of learned to overlook 
the things that she says. Majority of the time, she doesn’t realize when she’s being 
inconsiderate.” 
 “It’s fine really,” I said. “I’m sure she wasn’t trying to be offensive.” In all honesty, Mrs. 
Brown was the least of my worries. 
 “I’m glad you’re not taking it to heart,” she said. “Pastor Bennett asked us to stop by and 
lend you some moral support.” 
 “How thoughtful of him,” I mumbled. 
Casey cleared her throat before saying, “I’ve seen you and Michael around. Being that 
you all were new members of the church, everyone paid attention to you. It’s a small town, so 
seeing new faces is always interesting.” 
I knew that most of the saints were curious about Michael and me. We had received 
stares and had heard the occasional whisper.  
 38 
 
 
“Anyway,” she said, “I’m one of Walking by Faith’s therapists.” Casey reached inside 
her purse and pulled out her wallet. “If you’d like to stop by and talk, you’re more than welcome 
to. Sessions are completely free for church members.” 
 “Thank you for letting me know,” I said. 
 “Here’s my business card. You can make an appointment before you decide to come.” 
 I silently took the card from her and read the information. When I looked at Casey, I 
smiled weakly. “I’ll be sure to give you a call if I need a bit of guidance or just someone to talk 
to.” 
 “Great! See you around, Erica.” Casey pulled out a pair of black sunglasses and cover her 
green olive-colored eyes. As she walked away, the ends of her dirty blonde hair floated in the 
cool February breeze.     
 
*** 
 
I didn’t want to go home, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave Michael in the car. I parked in 
front of our small ranch-style home painted in a mustard yellow. Although it was getting dark, I 
could faintly make out the lilies in the window boxes. Michael asked me to plant them to 
symbolize us “putting down roots.” Blowing out a breath, I reached over and unbuckled 
Michael’s seatbelt before grabbing him. I exited the car with my keys and purse in one hand and 
the urn in the other. An eerie silence was what I was met with when I opened the front door.  
 39 
 
 
 “We’re home,” I whispered before placing Michael on the countertop. “We’re home.” 
 The kitchen was in disarray; dirty dishes filled the sink, takeout containers and empty 
water bottles covered what available counter space the small kitchen offered, dirt was visible on 
the off-white tiles. I imagined Michael scowling at me. 
 “I know you’re probably disappointed,” I said. “I just haven’t had any motivation to 
clean.” I sat on the worn sofa in the living room. Michael and I had just moved to Asheville three 
months prior. The house was still substantially bare. I glanced over at one of the few pictures we 
were able to hang up before the accident. Michael wore a simple black three-piece suit, and I 
wore a basic white A-line dress with my copper-colored hair in a sweeping updo. 
 “Are you sure you want to do this?” Michael asked. He peered out his driver-side 
window and looked at the brick courthouse.  
 “You’ve asked me this same question four times since we left the house.” I put my hands 
on the sides of his face and stared into his mocha-colored eyes. “I’ve never been surer of 
anything in my life. I want to do this.” 
 Michael smiled and moved a stray lock of black hair from his forehead. “I know you said 
that you didn’t want to have a ceremony. I just want to be sure that you won’t have any regrets.” 
 I dropped my hands and sat back in my seat. “We’re the only family either of us has. We 
only need each other.” 
 “You’re right,” he said. He got out of the car and rounded the front. Opening my door, 
Michael offered me his hand. “Right this way, future Mrs. Doddridge.”  
 40 
 
 
 I smiled up at him and took his hand. Michael pulled me into a hug, and I could smell his 
woodsy cologne. We jogged up the steps and entered the building. I could still hear Michael’s 
distinct laughter. 
 Thinking about that now, tears streamed down my face, and I could barely make out the 
couple in the picture. Was I really that happy? Happiness seemed like such a far-fetched emotion 
now. 
 “How could You forsake us in this way?” I yelled to the ceiling. “What did my Michael 
ever do to You? Why did You take him from me?” My cries were met with a deafening silence. 
If someone was listening from above, they didn’t give me the satisfaction of responding. I got up 
from my spot on the sofa and stumbled down the hallway to the small bedroom. Striping down to 
my underwear, I threw my clothes into a haphazard pile. I grabbed one of Michael’s undershirts 
from the wooden dresser. Crawling into bed, I buried my nose into the shirt and pictured Michael 
being there. 
 
*** 
 
A few weeks later, I entered a dingy bar not far from my office. The stench of the bar was strong 
enough to make me intoxicated even before taking one sip from a beer bottle or shot glass. Loud, 
unfamiliar music poured out of the bar’s sound system, and the bass made the floor vibrate under 
my feet. A few couples were dancing, and a group of men was over in a corner throwing darts. I 
made my way over to the bar and sat down on one of the available barstools. Unbuttoning my 
 41 
 
 
violet suit jacket and taking off my work lanyard, I made myself comfortable. Without wasting a 
single minute, a bartender stood in front of me. His nametag read “Tim.” 
“What can I get started for you, Miss?” 
“May I have a—” I quickly glanced at the menu. “Coors Light, please?” 
“Will that be in a bottle or mug, ma’am?” 
“A mug.” 
Tim reached under the bar into what I could only assume was a minifridge and pulled out 
a bottle. I watched him pop off the top and pour the contents into a thick glass mug. He slid it to 
me before turning to help another customer. I wrapped my hands around the mug and felt the 
coolness against my palms. What would Michael think if he knew I was inside an actual bar? 
Would he be upset to see his wife trying to drink her sorrows away?  
 “What is a pretty young thing like you doing sitting here by yourself?” a brown-haired 
man drawled on my left. When I turned and fully looked at him, he shot me a lopsided grin. 
 “Minding my business,” I said before turning away and picking up the mug. 
 “You think I’ll leave just because you want to be rude? Tim, how about giving me a 
bottle of Budweiser.” The brown-haired man sat down on the barstool next to me. I paused 
before taking a sip. 
 “Ah,” I said. The amber liquid made me cough and burned my throat. I could feel it 
settling into my empty stomach. 
 “Don’t tell me this is your first time drinking,” the brown-haired man said. 
 42 
 
 
 “So what if it is,” I retorted before taking another sip. 
 “I find it better if you take large gulps. Who sips a beer at a bar?” The brown-haired man 
laughed and slightly tilted his beer bottle in my direction. As if to demonstrate, he took six gulps 
before saying “ah” and slamming the bottle on the bar. “Now, that’s how you get shit done.” 
 I threw my hand up to shoo him away. I continued to take small sips until I finished the 
entire beer. The brown-haired man smirked before waving Tim over again. 
 “How about getting this little lady another beer on me?” 
 “I didn’t ask you to buy me another one,” I said. 
 “You shouldn’t turn a nice guy down,” the brown-haired man said. 
 “I don’t even know your name.” 
 “I don’t know yours.” 
 Hunching my shoulders, I grabbed my refilled mug and took a pull. The brown-haired 
man pretended to clap. Although I wasn’t looking at him, I could feel his gaze on me. He clinked 
his bottle to my mug and started drinking.  
 About an hour later, I could barely feel my face. The brown-haired man said something 
funny, and I laughed and playfully slapped his arm. He caught me by my elbow and repositioned 
me on the barstool before I could melt to the floor. 
 “Hey,” he said, “be careful before you hurt yourself.” 
 43 
 
 
 “Tell that to my husband,” I said before clamping my hand over my mouth. “Oops,” I 
said, snickering. “Michael is dead.” 
 “Uh, are you all right?” 
 “Oh, I’m peachy. Michael isn’t since he died on our honeymoon.” I couldn’t stop myself 
from laughing. “What kind of husband dies on their honeymoon?” 
 The brown-haired man looked sort of disturbed. His left eyebrow lifted in question, and 
his expression seemed serious. I picked up a peanut from a bowl Tim had brought over and tried 
to toss it into my mouth. When it sailed over my right shoulder and hit the guy sitting behind me, 
I patted his head and said sorry.  
 “Maybe you’ve had enough to drink,” the brown-haired man said. 
 “Maybe I should have one more,” I said. “Yoo-hoo, Tim! How about another round on 
me?” I winked at the brown-haired man and gave him a thumbs-up. He didn’t look too 
impressed.  
 “Tim,” he said, “that won’t be necessary.” 
 “Did talking about Michael make you uncomfortable?” I slurred. 
 “No.” 
 “Want to know the worst part about the whole ‘my husband dying thing’? We believed 
that God meant for us to be together, but instead of blessing us, He made sure we were 
permanently separated. I guess He wasn’t satisfied until I was left alone again.” 
 44 
 
 
 The look of pity on the brown-haired man’s face had me on the verge of vomiting. I slid 
off the barstool and stumbled. Gripping the edge of the bar, I held on until I felt steadier on my 
feet. 
 “Woah, little lady. Where are you going?” The brown-haired man stood up and placed an 
arm around my waist. His unwarranted touch repulsed me.  
“Let go of me,” I bellowed. I clawed at his arm, and he released his grip and held up his 
hands in surrender. 
 “At least let me call you a taxi.” 
 “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me. I don’t need anyone.” I kicked off my black heels 
and bent down to pick them up. The brown-haired man caught me before I could faceplant on the 
floor. After I snatched the heels up, he led me to the entrance of the bar. Although I was drunk, I 
was acutely aware of my audience. A woman shook her head at me, and I stuck my middle finger 
up at her. Who was she to judge me? 
 When we finally made it outside of the bar, the brown-haired man frantically waved his 
free hand until a taxi came to a stop in front of us. He placed a hand on the top of my head and 
shoved me into the backseat before shutting the door. “Take her to wherever she needs to go,” he 
told the taxi driver through the passenger’s side window and passed him a twenty-dollar bill. I 
heard him hit the top of the taxi and watched him stride back to the bar. 
 “Where to, ma’am?” 
 “Unadilla Avenue, please.” 
 45 
 
 
 I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window and imagined that it was 
Michael’s broad shoulder. He would’ve caressed my cheek and mumbled that everything would 
be all right, that we would be all right. He would have told me to trust in God. I was dozing off 
when the taxi driver announced that we had arrived at Unadilla Avenue. Instead of giving him 
my house number, I asked him to drop me off at a nearby gas station and let him keep the extra 
change (it wasn’t my money anyway). I walked barefoot into the store and picked up a six-pack 
of Budweiser. The cashier looked surprised when I tossed the beers onto the counter. 
 “Would you like to donate a dollar to the Salvation Army?” 
 “Would the Salvation Army like to donate a dollar to me?” 
 The cashier’s mouth dropped open before she cleared her throat. “Ma’am, that’ll be five 
dollars and ninety-five cents.” 
 I struggled to pull my card from the inside of my lanyard and handed it to the cashier. 
She completed my transaction and thrust my card back into my hand. I snatched the beer off of 
the counter and marched outside. With my heels in one hand and my six-pack in the other, I 
planned to have a long, solitary night without interruption. 
 
*** 
 
On one humid evening in June, my doorbell rang. I had just gotten off of work and was having 
my second can of beer. Annoyed, I got up from the sofa and walked over to the locked front 
door. 
 46 
 
 
 “Who is it?” I yelled. I didn’t even bother to peek out the window.  
 “Hi, Erica, it’s Casey.” 
 “What is she doing here, and how did she find my house?” I whispered. I turned around 
and surveyed the state of my home. I could see the clutter in the living room from the doorway, 
as well as the pile of trash and empty cans taking over the kitchen. 
 “I know that I’m here unannounced, but I really wanted to speak with you. Do you mind 
if we talk inside?” 
 “Just a minute,” I said through the door. I carefully placed my beer can on the table 
beside the door and sprinted to the bathroom. I quickly pulled my hair up into a messy bun and 
attempted to get rid of the alcohol scent by brushing my teeth. I tucked my dress shirt back inside 
my skirt and slid on a pair of flats before returning to the front door. When I opened it, Casey 
smiled at me and began walking forward. I blocked her path with my body and quickly scooted 
past her, closing the door securely behind me. 
 “Oh,” she said, taking a hasty step back. 
 I smiled awkwardly. “Sorry about that. My house is not suitable for company at the 
moment.” 
 “I completely understand. I did show up expectantly.” 
 “So, what did you want to talk to me about?” 
 “Actually, I’m here to check on you,” Casey said. She tucked a stray blonde hair behind 
her ear. 
 47 
 
 
 “To check on me?” I asked. 
 “I, as well as some of the other ladies at church, was worried about you. I haven’t talked 
to you since that day at the funeral home, and you haven’t been attending Walking by Faith.” 
 “I haven’t been in a good place recently. Since Michael’s passing, things haven’t been the 
same.” The corners of Casey’s lips turned downward, and this caused me to look away. I 
watched as a black and orange butterfly landed on one of Michael’s lilies. 
 “Erica,” Casey started after a brief pause, “we want to be there for you. We want you to 
trust us enough to let us in.” 
 “But you don’t understand—” 
 “Although we’ve all experienced death in one form or another, I know we couldn’t 
possibly understand what you’re going through. None of us have lost our husbands in the same 
way that you did.” 
 “So, why are you making this more difficult than it has to be?” A stubborn tear escaped 
from the corner of my eye, and I hurriedly wiped it away. Why do I always end up crying in 
front of her? 
 “Because I don’t want you to drown in your sorrow. I know what it’s like to feel 
helpless.” Casey’s admission left me speechless. The few times I had seen her, she had worn a 
friendly smile. As if sensing my confusion, Casey looked at me pointedly and said, “We’re all 
dealing with our own problems, Erica. Most people are trying to overcome their own inner 
struggles.” 
 “How do you manage it?” I whispered. 
 48 
 
 
 “I trust that God will see me through. I remember that He’s doing something greater in 
my life.”  
This was the last thing that I wanted to hear. I crossed my arms over my chest. God 
wouldn’t have to “see me through” if He had simply saved Michael. 
“No matter what you’re experiencing, God is always with you,” Casey said. 
“I used to think so,” I said, “but that’s certainly not the case now.” 
“Would you be willing to come back to church?” 
“No,” I said. “I no longer feel like I belong there.” I saw Casey shift her weight to her 
right foot. Maybe she was starting to get annoyed with me.     
“What about attending one session with me? I know I offered it once before, but I think 
it’s worth offering again.” 
I stared at Casey’s Ford. She seemed like the type that would be persistent. The quickest 
way to get her and the whole Walking by Faith church out of my life would be to comply. 
“Come on, Erica,” she said, holding up one bony finger. “One session and if you don’t 
like it, you’ll never have to come to another one again.”  
“Fine,” I said. “If that’s what you want.” 
“Fantastic!” Casey swiftly pulled me into a friendly embrace and then let go. “Would you 
like to set up an appointment now?” 
“I’ll have to check my schedule first.” 
 49 
 
 
Casey stepped off the porch and made her way over to her car. “How about sending me a 
text once you’ve decided? My cell number is also on the business card I gave you last time.” 
“Sure thing,” I said, mentally trying to remember where I’d tossed that small piece of 
paper.  
Casey stuck her hand out the window and waved as she backed up. I stayed out on the 
porch until her car vanished down the street. Walking back inside, I closed the door and leaned 
against the wooden frame. I picked up my half-empty can of beer and guzzled the rest. My eyes 
immediately went to the urn now sitting on the top shelf of the medium-sized bookcase in the 
living room.  
“What am I going to do, Michael?”  
Michael didn’t say a word. 
 
*** 
 
The gray leather chaise lounge chair creaked in protest when I sat on it. I stared around the small 
office and studied the abstract paintings adorning the walls. It was a stark difference from what I 
envisioned a traditional therapy office would look like; bright pink and teal pillows covered the 
couch situated on the other side of the room, the bookcase had a mixture of scholarly and popular 
books on its shelves, a large flower rug covered the middle of the floor, and random trinkets sat 
in a large antique dish on Casey’s desk. Casey held out a soft pillow and instructed me to lie 
back. I kicked my feet up and positioned the pillow behind my head. While I got comfortable, 
 50 
 
 
Casey went to get me a glass of water. She placed it on the end table beside the lounge chair and 
reached for her pen and notepad. 
 “How have you been, Erica?”  
 “I’ve been surviving,” I said without really thinking about it.  
 “What is your definition of surviving?” 
 “I guess…I mean—” I gave it a bit more thought. “Existing without Michael.”  
 “I see,” Casey said. She scribbled something in her notepad. “How did you and Michael 
meet?” 
 The question caught me off guard. I was sure she was going to dissect what I had just 
said about surviving and my existence. When I glanced at Casey, she gave me an encouraging 
nod. “Um, we both grew up in the same orphanage.”  
 “Neither one of you had a family to call your own?”  
 “No,” I said. Involuntarily, I began wringing my hands in my lap.  
 “No?” 
 “What does any of this have to do with me losing Michael?” I snapped. 
 “Erica, I’m just trying to better understand your relationship with Michael. If these 
questions are making you uncomfortable, we can always come back to them.” 
 I blew out a breath and tried to calm myself. “Let’s just go ahead and get it over with.” 
 “We were discussing your family situations,” Casey continued. 
 51 
 
 
 “Michael’s parents died in a car accident when he was around three years old. None of 
his surviving relatives were willing to adopt him, so he was placed in the foster care system.” 
 “What about you?” 
 “I was told that my parents were teenagers and wouldn’t take responsibility for their 
mistake. Giving birth to me was the only good thing they intended to do.” 
 “Do you resent them for giving up their parental rights?” 
 “Honestly, I hated them when I was younger.” 
 “And now?” 
 “Now that I’m older, I’m more appreciative,” I said. If my parents hadn’t left me at 
Mother Sinclair’s Holy Orphanage, there’s a huge chance I wouldn’t have met Michael. “Their 
selfishness allowed me to meet the most selfless person I’ve ever known.” 
 “Michael,” Casey said matter-of-factly. 
 I smiled before saying, “That’s right. Michael was willing to do just about anything to 
make the ones he loved happy.” 
 “What have you been doing to cope with his loss?” Again, Casey’s sudden change in 
questions caused me to hesitate. 
 “Excuse me?” 
 “How have you been coping with Michael’s death? Remember, this is a judgment-free 
zone,” Casey said when I still didn’t answer right away. 
 52 
 
 
 “I’ve been drinking,” I whispered and peered down at my hands. 
 “Alcohol?” Casey asked, and I nodded my head in agreement. “Have you always drunk 
alcohol?” 
 “I was never interested in it before.”  
 “How does drinking alcohol make you feel?” 
 I sat up a bit in my seat. “I don’t feel anything once I start drinking. It’s like nothing in 
the world matters anymore.” 
 “You feel numb,” Casey stated. 
 “So numb,” I said. “It’s easier for me to visualize Michael being here when I’m 
intoxicated.” I fell silent, and Casey picked at her lower lip. 
 “How about we switch gears?” 
 “Okay.” 
 “What brought you and Michael to Asheville?” 
 “Michael received a job offer, and we both thought it was a great opportunity.” 
 “What about your aspirations? Your career goals?” 
 I hunched my shoulders. “We figured I would find something once we arrived in town. 
Michael was big on having faith in God and letting Him provide for us.” 
 Casey twirled her pen between her fingers. “You don’t hold that same sentiment?” 
 53 
 
 
 Did I really have faith in God? Between the two of us, Michael had always been the more 
spiritual one. “I did before. Now, I’m not entirely sure what I believe.” 
 Casey made a final note in her notepad before closing it shut. She checked her wristwatch 
and then clasped her hands together. “Erica, I already feel like we’re on the right track.” 
 “We’re not going to talk about anything else today?” 
 “I wanted to use our time today to gain a better understanding of you and your situation.” 
 “And you believe you’ve learned enough about me in this short period of time?” 
 “Yes,” Casey said. Smiling, she rose from her seat and did a quick stretch. I gawked at 
her, and she laughed. “Seriously, Erica, you have to loosen up.” 
 “Well,” I said, “what’s next?” 
 “If you’re willing, I can set you up for another session in two weeks. How does that 
sound?” Casey walked over to her desk and began flipping through an appointment book. 
 Did I want to come back for a second session? Admittedly, the appointment wasn’t as 
difficult as I thought it would be. It felt nice to talk to someone and have them listen without 
really imposing. 
 “Erica?” 
 “Do you have anything available on a Wednesday?” 
 
*** 
 54 
 
 
 
When I heard Casey honk her car horn, I turned off the vacuum and hurriedly put it back into the 
hall closet. I checked my sleek ponytail, bootcut jeans, and plain black sweater in my bedroom’s 
full-length mirror before grabbing my satchel and keys off the kitchen counter. I touched 
Michael’s urn before picking up the tied garbage bag by the front door and exiting. Tossing the 
bag in the larger bin on the side of the house, I got in the car and greeted Casey. Instead of 
attending one of my regular therapy sessions, she had thought it would be a good idea to 
volunteer at a community outreach program Walking by Faith had planned for the evening. I was 
reluctant to go at first, but she convinced me to give it a shot. Afraid that I would decide not to 
go after our conversation, she picked me up in her Ford, determined to get me there on time. 
 “Reaching out to others is a great way to forget about your own problems,” she said. We 
sat at a red light. 
 “Is that why you’re a therapist?” 
 I saw Casey rub her bottom lip (a tell-tale sign that she was thinking). “I’ve always felt 
that being a therapist was God’s calling for me.”  
 “I’ve never really thought about my calling,” I said. I watched a man walk a small dog on 
the sidewalk. 
 “What are you drawn to?” Casey asked. “What are you passionate about?” When the 
light turned green, she made a right. 
 “For a long time, I thought my only ambition was to be a dutiful wife and mother.” 
 55 
 
 
 I felt Casey side-eye me. “That’s still a possibility. It’s never too late for you to get 
remarried.” 
 “We’re not going there.” It was a conversation Casey had brought up in one of my 
sessions, a conversation that I had immediately dismissed. We both knew I wasn’t ready to move 
on. I couldn’t even entertain the idea. 
 “Well,” Casey said, “I guess we’ll just have to figure out where Erica Doddridge fits as 
an individual then.” She parked the car in the parking lot of a Salvation Army soup kitchen. 
“We’re here.” 
 I peered out the window and observed the tiny building with its white siding and red roof. 
“Walking by Faith volunteered to feed the homeless?” 
 “It’s something that we try to do at least twice a month,” she said. We both stepped out of 
the car and entered the building. Casey said hello to almost everyone we came in contact with, 
and I waved awkwardly at the strangers. When we arrived at the kitchen, Mrs. Brown rushed to 
our sides. 
 “Oh, Erica, it’s good to see you,” she exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug. 
 “Hello, Mrs. Brown.” 
 “All of the ladies at church have been worried about you,” Mrs. Brown said. “Casey, did 
you let her know?” 
 “I did, Mrs. Brown,” Casey said. I looked at her with pleading eyes, and she gave me the 
“okay” signal with her fingers. “Mrs. Brown, how’re the preparations coming along? There’s 
already a line forming inside the eating area.” 
 56 
 
 
 “My, my,” Mrs. Brown said, “I almost forgot. Mrs. Meyers called in sick, and she was 
supposed to be in charge of things today. She also forgot to coordinate with the kitchen staff.” 
 “Bless her soul,” Casey said. She used both her hands to push back her hair, and she 
paced over to the large industrial sink to wash her hands. “Erica, we normally wouldn’t ask a 
newcomer to work as a server on the frontline, but we’re pretty shorthanded right now.” 
 “No problem,” I said, walking over to the sink to wash my own hands. “What do you 
need me to do?” 
 “If you could set up the food trays and burners, that would be great. All the equipment 
you need should be over in the pantry.” 
 “All right,” I said. While she assigned positions for each of the volunteering Walking by 
Faith members, I entered the closet and searched for the required equipment. 
 Forty-five minutes later, I was standing in front of a ginormous pot of vegetable soup. 
Mrs. Brown and two other members from the church were further down the line manning fried 
chicken, biscuits, and cornbread. I made sure my apron was tied in the back and adjusted my 
hairnet before sliding on a pair of clean gloves. When the first woman and small child walked 
over to grab a bowl of soup, I offered them a friendly smile. 
 “I’m so sorry that you all had to wait,” I said. “We’re a bit understaffed this afternoon.” 
 “There’s no reason for you to say you’re sorry. It’s a blessing that you’re here to feed 
us.” The woman smiled before nudging the little girl. “Go on, Kassandra. What are you supposed 
to say?” 
 The little girl grinned, showing off her two missing front teeth. “Thank you!” 
 57 
 
 
 “You’re so welcome,” I said, on the verge of tears. I took their bowls and poured two 
ladles of soup in each. Watching their retreating backs, I realized just how blessed I was. Casey 
walked by and sent me a knowing smile. She had been right all along. 
 
*** 
 
On the anniversary of Michael’s death, I sat his urn in the front passenger’s seat and carefully 
buckled the seatbelt. Pulling out of the driveway, I drove the short distance to the French Broad 
River. After choosing an appropriate parking space, I quietly watched a family of ducks lazily 
float across the river. My cellphone rang, and I checked the caller ID before answering the call. 
 “Hey, Erica,” Casey said, “have you made it there yet?” 
 “I have,” I said. “I’m sitting in the car trying to mentally prepare myself.” 
 “Are you sure you want to do this alone? You know me and a few other church members 
offered to go with you.” 
 I looked over at Michael’s urn and knew that he would want me to do this alone. 
“Although I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I feel like I need to be the one to do it.” 
 Casey paused before saying, “All right, call me if you need me. I’ll see you in church on 
Wednesday.” 
 “Thanks, Casey. See you then.” I hung up the phone and blew out a breath. Reaching 
over, I picked up Michael and left the car. I retrieved an orange blanket from the trunk and 
 58 
 
 
strolled over to the river. Spreading the blanket out a few feet from the river’s edge, I sat down 
and placed the moss-colored urn beside me. 
 “You know, I never imagined that our lives would end up this way, Michael. You dying 
was never supposed to happen.” I plucked a piece of grass out of the ground and tossed it away. 
“When we moved to Asheville, we had plans of starting a family, of growing old together.  We 
wanted to put down roots.” 
 A cool breeze made me bury my chin into my buttoned cardigan. “I didn’t understand 
why you wanted to move here, but I’m starting to realize that it was all in God’s plan.” For so 
long, Michael was the only family I had; he was the only person I was willing to let in. “It took 
moving to Asheville for me to see that I was wrong to isolate myself.” Standing up, I took a hold 
of Michael’s urn and removed the lid. I knew that without God’s guidance, I wouldn’t have met 
the wonderful people at Walking by Faith. They wouldn’t have become my family. 
 I slowly made my way over to the river’s edge, careful not to slip on rocks. I rolled up 
my sleeve and slowly stuck my hand inside the urn. Grabbing a handful of ashes, I removed my 
fist and held it a few centimeters above the water. “Michael, I will always love you. No matter 
where God and life take me, I will keep your memory alive. I’ll carry you with me everywhere I 
go.” I lowered my hand and released Michael’s ashes into the river. I allowed the water to 
completely cleanse my hand before picking up the urn and slowly dumping out the remaining 
ashes. After a few seconds, the scattered ashes were no longer visible, and Michael was gone. 
Walking back to the blanket, I placed the discarded lid back on the urn and hugged it to my 
chest. I placed it on the ground while I folded the blanket. When I went to pick up the urn, an 
 59 
 
 
orange and black butterfly rested on its lid. The butterfly fluttered over to the river and 
disappeared into the wooded area nearby.
 60