Yes, I took off for the summer. Without really meaning to. But now I'm back! So, you know, just say you're glad to see me on here again. :)
I thought I could possibly make up for lost time by posting a short story I had to write for the first week of school. It's supposed to be written in the spirit of O. Henry (who, by the way, grew up in Greensboro); specifically in that his stories always had surprise twists. If you haven't heard of his short story, The Ransom of the Red Chief, do read it. It had me in giggles.
On with the story...
The Past Irretrievable
by
Rachel
“Forget the former things; do not
dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new
thing! Now it springs up; do you not
perceive it? I am making a way in the
desert and streams in the wasteland.”
—Isaiah
43:18, 19
♦ ♦ ♦
The sun shone in a clear North Dakota sky
as the young man checked his watch again in a professional manner. At the same time, however, his other hand
fingered the dark material of his suit nervously. It was the only sign of edginess about him:
Jonathan Gregor had learned to hide his feelings well in the last years.
He had come far, really, over those last
years. They hadn’t been easy ones, that
was for sure. He had had to pick himself
up and push himself harder than most young adults saw a need to. After stumbling hopelessly through junior
high and most of high school, somehow God had fixed the pieces of his world
together just before college.
He had originally fallen because of his
father. No one would question that. The man had left one afternoon, when Jonathan
was ten, and two days later had filed for a divorce. He hadn’t seen him since. Even after his mother had remarried and
Jonathan had been adopted by his stepdad, his new father had kept at a distance
as if afraid of Jonathan’s reaction if he came too close. Fears of worthlessness haunted the young teen. Uncertainty clouded his decisions. He wasn’t sure he could be a man without another
man to tell him so.
Thank God he had moved past that. He had studied and worked harder than anyone
in college, graduating with flying colors and a degree in business. His past was behind him, the world
ahead. Forgiven were the dark, lonely
years. He was out in his own delicious,
challenging world of possibilities. In
fact, right now he was standing before the steps of an office building with his
briefcase, waiting for a job interview, not wanting to be too early or too
late.
Now was the time to go in. Once through the door, he made his way to the
front desk, his eyes taking in the drab gray tile floors and the exposed brick
walls. He was directed to the third
floor and given the room number of human resources. There, the secretary bade him sit down,
offered him water (which he accepted) and told him Mr. Patrick Leeson would be
in to interview him shortly. Jonathan
started slightly, but thanked her.
As the secretary had promised, within
moments a suited man entered. Jonathan
took in the lanky form, the stiff gray hair, the lean face. The man extended his hand with a taut smile.
“Jonathan Gregor, yes?”
Jonathan almost went into
auto-mode. His body rose from the chair
and accepted the other, older man’s hand with a “Yes, sir.”
They sat down and the interview
proceeded. Jonathan felt his confidence
building, and along with it the mask guarding his emotions. He answered the other man’s queries easily,
politely. In between questions, his eyes
studied the small placard on the desk reading, “Patrick M. Leeson,” and then
shifted to rest on the business man’s face again: on the narrow nose, creased
forehead, and stern gray eyes.
“Well,” Mr. Leeson said some time later,
shuffling some papers on the desk, “I think that does it.” He rose from his chair, offering his hand and
another taut smile to the young man.
Jonathan clasped the hand. “Thank you for your time, sir.”
The business man squinted at him with a
sudden look of uneasiness. Then he
nodded. “We’ll be getting back with
you.” He opened the office door and
escorted Jonathan to the elevator.
As the doors opened, Jonathan thanked Mr. Leeson again. He took a last
study of that narrow face, those stern, impatient eyes and entered the
elevator. Just as the doors were
closing, he looked back one last time and said calmly,
“Bye, Dad.”
finis.
