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

We listen for about ten minutes, as people call in requests and have short conversations. Finally, my mom hands me the phone.

I listen on the radio for what he says. “Hey, caller, what’s your name?” I can't help but smile at the deep voice that I already love, if only because it's the only one I can hear. 

I answer, but there is a delay before I hear my voice on the radio. “Amia Chasor.”

“Cool name. What can I do for you, Amia?”

“I just wanted to thank you. Um… what’s your name?” For some reason, it bugs me that I don’t know his name. It's like a damsel in distress not knowing who her knight in shining armor is. Not that I think we'll grow up and get married or anything. But still.

“I’m Mikey.” He stumbles on his words for a second. “Uh… Thank me for what?”

I take a deep breath. “Mikey. I can hear you.” The six syllables come out slower than I wanted them to. My voice shakes with each sound.

There’s a long pause. “Yeah.” He sounds confused, and I understand why. Of course I can hear him. He’s on the radio.

“You don’t understand, though." Now it all comes out in a rush. "I’ve been deaf since I was six and I was in the car earlier and suddenly I could hear this radio station and Amazing Grace was playing but I couldn’t hear anything else and I can’t hear my sister or my mom and I can’t hear if the dog next door is barking. I can only hear your radio station.” As I finish, I take a deep breath.

Once again, there is a pause as Mikey, and everyone else listening to the radio station, thinks about what I just said. What if he doesn't believe me, and thinks I'm some crazy girl who just wants attention?

“Um… okay…” He’s still unsure of what’s going on. “So, you can hear. But only this radio station?” He speaks slowly, as if afraid that he heard wrong, afraid that he'll say the wrong thing and lose the game. But this isn't some game show.

“Yes. I’ve been listening to it for over an hour now. I love the song selection, by the way." I pause. "Of course, it's the first thing I've heard in ten years, so I'd probably love it if it was water dripping from a faucet.” I hear him laugh. “I wanted to call and tell you how grateful I am. The doctor said that my ears aren’t healing at all, so as of now, there’s no explanation for what happened.” Even I am able to hear the pride in my voice over the radio. Why is that something to be proud of?

I hear him exhale slowly. “Have you considered that this could be a miracle?”

“Yeah, kind of." I pause. Why does everyone keep saying that? "I wouldn’t have if my sister hasn’t said it first.”

“Well, why not? It seems to me like that should be the first thing that you consider it to be. Especially if the doctor doesn’t find anything to explain it.”

Even though he obviously can’t see me, I shake my head. “Well, it’s not the first thing I would consider.”

“And why is that?”

“I think that’s kind of personal, don’t you think? I don’t need to tell you if or why I do or don’t believe in miracles. I don’t know you and it’s none of your business.” I stopped believing in God a long time ago. And if there is some higher power, some divine being, why would he choose me? There are plenty of other people who could use a miracle more than I can. Still, despite all this, there’s a voice in the back of my head telling me that this really could be a miracle. How else am I going to explain this?

“Okay, that’s fair. But I still think you should consider that this really is a miracle.”

“And why would he choose me? I don’t need divine intervention in my life,” I say. I know I’m being kind of snappy, and there’s really no reason to be. This kid doesn’t know all that’s happened in my life, and none of it is his fault. But I didn’t call in so I could be lectured on the existence of miracles in the modern world.

“Maybe He did it to show you that He’s there, that He does love you. He knows that you can reach more people with your miracle than the homeless guy living behind the grocery store. Or, maybe, you need it more than the homeless guy.”

I look over at my mom and Lisa, and I can see their eyebrows raised. “Are you saying that the homeless guy is better off than I am?” Really? A homeless guy. He's comparing me to a hobo. So much for a knight in shining armor. 

“Not physically, no. I’m guessing that you have a nice home, a car, a closet full of clothes, a fridge full of food. Family. Friends.” He takes a deep breath. “But spiritually? Yes, the homeless guy could be better off. If he has any sort of relationship with God, he’s already ahead of you.” God. Really. He really thinks that the hobo is better off than I am.

“I still can’t believe that you think I’m worse off than a homeless person.”

“Look, Amia. I’m not trying to insult you," he snaps. "Whether you choose to believe it or not, what happened to you is a miracle.” He sounds mad at me, even though I don't know why. He's the one being a jerk, not me. I don’t say anything. What can I say? “Look,” he says after a few seconds. He sounds a little apologetic. “I gotta go. The next guy is pounding on the door to the booth and he doesn’t look too happy. Call back tomorrow, around this time. I want to hear your whole story.” 

“Yeah,” I say, “I’ll call back tomorrow so you can insult me some more.” I angrily turn the radio off, and my world is silent once again.

After I hang up, I take a deep breath. Another pound on the door reminds me that my time is up. 
    I hit the play button and some song goes out on the air, so that when George is getting everything ready, the listeners aren’t listening to static. 
    I pass George in the doorway, but I don’t say anything to him. He’s usually pretty grumpy, even though I get out on time most days. I put some extra distance in between us today, because he actually has a reason to be angry. I just head straight for my dad’s office. He owns the Christian radio station here in town. We only have one sound booth, and it doesn’t pay very well. But it’s my home away from home.  For my seventeenth birthday last year, he gave me two hours each day where I’m in charge of what goes out on the air. 
    I have a feeling that he only gave it to me because the last guy moved away, but I’m not complaining. As long as I keep my grades up, stay out trouble, and stay out of George’s way, those two hours are mine. 
    I get to my dad’s office and barge in without knocking. Instantly, I see the pictures of our family on his desk, on display for all to see. For my dad, family always comes first.
    “Dad.” He frowns and holds up a finger, then points to the phone that he’s holding next to his ear. Oops. I sit down and wait for him to hang up, thinking about that girl. Will she call back? I really do think it’s a miracle, even though she denies it. God might have been standing in the background in her life for the last few years, but he’s standing front and center now. After a few minutes, he places the phone back on the receiver. 
    “What do you need?” He gives me his undivided attention. 
    “Well… Did you hear that last phone call that I got?” He shakes his head. Sometimes, my dad listens to me on the radio, to support me. Some kids have sports, some have art. I have my radio show. Sometimes, like today, he’s got other stuff to do. “Okay. Well, there was this girl…” He sighs and leans back in his chair, obviously getting the wrong idea about what I’m trying to say, “… and she said she’s deaf. But she called and said that she could hear the radio station. But only our radio station.” I then describe her reluctance to admit the possibility that this is a miracle.
    I hadn’t realized until now how ridiculous it sounds. Before he even opens his mouth to talk, I feel myself blush. I feel like an idiot for believing this girl. I now doubt that a single word she said is true. It was probably some girl who just wanted to see how many people would believe this story.
    My dad says nothing for several seconds. “That’s interesting. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” 
    That’s it? “Wait for what?” I ask. 
    “To find out if she’s telling the truth or not. If she’s telling the truth, I’m sure it will be on the news, in the paper. There might even be reporters showing up here, asking you about it. And if she’s telling the truth, she’ll probably call back. Even if she says she doesn’t believe in God, she’ll be searching for some kind of answer. And if nothing else, she's going to want to call back so she can hear stuff.” He shrugs. “If nothing happens and we don’t hear anything else, we can assume that it was probably just a prank call or some scam.” 
    I nod slowly. Of course, he’s right. If the girl was telling the truth, there’s no way that this won’t be on the news. On TV, on the radio, in magazines and newspapers. If this girl’s telling the truth, she won’t be able to hide. 
    “Is there anything else?” I shake my head. “Okay. Here’s a grocery list.” He hands me a folded up piece of paper. “Your mom wants you to go get this stuff and then start on dinner. She’ll be home late tonight, so we’re on our own.” 
    I take the list from his hand and stand up. “See you later.” I get in my car and drive to the store, pick up everything on the short list. Once I get home, I start making spaghetti. It’s my dad’s favorite dish and my mom’s least favorite, so we make a big pot of it any time Mom isn’t home, which isn't often.
    I brown some hamburger meat for the sauce and while the water is boiling, I check my phone. I have it turned off while I’m in the studio, and I usually have a few messages when