Many things happen in life that can’t be explained. Sometimes you need to take responsibility for what has occurred.

 

At other times, you have no clue what is happening. And then you are accused of . . .

 

 

Throwing Caution To The Wind

 

     My gun rested on the end table next to the living room couch. We’d been having brutal break-ins in the neighborhood lately and I wanted to protect myself. As I sat contemplating what else I needed to do to feel safe, the doorbell rang.

     Should I answer it? I thought. Probably. It was morning and the break-ins were occurring at night. So I got up from the couch, took my gun just in case, and went to the door. Grabbing the handle, I pulled it open. Staring at me was a bearded man dressed in shabby clothes, with a ragged knapsack hanging over his left shoulder.

     “Can I help you?” I asked.

     “I need to borrow your car,” he mumbled.

     “Borrow my car? What for?”

     “To go see my daughter.”

     “Where is she?”

     “I don’t know, but the voices in the wind told me she needs me.”

     “Voices in the wind?” Where is this ridiculous request coming from? I reflected. “What are you talking about? What voices?”

     “They are God’s way of making my life right. I must follow them. So give me your keys,” he demanded.

     I looked at my 2008 Camry sitting in the driveway. I didn’t even know if it had gas in it. With current prices going through the roof, I hadn’t filled the tank in weeks.

     “Did you hear me?” the bedraggled man queried, in a gravelly voice that made me shake.

     “Yes,” I muttered.

     “Then what are you waiting for?”

     “I can’t give you my car. I don’t know who the hell you are. And why did you knock on my door?”

     “Because He told me too.”

     “He? Who’s he?” The man didn’t answer and just stood there looking off into the clouds.

     “Okay, I’ll let him know.”

     “Let who know? Who are you talking to?” The crazy guy didn’t respond.

     Appearing uncomfortable that he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he dropped his knapsack on the ground and clenched his fists in way that made me cringe. I didn’t know what to expect next. I wanted to slam the door in his face, but I didn’t have the guts to do so.

     He started trembling and stared at me, with sadness in his eyes. He looked lost. “Help me, please.” Tears flowed down his cheeks. “My daughter needs me.”

     I don’t know where my next words came from, but I mustered up the courage and said, “I can’t give you my car, but I’ll drive you. Just tell me where we need to go.”

     “Home.”

     Now I was more confused. Home? He didn’t look like he had one. “Where’s home?” I asked.

     He lifted his head and looked into the sky. Then he pointed straight up. “What are you trying to tell me?”

     “He knows.”

     “He knows what? Where you live?” He shook his head.

     As crazy as all this appeared, my fear seemed to be lessening. I don’t know why, but I had to help this man.

     I grabbed my coat off the rack next to the door, stuck the gun I’d been holding all this time into my pocket, and closed the front door. Then I picked up the sad creature’s knapsack and ushered him to my car.

     He crawled into the passenger seat and I threw his knapsack onto the back seat. Then I slowly walked to the driver’s side and got in. I put the key in the ignition and just sat there. What do I do now? I thought.

     I looked at my passenger, bent over, with his chin resting on the dashboard. “Where are we going?” I asked.

     “To find my daughter,” he replied.

     “But how do I get there?”

     “Just go. He will show you.”

     So I turned on the ignition, pulled out of the driveway and headed down Logan Way, not having a clue where I was heading. When I reached the corner, the car seemed to be pulling to the right. Not wanting to challenge this mysterious force, I turned onto Ferris Drive, and drove cautiously down the street.

     As I approached the next intersection, I could see my “copilot” becoming antsy. He couldn’t sit still. “Are you all right?” I questioned.

     “My daughter will get you,” he mumbled.

     “What do you mean? Why will she get me?”

     “You did it to her.”

     “Did what?”

     “Keep driving.”

     “No, I need to stop.”

     “You can’t. He won’t let you.”

     “Who is he? Tell me, or I won’t go any further.”

     “You have no choice.”

     My hands began to shake, as the car seemed to be driving itself. I decided to turn at the intersection, but the car rejected my efforts. What the crap is happening? I thought.

     I put my foot on the brake, but the car kept going. “Who are you and what are you doing to me?”

     “He is in control. You must pay for your sins.”

     “Pay for my sins? What sins? And even if I had any, how do they involve you?”

     “My daughter will get you for what you did.”

     “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

     “Turn right at the light.”

     “Why?”

     “Do as I say. It is what He wants.”

     “He, who?”

     The car veered to the right onto Celebration Lane. There certainly was nothing to celebrate from my point of view. And then my heart began to beat out of control. Staring ahead, what I saw blew me away—the open gates to “God’s Forever Afterlife Cemetery.”

     “What is this? Why am I here?”

     “This is where you belong.”

     “You’re kidding. Aren’t you?”

     “You took her life and now I will take yours and deliver you to Him.”

     “Took her life? Whose life?”

     “My daughter.”

     “Your daughter. I don’t know your daughter.”

     “Yes, you do. She was your student. She believed in you. But you let her down.”

     “Let her down. But how?”

     “She went to your office for help that afternoon. You told her you were busy and couldn’t see her. You said she needed an appointment. She pleaded with you and you ignored her. That night, she jumped off the Madison Avenue bridge. My only child—dead! My wife threw me out after you killed her. I have nothing left.”

     “I would never kill anybody.” I reached for my gun in my jacket pocket, but . . .

     “Are you looking for this?”

     “You’re not going to . . .”

     “Come with me,” He said. “It wasn’t your fault. You could not have known what would happen when you told Elizabeth you were not available and that she needed to make an appointment. But to her father, you threw caution to the wind. Rest easy, my son. You will be at peace now—forever.”

    

    

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