Sometimes we wander down the highway of life, not knowing where we are going. Feeling alone, we reach out to others for help.

We fear our future is mapped out for failure. But then, out of nowhere, comes a sign that suggests—we may no longer be . . .

Directionless

The wind whipped through his hair as he stood on the beach, his eyes transfixed on the ocean waves beating against the rocks. It reminded him of what his existence had been like before he met her—the girl who mysteriously entered his life and changed his world.

He had been raised by a mother who had no clue how to rear a child and a father who could care less. He was not beaten by either, but received just the very basics in food, clothing, and housing—all other aspects of growing up were neglected.

Intelligent and very much aware of what he did not have, he searched for adults who might fill the gaps in his life as he matured. At times, he felt like an intruder in the lives of these people and, at other times, like a lost soul for whom others provided handouts.

His strange existence frightened him, as he meandered through the dark woods of life trying to find his way. Yet deep within, he knew he was capable of becoming more than just one of the dregs of society—someone to be pitied.

Severely beaten one afternoon, after school, by a gang of thugs—just for the fun of it—he dragged his aching body home. When he arrived there, with blood dripping from his nose and scratches on his face and arms, he sought help from his mother.

She scrutinized him, tossed him a wet washcloth, mumbled something unintelligible, and left the room. He had long passed the time when tears would flow from his eyes over such treatment. So he grit his teeth, washed his wounds, and crawled onto the cot in his bedroom.

Trembling, a cold sweat drenched his limp body, as he lay staring up at the ceiling pondering what might become of him. And then a light shined through the filthy bedroom window creating a picture on the wall across from the bed. He focused on it, trying to figure out if it had meaning beyond just an image emerging from the dirt and grime that characterized his life. It appeared to take the form of an arrow pointing towards the west, but he could not fathom what this meant.

He started to drift off into an uneasy sleep, but the thought of the arrow remained ever-present, as it seemed to be showing him where he needed to go. He tossed and turned, as clouded visions of his past flowed through his mind—visions he wished to erase.

As his past and present collided, he knew he had to confront who he was, so he could determine who he wanted to be. He quivered at the thought of this undertaking, as he believed he was unprepared to do this.

Five more weeks to graduation and then the doors to a different life would open. But would he have the courage to go through them? He winced at the thought of doing this by himself. However, had he ever had someone in his corner?

Those five short weeks seemed like an eternity. They dragged on and on, as if he was plodding through a tunnel to nowhere. Nowhere was where he had been, not where he needed to go, and the arrow may be pointing the way to freedom. He needed to believe this, as it was the only way he would exit a past in which he had served an eighteen-year term in the darkest prison.

Then graduation day arrived—the ceremony scheduled at two o’clock. Although he had hoped to have someone to go with him, he had to go alone. His mother, living in a world of her own, hid under the covers in her bedroom, and his father was nowhere to be found.

Grabbing the white shirt from his closet that he would not wear for anything other than this occasion, he added a pair of old black pants and a soiled red tie to the package. He took the cap and gown from the plastic wrap in which he had received them at school, slipped into the gown, zippered it, and placed the hat on his head. He looked in the bathroom mirror and the reflection was one he had never seen before—strong and hopeful.

As he walked the three long blocks to Emerson Valley High, he started to turn left onto the campus, only to see an arrow with the words “graduation ceremony” pointing right—west. Entering the football stadium where the ceremony would take place, he shuffled down the aisle on the west side of the field to his assigned seat. It was not hot, but sweat beaded up on his forehead. He wanted this so much, but the fear of what comes next—becoming a free man—frightened him.

As he fidgeted in his seat, Principal Monroe moved to the podium and bellowed, “Welcome graduates and friends to a day you will remember for the rest of your life. This is a very special event, to be made even more so with the awarding of three full scholarships to three prestigious universities—Yale, Notre Dame, and Stanford. To make these awards even more significant is the fact the recipients have no idea they have been selected to receive them. So graduates, sit back and try to relax. When I call your name, please come up to the stage from the west side of the stadium, my right, to receive your diploma.”

He sat and stared as the principal began to call the names of the graduates in alphabetical order and each danced, plodded, or strutted up to the front to receive recognition. About twenty students into the day’s ceremony, the scholarship to Yale was presented and then seventeen students later, the recipient of the Notre Dame scholarship pranced to the stage. He would be the one hundred tenth student called, with just six more to come after him. The wait became agonizing.

Twisting and turning in his seat to try to endure the suspense, there seemed to be nothing he could do to make the time pass more quickly. His mind drifted off into space as he watched the clouds float by and he forgot where he was and what he was here for. But then, hearing his name, Andrew Zimmer, resonate through the stadium broke his trance. He pulled himself together and approached the stage with the caution of a firefighter fighting a blaze.

As he climbed the steps, he noticed a gorgeous young woman, with a smile that ignited a fire in his gut, moving to the podium. Reaching the platform, he stood about six feet from her—stunned by her presence and confused as to why she was there.

Then she spoke. “Ladies and gentleman and esteemed graduates. My name is Jessica Carr, the Emerson Valley High student from last year’s graduating class who received the Stanford University scholarship. I traveled west from New York and enjoyed a fantastic freshmen year at Stanford. I am honored to have been invited to today’s graduation ceremony to present this year’s full-ride Stanford scholarship to . . .”

He stood there in amazement, staring at the lovely creature who held the key that would open the door to the rest of his life. With his future now ahead of him, he moved toward her, bowed his head, and muttered, “Thank you.” Elated to receive the gift that would give him the opportunity to escape his hellish existence, he raised his head and walked proudly from the stage, and followed the arrow—west.

Copyright © 2018 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.