untitled by aletha

God’s Instrument

T
he only thing I want is to change the world. I don’t want to grow up and be ordinary. I want to be someone like Joan of Arc, or Picasso. A household name. When people think of the greatest folk in history, I want my name to be on that list. I want essay questions about me. But most of all, I want to look in the mirror and be proud of who I am.
Who am I? I am the most ordinary person. You couldn’t tell a thing about me just by looking. Average, plain, boring. Those would probably be the adjectives you would use to describe me; to describe my life. But I knew that I had a greater destiny. I felt that someday I would be influential. I knew that someday, I would change the world. I don’t know how I knew it. But it has been with me as long as I can remember. Just the knowledge of someday, I will be God’s instrument…
When I was five, I started writing in a journal. It wasn’t a journal like most people have. I didn’t record about who I liked or what I did that day or what I wanted to do. I wrote what I thought I did that was important. Kind of like I was building a ladder to greatness, one step at a time; and I wanted to document each rung. I have never stopped writing in that journal. I have been writing in it for 13 years, and have yet to fill it up.
But let me start at the beginning.

Age 5:
Mommy is sick. She lays down a lot and doesn’t do anything. She won’t play with me. Or talk to me. I think she is mad at me. I don’t know what I did.
Mommy must be really sick. She ate all the pills in the house and then laid on the couch with a brown bottle that smells funny. I was scared that she would be too sick to move, even with all the pills. I called 911, like they taught is in school. I said “My mommy is sick, and even though she took a lot of pills, I don’t think she is better.” The ambylance came and took her away. I visited her in the hospital.
Mommy is out of the hospital. She moved to a place called Prairie Hills. Daddy says that Mommy will be better soon and then she will come back. I miss her. But Daddy says this hospital will maker her more better. Daddy asked me why I don’t cry. I didn’t tell him, but I don’t know how to.

Age 6
Mommy has been gone for a long time. Daddy said she is coming back soon. I miss her.
She came back today! She doesn’t smile like she used to. She doesn’t talk to me. She doesn’t’ look at me. Daddy cried, but I didn’t. Daddy said that he will welcome her properly tonight. I don’t know what that means.
Mommy is going to have a baby. Daddy explained it to me. Mommy still won’t talk to me. I asked Daddy if she was mad because I didn’t think she could get better by herself. He didn’t answer.
The baby is here. It’s a brother. Its name is Darryl Joseph Matthew Hayden. He is loud and stinky. I don’t like him. I want him to go back in Mommy’s tummy.

Age 9
Darryl almost choked on a cookie. He took my Oreo and put it all in his mouth and then he turned blue. He started to cry quietly, so I put my arms around him and squeezed him tight. He threw up on me and cried a lot louder. Mom yelled at me for making him cry. I am jealous of him because of it.

Age 10
Agnes, my best friend, is having problems. She won’t tell me, but I know they’re there. I like her Dad. He seems like he loves her, always touching and kissing her, but she looks scared when he’s around. If my Dad acted like he loved me, I wouldn’t be scared. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I’ll talk to my teacher, Mrs. Grimsely about Agnes. She will know what to do.
Agnes had to move. Mrs. Grimsely told me in secret that Agnes and her little sister went to live in Florida with their Gramma. She said that Agnes’ dad had to go to jail for a while, and that I should be happy for Agnes. But why should I be happy that she left? She was my only friend. I still can’t cry.

Age 12
I don’t like Steven. Even though he sits next to me, I don’t like him. He is very mean. He calls me names and hits me. If I knew how to cry, I think I would.
I was walking home today, and I saw Steven’s house. It is little and dirty. His mother is mean. He was on the porch and showed her his report card and she slapped him hard across the face. I was shocked. My mom has never hit me. She doesn’t talk to me, but she would never hit me. His mom went back inside, but he sat on the porch and cried; he couldn’t see me. Can everybody cry except me?
Today Steven called me names again. I looked at him and said “Your mom really does love you. It’s not your fault.” I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t even think about it, it just popped out of me. He just looked at me with big eyes. I smiled and he went to the nurse’s office.

Age 14
I came home early from school today. I left just after lunch, on a whim. I passed a car accident. There was one person and a telephone pole. The girl in the car looked at me. She was bloody and the car was all smashed up. I knew from TV that she wasn’t going to last long. I went up to her and opened the door. She fell out in a heap by my feet. I put my hand on her hair and told her that she would get better. She just looked at me. The blood stopped running down her head, it just stuck where it was. I left her and found a phone and called 911. When I came back, she was crying. I traced the tears and wondered how they would feel running down my face.
She survived. I read about it in the paper. Her name was Maddie.
God, where are you?

Age 17
Is there nothing in this world for me? My own mother hasn’t really talked to me since I was 5. My father is distant. My brother is hardly ever here. I don’t know where he goes. He’s only 11.
I found out where he goes. He goes to the skating park and hangs out with some of the boys from my school. I don’t know what they want with him.
I do know now. He sells drugs to them. My baby brother is a drug pusher! I don’t know how he got connected with that, but it will break my mother’s heart to know. She loves him more than anything. She’s always saying it was him who brought her back. Back from what? Where was I in this picture?
I follow Darryl sometimes. I know he is going to get into trouble. Trouble found him today. He was at the park with his ‘friends’ when I saw cop cars. I pulled him away and shoved him into my car. Good thing he’s still young and little. He was mad. I told him that he was going to have to go away if he didn’t stop. He begged and cried. He said he didn’t want to do this anymore; he just wanted to be a normal kid. I made him tell mom. She cried with him. We’re moving. For Darryl’s sake.
How can I be God’s instrument if I don’t know where He is?
Age 18
I moved out. I can’t take it anymore. There is nobody there for me. I have no one at school, no one anywhere. I am alone. It hurts, but I can’t cry about it. Why can’t I? All I want to do is tear up, just once.
I got a job at a children’s hospital. I make beds and talk to kids. It’s fun, but very sad. There’s so much sickness in the world, so much pain. I know pain firsthand. The hardest part is not seeing these kids’ illnesses, but seeing their families. I know if I were here, I’d be alone.
I like to brush hair. I could sit and brush the kids’ hair forever. Sometimes, when I brush and think about how sad these kids are, and how much I wish they would get better, my hands tingle. And the child says they feel better, but are they just saying that so I don’t leave?
A lot of kids have gone home recently. For good, so the doctors say. Their parents thank God. Have I finally found him?

I look back now at my journal and laugh. Change the world? I couldn’t even change my life. I am a fool for thinking I was God’s instrument. He is all-powerful, so they say. Why would he need a nobody like me? He wouldn’t. Just like everybody else.
I am starting to think I was wrong about my destiny. Perhaps I was destined to have never existed, or at least to stop existing now. I bet the world would be better without me. All I do is bump around and mess up people’s lives.

I stare at the thin blade in my hand. I know this is it. There’s no point now. Whatever purpose I have been searching for has eluded me for far too long. If I were God’s instrument, as I had believed I am, why did He abandon me? Why have I never done anything wonderful? Why have I always been alone? Where was He when I needed someone?
I draw the razor across my wrist. Then down my arm. Funny, it’s in the shape of a cross. A cross! I look at it and wonder… Something salty is on my lips. I bring my hand up to my face. It’s wet. I’m crying. After all these years. I weakly put my head against the brick behind me. I look down at my cross again. Oh, God…