Leap of Faith by Cassidy Shay (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📕

I find that it’s always easy to talk to him, and we don’t ever have awkward silences. I’m instantly comfortable around him, and when I’m talking to him it’s easy to forget about our audience. I’d be lying if the fact that he’s the only one I can hear has nothing to do with me making the daily phone call. But as I get to know him a little more, it becomes more than that.

Of course, it’s not like we have much in common, at least not the big things. We like the same music, and we have the same opinion on pizza toppings and ugly dog breeds. But at the beginning, I don’t expect us to be anything more than acquaintances. We just have too many differences. He’s the Jesus freak raised by his perfect, married, Christian parents. I don’t even know if God exists, and my dad disappeared for ten years. He automatically trusts everyone, but I recognize that not everyone is a saint and I don’t want to get hurt because I trusted someone before I had a reason. He sees everything with rose colored glasses, but I prefer to see the world for what it really is: a dark place full of dark people.

But I have to admit that when I talk to Mikey, somehow the world does seem a little lighter.

And the light is refreshing. I still don’t completely trust it, but it feels nice to have conversations with someone where I feel safe, where I know I don’t have to keep my walls up in order to not get hurt.

So when Mikey invites me to church with him, I don’t really consider not going. I want to experience what he experiences, witness where he gets his light. And I’m flattered that he wants to share such a big – but personal – part of his life with me.

When I get home, I still have a smile on my face. Lisa looks at me and raises her eyebrows, surprised.

“What are you smiling about?” I just shake my head.

“Don’t worry about it. Where’s Mom?”

“She’s in the laundry room.” Lisa goes back to watching TV and I walk down the hall.

“Mom? Are we doing anything on Sunday?” I lean against the door frame and watch her fold clothes.

“No, I don’t have anything planned. Why?”

“I’m going to church with Mikey. I just wanted to make sure it’s okay with you.” She stops folding.

“He’s Catholic, right?” I nod. “I don’t know, honey.” And here it comes. We’ve had conversations about this a few times in the past. Sometimes I wish I’d never told my mom about his faith.

“What do you have against him?”

“I don’t have anything against him. I think he’s a wonderful boy and a great friend for you. I just don’t like his religion. And I’m not sure that I want you going to a Catholic mass.”

I shake my head. “Mom, please. I haven’t stepped foot in a church in ten years. And I really haven’t wanted to. But now I do. This is important.”

“Why? Why do you suddenly want to go to church? Why is it suddenly a huge concern?”

I look down at the ground. “I gave up on God. I stopped believing that He even exists, let alone loves me. But recent events have brought back that faith in Him. He never gave up on me. And I know there’s a reason. I want to find that reason. It might help me if I go to church.”

She sighs. “Alright. On one condition. I don’t want you converting.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m going to one mass. I’m not joining a convent.”

The next day, my dad comes over at around 10. He gives my mom and sister a hug, just like he always does.

He tries to give me a hug too, but I turn around and leave him standing alone. He moved to the city, sure. He sees us more often, and he actually does act like he might be sorry. But he hasn’t tried to help Mom pay bills or anything. No child-support at all. He also “borrows” money from my mom. It’s never more than twenty dollars at a time, but it all adds up.

He also hasn’t really apologized for leaving us. He’s said that he regrets it, but he hasn’t ever said that he’s sorry. Or that he won’t do it again. Mikey always tells me that I should give him a chance, but I just can’t.

When he’s around, I don’t say much. When I do talk, I use sign language. I usually don’t use sign language because it makes me feel like I don’t belong. At my old school, everything was signed. But at home, I always speak. For some reason, it makes me feel a little better to at least keep the illusion that I’m a normal kid.

Now, I sign so that my dad is left out of the conversation. My mom translates for him, but I know that it bugs him. I know it’s not very nice or mature, but at this point, I don’t care. I don’t want him here, and I don’t get why my mom and sister are so willing to forget the last ten years in just a few months.

He goes into the kitchen, where Mom is cooking. I go into my room and turn the radio on, to distract myself from what’s going on downstairs.

A few hours later, Mom sends Lisa up to get me. “Time for dinner.”

I stand up and trudge down the stairs. I grab a small plate, even though there are four big plates set out. I dish turkey and mashed potatoes, and a scoop of green beans. While everyone else is still dishing, I go to the table. All the other stuff – yams, stuffing, cranberries – is disgusting to me, so my plate is always bare compared to everyone else’s.

When they all get to the table, they all start digging in. I stop them. “Aren’t we going to pray?”

My mom looks confused. “We never pray, Amia.” Her voice has a hint of annoyance in it, like she doesn’t understand why I would suggest that we say a prayer.

“But it’s Thanksgiving. I just thought…” I look over at Lisa. She’s the only one who’s really kept believing in God all these years, so I’m hoping that she’ll back me up. Honestly, I’m not really sure why I suggested it myself.

She nods and grabs my hand. “She’s right.” My mom and dad slowly join hands and bow their heads.

Lisa starts praying, but I don’t try to follow what she says. Instead, I close my eyes and say a prayer of my own. I thank God for my family, my home, and all that I have. I thank him for putting Mikey in my life. “And, Lord, thank you so much for never giving up on me, even after I gave up on you.”

I look up and everyone is staring at me. Lisa squeezes my hand, and then we all drop our hands.

All throughout dinner, I don’t say much. I watch my mom and Lisa and my dad, and each minute, I get a little more tired. I don’t get how they can just let him come back into our lives.

After we’re all done, I stand up. I have to leave. “Mom, can I go to bed? I don’t feel good.”

“Of course, honey.” She hugs me and kisses my forehead. “I love you.”

I go upstairs and I turn on my radio. Because it’s a holiday, Mikey won’t be playing anything today. But the music calms me down.

I’m alone in my room for a few hours when Lisa comes in. “Amia, what’s wrong? Why can’t you just get along with him? It’s Thanksgiving.”

I don’t answer her. I don’t want to talk about my dad and what he’s done. I turn over and face the wall. I focus on the music coming from the radio.

And then it stops. I turn to Lisa, glaring. “What was that for?”

She shakes her head, clearly disappointed in me. “I know he hurt you, Amia,” she says. “I know you’re mad. But he hurt me too. And don’t you think Mom was hurt? You saw how she was when he left. She was crushed. But he’s back now. He’s trying to be a dad now. So why won’t you let him?”

She looks sad. I didn’t think about how the silent war between my dad and I would affect Mom and Lisa. But I still can’t let him in. “I don’t trust him.” I reach over and turn the radio back on and face the wall, ending the conversation.

For the next two days, not much happens. I get an email from Martha, one of the girls from my old school. She moved a couple years ago, but we still keep in touch. I send her an email back, wishing her a happy Thanksgiving.

That’s pretty much the only time I talk to anyone besides my mom, Lisa, and Mikey.

The phone calls with Mikey are pretty simple. We tell stories, and we talk about family. On Saturday night, at the end of the show, Mikey stops in the middle of his story.

“I’ll have to tell the rest later, because I don’t have time to finish it now.” His voice gets quiet, almost worried. “You still going to church with me tomorrow?”

“Of course,” I tell him. “I’ve been looking forward to it.” He exhales, almost like he’s relieved that I haven’t changed my mind. Was he worried that I would do that?

After I hang up, I go to my closet and figure out what I’m going to wear. I haven’t been to church in so long, I don’t even know if I have any clothes that I could wear.

I rustle through my drawers and my closet for a few minutes, until I find something nice. I lay everything out on my bed, and I smile.

My black skirt, the one that Lisa got me for Christmas last year. It goes to my knees, so it’s not too short. Then I have my purple shirt, with the black around the neckline. I haven’t worn it in months.

For shoes, I’ll wear my mom’s black heels. I smile again, and move my outfit to the chair by the window. Set my alarm, and then I go downstairs for dinner.

My mom is the first to talk once we sit down with our food. “So, Amia, are you still going to church in the morning, with Mikey?”

I nod my head, and my dad stops chewing. “Mikey? Who is that? Have we met him?”

I roll my eyes. I’m annoyed that he’s even here at all, and then he goes and acts like he’s the caring father that I’ve never had. I’m about to tell him that it’s none of his business, but Lisa beats me to it.

“Who do you think it is? The only person that she talks to? You know, that one that’s on the radio station?” By looking at her face, I can tell that she’s annoyed. “And it doesn’t matter if you’ve met him or not. He’s taking her to church. He’s obviously not a thug.” I’m surprised that Lisa would stick up for me like that. I guess even though she’s okay with him being here, she’s not ready for him to step in and make parenting decisions.

My mom shakes her head a little bit, but I can’t decide if she’s frustrated with Lisa or my dad. Lisa looks over at me and I give her a small smile, a thank-you. My dad doesn’t say another word