CLAIRVOYANCE
By CrazyForGod
"Ryan, come on!"
Ryan blinked and moved his lazy eyes into alignment with Chris's face.
"Ryan!"
His vision was so hazy. His head felt so heavy.
"Kid, let's go. Come on, it's Friday!"
Chris's face had turned into the bus drivers'.
So it's Friday; big deal. Why does everyone make a big deal about Friday?
"Ryan Borgori? Is that your name? Can you hear me Ryan?"
Ryan's head snapped up. He looked at a face; it was security officer Yale's face. Ryan's vision began again to fade, and his head to droop.
Yeah, that's my name. Borgori… what a dumb name. It sounds Italian… or maybe French… does it matter? It's dumb; it's stupid; I hate it. Heh heh… 'it's dumb; it's stupid; I hate it…'
"Come on, Ryan. Get up, we're taking you to the hospital"
"WHAT!"
Ryan looked around madly. He was seated on a bench in bus 23 of the East Dallas School District. Outside, the sun was high and the sky was very blue. There was no one walking in the school yard. There were no other busses.
He spotted a light-skinned man standing in front of him. He was dressed like some kind of paramedic.
"What time is it?"
"Calm down, Ryan."
"Dude, I have to get to class!"
"Ryan, try to relax."
"HOW CAN I RELAX? I have like… 2 tests… ugh."
Ryan tried to get up but quickly stopped; his pants were very wet.
"I don't believe this…" he moaned.
The paramedic reached out and took hold of Ryan's arm.
"Come on, son."
Ryan kept his head low and walked with the paramedic off the bus. A few minutes later he was in an ambulance. There were other light-skinned paramedics in there who wanted Ryan to lie down on a stretcher. Ryan refused. He instead sat down on a side bench in the back of the ambulance.
You fouled up Friday, man. Good job. You fouled up your report card, too, probably. I don't know how, but you did it. I don't know how you foul up a lot of things, but-
"Ryan, I need the cell phone number of your mom and your dad. Do you know their cell phone numbers?" a male voice asked.
Ryan gasped. "No…" he groaned.
"You don't know?" the same person said.
"YEAH, yeah, I know…" Ryan practically yelled. He gave him the numbers - one of the paramedics, he guessed it was. Whoever it was, Ryan suspected that he probably gave him a good scare when Ryan finally responded. His vision was so blurry.
Okay, so you also fouled up Mom and Dad's Friday. Nice. COME ON, RYAN! Dad runs one of the biggest computer companies in Texas; he's got a lot to look after, and now he has to stop all his important business to LOOK AFTER YOU!
"Okay-dokay, out of the ambulance, sonny."
And Mom... she drives for half-an-hour every morning to take care of two-dozen kids that crawl between her legs, eat glue, write on the walls, and break expensive things. And now, on top of all that, she's got YOU!
"How long have you been having these mental seizures?" a different voice asked.
Ryan's vision cleared up only enough to make out a figure in a big, white coat. Then he passed out.
I hate you… I hate you so much. You can't even get off a bus… you can't do anything right. You wet yourself, you baby! I HATE… heh heh, good golly, you sound like Gollum! Yeesh, what a weird mind you got, Ryan… what a weird, sick, morbid mind... oh wait – Gollum loved himself. Heh… only losers love themselves…
"worthless, worthless, Worthless, Worthless, WORTHLESS!"
"Ryan… Ryan! Won't you listen to me? Won't you listen to all the things that I say about you?"
Ryan awoke. He was on his sofa, in the living room of his house. His head felt much clearer… but clearer than what? What happened? Did anything happen? Was it just a dream? What time was it?
He sat up. You had to sit up to see out the Borgoris' living room window. Lying down on their couch was total nirvana; total peace from the stark realities of anything going on outside.
The sun was setting. Or was it rising? No, it was definitely setting.
"Oh, yeah… duh." He mumbled. He had gotten a digital wristwatch for his birthday and few weeks ago. He took a look at it; it was 5:17 PM -- FRI, 04-29-2005.
"I don't believe this…" Ryan half-yawned. He fell back down on the sofa. Several things became evident to him: one was that he was wearing a different pair of pants than the pair that he had hastily thrown on at six o' clock that morning. Another was that his head now felt perfectly clear. Finally, a third was that he could hear the familiar sound of the fan above the kitchen stove running. Mrs. Borgori was usually preparing dinner at this time.
Ryan groaned. Now he would have to face her… now he would have to explain to her why a seventeen-year-old boy could not get out of a bus that he had climbed out of every morning for two previous school years.
He got up and meandered towards the kitchen. Ryan could see that the lights in the kitchen were on. He could hear his mother slicing something at the counter. The staircase that led to the hall that led to his room, stood at Ryan's right. It would be very easy for him to just not talk to his mother, enter his room, turn on his computer, and email all of his teachers, asking for what homework he needed to do… and apologizing one-thousand times for not attending their classes. Ryan just stood and thought for a long time.
"Ryan!"
His thoughts were interrupted by a voice from the top of the stairs. Ryan could hear someone walking down the stairs. When the walking-noise stopped, he turned his head. It was his little brother Ambrose.
"Sup, man?" Ambrose said in a scratchy voice.
"Sup." said Ryan. They both just stood.
"You okay?" Ambrose asked even scratchier. There was a loud squeak when he said "okay".
"Yeah-" Ryan quickly responded. He looked over towards the kitchen, worried that his mother would hear. She was already walking into sight.
"Ryan?" she said. Then she came out of the kitchen and hugged him very tightly. Ryan almost cried. He wanted to hug her back – even harder than she was holding him. But he didn't. He just gave her a light one. Ambrose's eyes never left Ryan's.
"What happened today, baby?" Mrs. Borgori said, her voice soothing and smooth. Ryan sniffed and just shook his head.
"Come on into the kitchen." His mother said. They left their embrace and entered the room together. Mrs. Borgori sat down at the kitchen table, ignoring a large, sizzling pot on the stove. Ryan remained standing and looked at the pot.
"I turned the heat down; don't worry." Mrs. Borgori said. "I want to talk to you."
Ryan sighed and sat down.
"How are you feeling?"
"Okay, I guess."
"You looked pretty out of it, but the doctors said you'd be fine."
"Mom, I'm so-"
"Do not apologize."
"Well, Mom, it's like… I just totally lost it… like… I dunno, I just let myself slip into this… uh, trance, I guess. I just felt so sad… I dunno what's wrong with me. But whatever it is, it's interrupting your schedule and-"
"Honey-"
"And I'm guessing I interrupted Dad's day-"
"Honey! It's alright."
She smiled a huge, warm smile. Ryan looked down. He couldn't look at that smile.
"I just don't want to ruin everyone else's life-"
"Honey… it's fine, really."
"… with my problems"
The smile faded a bit from Mrs. Borgori's lips. But then it returned.
"Believe me; I'll take any excuse I possibly can to leave work; even if it's just for a few minutes! And don't worry about Dad; he had only just arrived at his office when he received a phone call from Dr. Hanwoski from the hospital, downtown. Your father went to the hospital and talked to the doctor – who decided to give you a new pair of pants. Both of them were very worried about you. Dad took you home and then went back to work. He and that dear Dr. Hanwoski knew that you'd snap out of it a few hours later and be just fine."
Ryan thought for a while with his face low. Ryan spoke and only flashed his eyes up at Mrs. Borgori, to avoid seeing her smile.
"Oh, I thought these were the pair of sweat pants I bought a while back. They look a lot like 'em."
"Now you have two pairs!"
"Oh brother…Mom, it's just… I wanna be like a normal kid. I mean, why do I have this problem?"
"Honey, everyone has problems."
"Yeah, but… like, look at Ambrose. He's involved with stuff, you know, at school. I mean he plays hockey, he goes to that one metallurgy club, and, you know, he has a good time. He's always smiling, he's always cheerful, and… everyone likes him."
Mrs. Borgori kept nodding her head, intensively.
"Now, you look at me, and… I do stuff too; I'm on the school rugby team, and, uh… once in a while I play with Chris's garage band, and I go to the church's youth group. You know; I do stuff too."
"Um hmm." His mother said, as soothing and as smooth as ever.
"But… I mean, do you know what the difference between me and Ambrose?"
Ryan paused and looked at his mother.
"Nothin'!" Ryan said. "No difference. I don't get why I live everyday like I'm the poorest and most miserable kid in the whole world… I've got it good. Most people in the neighborhood would say we're rich, for cryin' out loud… I don't get why I feel this way…"
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
"Well, I'll tell you what, son; I'm making tacos; your favorite… And it's Friday, so you have plenty of time to sort out your feelings before school starts again."
This weekend ain't gonna be no different than all the other ones; I'll be happy till school starts again – then it's back to my little hell.
Mrs. Borgori got up and returned to the stove; she was cooking the hamburger meat. On the counter was chopped up lettuce, pieces of tomatoes, grated cheese, and un-cut olives – fresh from the can. Ryan popped an olive into his mouth.
"Do you need any help?" Ryan asked.
"No honey, you just relax till dinner," replied Mrs. Borgori. "Oh, and your father will be back at around half-past six; he gets off early tonight."
Ryan left the kitchen. He decided that he would go up to his room, but didn't quite know what he'd do when he got there. On his way to the staircase, he stopped to watch Ambrose. Ambrose was sitting on the couch. He looked very relaxed and was watching "Viva La Bam" on a high-definition television.
"Sup Ambrose?" Ryan said after a minute. Ambrose turned his head.
"Nothin' bro. You?" he squeaked. Ryan shook his head and laughed.
"Man, you just got it all together." Ryan said. Ambrose said nothing, and continued watching the show. Ryan began up the stairs.
"I admire you." He said, without another look at his brother.
When he got to his room, he booted up his computer. He had a very nice one: a Pentium IV processor with a 160-gigabyte-hard drive, a "RADEON" graphics card worth 512 megabytes of video RAM, a 48x CD-ROM drive, and even a DVD-player/CD-writer combination drive. He just watched the machine as it loaded Windows XP in less than fifteen seconds. He smiled and shook his head.
Ryan was about to play "Far Cry" (A first-person-shooter that his friend Cole had gotten him for his birthday) but then Ryan remembered that he had missed school that day.
Ugh… gotta email my teachers; see what homework I need to do. Gee, I gotta be the only kid who's spending Friday night asking his teachers what homework he missed. Am I a loser? God, am I just a total failure? Listen man, I try to follow you; I know what you say; about having a good attitude and all…but, for some reason, I'm just not feelin' it; I'm not getting the same stuff out of life that Ambrose is. Gee, I look at him and… I just feel so jealous. He's got joy. Why don't I have joy? Look at me; I'm a wreck… ever since I turned fourteen I've been a wreck. I guess that's all I'll ever be.
Ugh, stupid homework. They'll probably never even get these emails until Monday. Do teachers go to school on weekends? Are these email addresses their home addresses, or their school addresses? Maybe they log in to their school email accounts from home…
At six, Ryan was called down to dinner. He ate three soft-shell tacos and one hard-shell taco. While he was still eating, his father came home. Ryan got up from the kitchen table and gave Mr. Borgori a hug, which was something that he didn't normally give to his dad.
"How you feelin', son?" Mr. Borgori said, smiling even wider than his wife did.
"Just fine, Dad". Ryan replied. After dinner, he and Ambrose washed the dishes. Then they both joined their parents in front of the television. A few hours later, Ryan climbed up the stairs, this time to go to bed.
On Saturday, Ryan slept in till half past ten. He made some pancakes for his and Ambrose's breakfast. After eating, Ryan read something in the book of Revelation; he read something about a guy named John writing letters to churches. Ryan was really eager to go fishing in the pond in his backyard. He hadn't done that for quite a few months. Ryan caught three sunnies after an hour of fishing, when his mother called for him, from the house. When Ryan reached the house, he discovered that Chris was on the phone.
"Sup, Ryan! How ya' feelin' man?"
"Fine. You?"
"Yeah, I'm good… Yo, me, Cole and Eric are goin' to the movies, this afternoon. You wanna come?"
"… Not really."
"Not really? Why?"
"I'm kinda embarrassed about what happened the other day."
"So?"
"I don't wanna go with Cole and Eric."
"A'ight, fine. See ya."
Ryan hung up the phone. He was about to head back outside to fish when he noticed that Mr. Borgori was watching him.
"Who was that?"
"Chris… he wanted to go to the movies."
"Why didn't you go with him?"
"Well, cause' I don't wanna have to deal with Cole and Eric."
"Deal with Cole and Eric? What do you mean 'deal with them'?"
"I dunno, I guess they'll probably make fun of me for my… uh, 'spasm' yesterday."
"Well, then why don't you just stand up for yourself?"
"Uh, I'd really prefer to just… hang out here today."
"Well, I'd prefer that you go out with your friends… they are your friends, aren't they?"
"… Uh… yeah, they are."
Mr. Borgori made Ryan call Chris and tell him that Ryan was going to come.
The afternoon didn't turn out half as bad as Ryan thought it would. His parents dropped him off at the cinema. Chris, Cole, and Eric's conversations were mostly focused on some new songs that they wanted to try playing in their garage band. Ryan thoroughly enjoyed the film they saw: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. During the time they spent there, Ryan bought Chris a soda, because Chris had forgotten to bring any money. After the movie, Ryan's friends asked Ryan if he wanted to come with them to Chris's house to jam. Ryan declined and walked home.
On Sunday, Ryan woke up, read a bit more of Revelation, and checked his email. Only two of his teachers had replied. They said there was no homework handed out on Friday but that he had some tests to make up. Ryan went with his family to church. He didn't particularly like church, but he enjoyed watching other people while they sang songs. He especially got a kick out of watching his brother, who sung with a very high-pitch and practically jumped throughout all of the fast songs. During the sermon, Ryan fell asleep.
What's that white dude talking about? What's it got to do with me? Is what he says really the "Word of God"? Is that really what Jesus wants me to hear and learn? Heh, let me tell you somethin': if God ever had anything that he wanted to tell to a guy like me, he would come down from heaven and speak to me in a loud, mighty voice, and there'd be angels and light and things like that.
Ryan spent the rest of his Sunday eating, sleeping, playing computer role-playing-games with Ambrose, helping Ambrose study Earth science, and studying a little for Ryan's own tests on Monday. Mr. Borgori decided to take the family out for dinner that evening. By ten o' clock, Ryan was in bed and was feeling pretty good the start of the school week.
Ryan woke up at six o' clock on Monday morning. With a half-anxious heart, he got dressed and ate a bowl of "Cinnamon Toast Crunch". Then he read a little more of Revelation.
I'm not getting' this Jesus; I mean, I know it's your Word, but… I dunno; I just never really learn anything from it. Ambrose does, Mom does, Dad does…whatever.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Borgori wished Ryan a "blessed day" as Ryan walked out the front door, en route to the bus stop. It was cloudy and rainy. Ryan forgot to bring raingear. He didn't really care for any, though, and was glad that both of his parents did not notice.
After Ryan had boarded the bus and slapped Chris's hand, he felt a surge of glee. But after the bus stopped at Dean Avenue, he began to feel different. A slender brown-haired girl and her muscular redheaded friend boarded the bus. Ryan despised the one with brown hair.
"And then he calls me and he's like 'Uh, I dunno if I still want to go,' and I'm like 'You are such an idiot!', and he's like, so sensitive, so he's like 'No I'm not, you are!' and then I just hung up, cause I can't stand talking to him, and then he like calls me back later and he's like 'Sorry Michelle,' and I just hang up…"
Ryan tapped Chris, who was sitting in front of him.
"Does she realize how stupid she sounds?"
"What?"
"That girl, there; the one with fifty tongues."
"Uh… Laura Robins?"
"Forget it."
Michelle, don't you realize… how everyone sees right through you. Everyone, except your big friend, considers you to be the loudest and most dishonest girl at East Dallas High. I dunno who you're gossiping about, but I'll bet he doesn't speak in the dumb gorilla voice that you're imitating him in.
As Ryan watched Michelle, he caught the fleeting glance of a pretty blonde girl sitting ahead of him.
And you; stop staring at me. I don't know who you are, but you've done nothing but stare at me the whole school-year. And you've never spoken to me once. I don't get what your deal is, but leave me out of it.
After Ryan got off the bus, he passed in the schoolyard by Kyle Rico. Kyle had to be the funniest brother in the school.
"Sup Kyle?" Ryan held out his hand slap Kyle's. Kyle only rolled his eyes slowly to meet Ryan's and managed to say,
"Sup… man."
Ryan kept walking, a little crestfallen.
Now what's his problem? He probably heard about what happened to me… what I did yesterday. Guess now he's too cool for me, the egotistical snob. Ah, it's probably my fault, actually; I'd wouldn't want to interact much with a depressed moron either.
Ryan was in tenth grade, and his first class was Spanish I. He needed to take Friday's test, so he did so out in the hall. Across from him was another student sitting in the hall, doing his work on a desk. He was short, brawny, and wore a white T-shirt that read "Officer, please just ignore this man." Ryan laughed quietly and began his test. After ten minutes, he was extremely frustrated.
Bet it never occurred to you that if you didn't study enough, you'd get an 'F'. That's what I hate about you; you just don't do anything right. What's wrong with you? That's why you don't got any friends…"
"Sup?"
Ryan looked up at the other student, surprised.
"What?"
"Is that Spanish?"
"Uh… yeah, I'm taking a test."
"What level are you?"
"I'm… one"
"I'm level three; I can help you."
"That's okay; I didn't study; it's my fault that I'm flunking it."
"Ya' know, I never study for tests, and I always ace em'."
Sure you do.
Seriously, I do.
Ryan paused, a little shaken. He didn't quite understand what just happened, but he ignored it and said, "Leave me alone; I need to concentrate."
"No you don't; you have me; you can cheat."
"What do you mean 'I have you'? Who are you and why are you telling me to cheat?"
"My name's Benson, and all I want to do is show you how to live."
Again, Ryan paused.
What?
I want to show you how to be free.
What are you talking about… Benson?
I've heard a lot about you; from other students mostly.
"Will you leave me alone? I'm not asking you; I'm telling you; shut up and continue doing whatever test or homework or whatever's on your desk."
Benson held up one of the papers that were on his desk, for Ryan to see. It was a drawing. On it was a tree that had a scared face. A bunch of giant hands were grabbing the tree and trying to uproot it.
"That's great Benson; really great."
Benson held up another drawing. It was a drawing of giant eyeball that was being pierced by a jagged knife that was held by a dark-skinned hand with a wristwatch.
"Dude, you're freaking me out."
Ryan looked down and began to fill out random answers on his test paper. He heard Benson shuffle papers on his desk. Out of the corner of Ryan's eye, he could tell that Benson was holding up a different paper.
"Benny, you're a total idiot."
Ryan flashed a glance up when he said this, but he could not look away again. In this drawing were rough cartoons of Mr. Borgori, Mrs. Borgori, Ambrose, and Ryan himself. They were all smiling – except for Ryan. After a few seconds of studying the picture, Ryan realized that in the picture he was hanging by his neck from a rope. At the bottom of the paper there was suddenly the word "worthless".
At this, Ryan jumped up from the desk and dashed back into the Spanish classroom, sweating and breathing heavily.
Ryan felt pretty shaken the entire morning. He talked to no one, and did very bad on his second make-up test, which was on geometry. By lunch time, he slowly began to feel a little better.
Again, you messed up. You messed up on your first test, and your second. For cryin' out loud; HOW'D YOU THINK YOUR TESTS WOULD COME OUT IF YOU DIDN'T STUDY HARD? Ah well… at least you can enjoy the weekly special.
Ryan sat with Kyle at lunch, and ate the special 'tomato pizza' which was simply fresh tomatoes covered with melted cheese laid out in a circular fashion. Ryan and Kyle exchanged a few jokes, but after Kyle finished his meal, he and his other friends left the table together, leaving Ryan all alone. At this, Ryan's mood slipped downward a bit.
Seated at another table alone, was a tall black-haired girl eating mozzarella sticks from a lunch tray. She didn't look particularly pretty or ugly, yet for some reason, when Ryan noticed her, he couldn't seem to get his focus off of her. The girl couldn't seem to get hers off of Ryan either. She got up from her table and, with her tray, walked over to Ryan's table. The girl sat down.
Ryan looked around at others nearby, hoping they would notice what just happened, but they didn't.
"What's your name?" the girl asked.
"Ryan Borgori." Ryan replied. "What's yours?"
"Angelica." She said simply. Then she began taking mozzarella sticks that were on her tray and dipping them into her pasta sauce.
"I heard about what happened to you yesterday."
"You mean Friday? Yeah, it seems a lot of people have…"
"No, I mean yesterday."
"What?"
"You didn't study very hard yesterday."
Ryan's eyes went wide.
What is going on?
Nothing; everything's normal.
I met this kid earlier today. His name was Benson.
I don't know anyone named Benson.
Ryan's mind was completely centered on Angelica.
Who are you?
You're going to get an 'F' on both tests.
Ryan jumped up from the table. Everyone in the cafeteria turned and stared. He ran as fast as he could out of the cafeteria and into the school halls.
For the rest of the day, Ryan trembled and sweated. When people asked him if he was alright, he ignored them and, if conditions allowed it, he tried to move far away from them. When school ended, he walked as fast as he could to the bus. When he got off the bus, he ran far ahead of Ambrose to his house. As soon as he was inside, he ran as fast as he could up the stairs, into his bedroom, and then into his bed. Ryan pulled the covers over his head and closed his eyes as tight as he could.
After two hours had past, Ryan opened his eyes. He peaked out from under the covers. Then he laughed.
I don't believe you Ryan… I don't believe you… how can you possibly botch another day at school? Easy; you're you. It's what you do. Mess things up.
Aw, geeze. You didn't write down any of your homework did you? You idiot. Aw… what did you do in class today? Let's see; in Spanish and Geometry, you did make-up tests… you probably should just read the next chapter in both classes… in World Cultures you learned more about Mohandas Gandhi… in English you watched more of "Braveheart"…
Whoa…those are both two very interesting characters: Mohandas Gandhi and William Wallace. Both of them were heroes. Both of them had… fortitude, I guess. Both of them never let their guard down…never let their guard down against… discouragement.
God, listen man; these people are amazing. How did they do what they did? Why can't I be like them? Why couldn't I have been born like-
Ryan's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his front door opening and closing, coming through his half-open bedroom door. Ryan then Mrs. Borgori talking to Ambrose.
"Well, I'm glad you had a good day, honey. I just got home… do you know where Ryan is?"
"In his room. As soon as he got off the bus, he tore down the street and into the house. I don't know why. He's been real quiet up there. I guess he's sleeping."
Ryan was unable to hear the rest of the conversation. However, a few minutes later, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall. He pulled the covers back over his head.
Ryan heard his door creak slightly. A few seconds passed and then he heard the door creek and close completely. Ryan got out of bed, sped-read through the new Spanish and Geometry chapters of his textbooks, and then returned to bed… and to his thoughts.
I was born like them. That was the kind of person Jesus intended me to be. But… ever since I turned fourteen… I've just been…botchin' everything. Sorry God, but it don't look like I'll ever be the person that you wanted me to be.
Ryan fell asleep. During the night he awoke, and in the dark of his room, he saw a rope hanging from the ceiling, above the ground. At the end of the ropewas tied a wide-open circular knot. Terrified, Ryan wept. He shut his eyes tight and turned over in his bed, facing the wall. He felt so lost, so frustrated, so scared, and so hopeless.
Then something happened. Ryan felt a hand touch his head and run through his hair. As soon as the hand touched him, Ryan felt as if all the sorrow he had ever felt in his entire life was not enough to beat the incredible peace that he felt at that moment. The peace lasted for about ten seconds, and then the hand left Ryan.
"Dad?"
"What is it, Ryan? You gotta get to the bus stop; Ambrose is already there. Yo, why didn't I see you last night?"
"I uh, had a hard day so I went to bed early. Dad… did you come into my room last night?"
"Yeah."
"You did."
"Well, I opened the door a crack just to check on you; make sure you were okay."
"Did you touch me?"
"What?"
"Did you, like, I dunno, place your hand on me?"
"… No, son, I didn't."
Ryan hardly noticed the pounding rain and the flashing lightning, and he could only barely hear Michelle talk unceasingly when she got on the bus. Ryan did not even notice when the bus stopped at the school until the bus driver told him to get off. Ryan was not having trouble concentrating because his mind was preoccupied with negative thoughts; it was because he was absolutely astounded at the apparent miracle that had happened to him during the night.
By the time he managed to reach his homeroom (after accidentally taking two wrong turns in the school halls), Ryan talked to God.
Jesus, some weird things that I can't explain have been happening to me lately. Yesterday, I met two very strange people, I had this weird 'dream' I guess, about some 'hanging-rope', and then… I dunno; I guess you sent an angel to me or somethin'. What's all this about God? I mean, am I about to die or something?
"Wiliker, Daniels, Osbourne, Yoke, Pabloi, Veet…"
Ryan's homeroom teacher was walking down the aisle, handing out report cards.
"Butler, Winston, Borgori…"
3RD MARKING PERIOD RESULTS FOR:
Ryan M. Borgori
Spanish 1: 57.8
Biology 1: 73.0
Geometry: 65.5
World Cultures: 71.1
English 10: 60.9
Phys. Ed. (Rugby): 89.2
Ryan raised his hand.
"Yes Ryan?"
"When were these report cards published?"
"Last week."
Ryan…that means your 4th marking period grades are already down cause' of those bad tests. What is your problem? What is your problem?
"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM YOU TOTAL MORON!"
Ryan stormed out of the classroom and down the school halls.
"You can't do ANYTHING right! You're too DEPPRESSED to get good grades! You got FINE grades before you turned fourteen! You're a total LOSER! You'll never amount to ANYTHING! You're-"
"Worthless."
Ryan looked behind him and saw Benson standing less than a few feet away from Ryan. Benson was just standing there, watching him.
"You stay away from me, you freak!"
Ryan continued walking. But it wasn't long before he ran into Angelica.
"What'd I tell you?" she said.
"YEAH! YOU WERE RIGHT! ARE YOU HAPPY? ARE YOU SATISFIED THAT YOU SOMEHOW CORRECTLY PROPHISIED MY OBVIOUS FAILURE? THAT DIDN'T REQUIRE ANY PRHOPHEY; OF COURSE I FAILED THOSE STUPID TESTS!"
"And that's not all your about to fail." Said a voice from behind Ryan. Ryan turned around slowly, expecting to be scolded by a teacher or the principle. But he was shocked to see that it was another student… in fact, the student looked almost exactly like Ryan himself, only a couple of years older.
"I'm here to show you how to live." The older Ryan said.
"You think following God's the way, right?" Angelic said.
"Well, you obviously can't; you keep failing." said Benson, who seemed to have come out of nowhere.
"Don't be scared Ryan; we just want to show you the way…"
"SHUT UP! I don't want you to show me anything! Go away!"
Ryan turned to walk away, but the older Ryan grabbed his shirt.
"LET GO!"
Ryan pulled away and ran as fast as he could down the school hall. He kept looking over his shoulder. Each time he would see no one, but still have the foreboding sensation that he was being chased.
Ryan came to the back doors of the school, which led into the school yard. Outside lightning shot across the sky, madly. He looked behind him. All three of them were standing there, watching to see what Ryan would do.
"Please just leave me alone…"
"Dude, you look so worn out."
"Yeah, you look beaten and battered from life in general."
"Here, let me carry you."
"I DON'T WANNA BE CARRIED! I DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU GUYS! HEY, PUT ME DOWN! HELP!"
Benson and Angelica opened the doors for the older Ryan. Ryan was flung out into the rain and landed on his face in the mud.
Ryan panted and lifted his face. He couldn't decide whether or not he should turn around. Did they disappear? Would they still be there? Ryan stood up. He was completely covered with mud. As he began to turn around something hit him in the face and caused him to slip and fall back down. Now Ryan was turned around so that he could see towards the school doors. Benson, Angelica, and the older Ryan were all standing near Ryan, picking up mud and throwing it at him. Ryan covered his eyes and cried. He cried harder than he had ever cried in his entire life.
Jesus… save me!
A second miracle happed at that moment.
Ryan, Ryan. Finally, you submit.
I'm so sorry Lord.
He he. I know you are; I've been hearing you tell me that for the past three years!
What's gonna happen to me now?
Well, I'm gonna show you a couple of people.
Ryan found himself on the roof of a building. The sky was cloudless and very sunny. The building overlooked what appeared to be a shantytown. Beyond the town were fields of crops with men and women working in them. Beyond the farm there appeared to be a large, grey animal; it looked like an elephant.
A bed resided on the rooftop. An old man was laying on it. He had a bald scalp, a moustache, and a dark tan. The man looked very skinny and feeble. The bed was surrounded by three men in white robes with hoods. There was also a woman in a purple rob kneeling at the foot of the bed. She seemed like she was weeping.
One of the men spoke to the man in the bed.
"Mohandas, why are you doing this to yourself?"
The man in the bed took a hoarse breath, and then spoke in a quiet, raspy voice.
"You know what I'm doing and why, my dear friend Pandit."
"But Mohandas… Muslims and Hindus in almost all of Northern India have made peace with each other."
"Almost all, you say?"
"Yes, Mohandas; now please; look at your wife; she has prepared pudina rice. Please friend; you must eat."
"I will eat when all riots concede."
"My friend… you might die."
"And die a warrior, I will, Pandit. I'm fighting for something, and that something is very abstract; it's very hard to explain… they're both two very different people…"
He coughed pitifully, but strained to continue talking.
"Respect COUGH they must… GASP respect… each other."
The woman wept louder and covered Mohandas Gandhi's mouth with her hand. She laid her head on his chest and sobbed as she spoke.
"If you die… what will happen then?"
Gandhi then smiled a very large and warm smile. It was like the smiles of Ryan's father and mother. It was a smile that had the power to reach down into Ryan's heart and melt away his barrier of pride, leaving only joy and extreme humility.
"Far away from here, I'll go, my dear Kasturbai. Away from pain and sorrow. Do not be afraid, my dear wife, Kasturbai; God will always be with you. And he can provide more love and care than I could ever give you."
Kasturbai continued to cry. One of the other men standing around Gandhi's bed spoke.
"Mr. Gandhi. You speak as though you were going to heaven when you die; do you realize that only those who have accepted Christ into their hearts will go to heaven?"
The old man in the bed nodded, his eyes closed.
"What religion are you of, Mr. Gandhi?"
A while passed. Ryan thought that Gandhi might have expired, but he spoke.
"I am a Hindu, Mr. Jinnah… and I am a Muslim… and a Buddhist… and a Christian… I am a man."
The setting around Ryan changed itself. He found himself in a very large courtyard. The sky was red and torn by lightning strikes. The walls of the courtyard were made of steel and stood high above the ground. They cast an enormous shadow that only lifted briefly when lightning flared above. As soon as Ryan was inside the daunting area he wanted to leave. At the end of the yard opposite from where Ryan stood, there was a large gate. The gate was guarded by a demon... a very tall demon. As soon as Ryan looked into the demon's eyes, he was taken away from the courtyard.
So, what did you think, Ryan?
Jesus…that smile…how can a starving, dying man possibly have a smile that big?
Let me tell you something: it's not because he's a better person than you are.
Heh heh…you obviously haven't been watching me recently.
No, seriously Ryan; I have never left you; I've been calling you for a long time. Heck, I even touched you with my own hand…he he…and still it took three demons to finally get you to come to me.
God, I am so sorry.
It's okay Ryan. Right now, I'm more happy with you than I've ever been for a very long time!
What was with that courtyard and that really big demon?
You'll find out soon; now, look at this person - and keep in mind that he's just like you.
Ryan then found himself on top of a high mountain. The mountain overlooked a lush green countryside and a crystal-clear lake. The grey clouds were close to Ryan's head, and there was a fine mist in the air. On the mountain were two men talking to each other. Both of them wore ragged kilts and tattered shirts. One of them had long, rough blonde hair and an unshaved beard. The other, who was a head shorter, had shorter hair and no beard. The taller man spoke gruffly to the shorter one.
"Look at your men down there."
They both looked down the mountain. Ryan did too. He noticed that a large part of the land at the base of the mountain was occupied with many tents and pavilions. There were many figures moving amongst them.
"They follow your every command." The gruff man continued. "They're confidence is in you, William. With every order you give em' they become more enticed by the lie that they can win."
"This is not about winning." William replied. "This is about courage. This is about heroism." He paused. "Now you listen here, you overweight brute; I've been spending the last twenty-seven days on this stinking mountain, counting how many men we have and making diagrams in the dirt. And I've created the best battle plan that can possibly be conceived given our circumstances. I've molded it, started over, molded it anew, put parts in, took parts out, and then started all over again It's perfect. Now, might we still lose? Yes, that's very possible. Can we achieve victory? It is within our grasp. And I've been ripping my heart out, beggin' God that we win. But Hamish… don't you see? We can't loose.
"Are you out of yer' mind? I thought you just said that we might loose…"
"Aye, we might loose the battle. And if we do, what will the world see? What will run through their heads? What will their town-criers announce in the morning? I'll tell you what, Hamish; if England wins, the world won't be impressed with England. England's got the biggest and most highly trained and most highly equipped army in all of Western Europe. What news would it be that they overran forty-thousand savages from the mountains? I'll tell you what news, Hamish. The Scots would not surrender. Not to double-bladed sabers, not to heavy cavalry, not to tyranny. The Scots would not give way to that coward Longshanks that sits upon the throne in London."
Both Hamish and William Wallace were silent for a moment.
"William?"
"Aye?"
"Do you realize you may die?"
"Aye."
"And you're willing to die."
"Was that a question, Hamish?"
"ARE YOU WILLING TO DIE FOR YOUR COUNTRY, YOUNG WILLIAM WALLACE?"
"YOU'D BETTER BELIEVE ME WHEN I SHOUT 'AYE' IN YOUR SCRUFFY, MISERABLE LITTLE FACE, YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A MOUNTAINEER!"
Both men laughed. They talked cheerily for a long while after this. Ryan listened to them. The sun began to set.
"Come on, William; let's get you off this mountain… get you some food."
Then the mountain, the sky, the countryside, and the two patriots disappeared from around Ryan. He found himself back in the courtyard. The demon was still there guarding the gate. The demon grinned at Ryan. It mocked and insulted him. Then, once again, Ryan left the courtyard.
Lord, these people you're showing me; they intimidate me.
What do you mean by that, Ryan?
I dunno…they just seem so perfect; they just seem like they got it all together.
Ah, I told you already that he wasn't perfect. Don't be fooled by that lie. William Wallace was a patriot and a fervent one. But, do you know what? He told lies, he disrespected others, and he swore with my name.
He did?
Not all the time; not any more than you do, actually.
Are you serious?
He was a person just like you. And so was Monhandas Gandhi. You heard him; he had this problem with deciding what religion he was. That's right; Gandhi had problems.
People are people; they were people just like you.Tthey struggled with the same temptations that you struggle with today. Don't be intimidated Ryan. Be inspired, but don't be intimidated; not even for a minute. That's the demon, Ryan. That big sprite's a barrier between you and the gate. That gate is the way to freedom from that big, hideous courtyard that you live in. And as long as you look down on yourself, as long as you beat yourself up for sinning, you'll never get past that demon and get through that gate.
Jesus…William was probably counting on dying the day after he got off that mountain. But he was just so…optimistic! How can anyone possibly be that joyful?
Ryan, you'll find that a lot of joy comes by free will. My Holy Spirit is always there to help you. It will give you whatever you need; peace, joy, integrity, anything. But you gotta break that barrier, Ryan; that self-inflicted barrier. You gotta accept the help that I want to give you. Now, Ryan; it's time to go back to your life.
Oh no, please, Jesus; I don't want to go!
He he, well where would you prefer to go?
Show me one more person!
You want to see another person?
Yeah, just one more person… please, God.
Alright, son.
The next thing Ryan knew, he standing on a rocky and sandy shoreline. The sky was dark and the sun was just rising on the horizon. Behind the beach were high rocks and cliffs. Two men stood on the sand. One of them wore a bronze helmet, a red cape, brown leather attire. He held a sword in his right hand. His left hand was tied to a rope which extended about a yard away to the neck of the other man. This man was kneeling on the ground with his face bowed in the direction of the sea. The kneeling figure had very long hair that covered the front of his head. He wore a grey ragged tunic.
They both just stayed still for a while. Then the man who was kneeling stood up. He gazed at the sea. The man with the helmet sighed and shifted his shoulders. He spoke.
"John, are you just trying to annoy me?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you aware that I have to follow you wherever you go?"
"Uh… yes."
"Did it ever occur to you that I don't like having to get up from the warm barracks at the crack of dawn so you can… I dunno; do whatever it is you do here every morning?"
"You know what, Jerominus?"
"What?"
"It never even occurred to me that you might not appreciate it out here. Seriously! I'm extremely sorry; for some reason I've just never considered how you feel about this."
"… Let's go then."
"Go where?"
"BACK TO THE BARRACKS, YOU DAFT PRISONER!"
"Oh right, right. Heh heh, sorry; it's just I can't help but feel… he he; I dunno. I just feel so… bliss! So happy!"
"Obviously too happy."
They began to walk down the seaside. Jerominus walked in the front while John trailed behind like a dog. Ryan followed them.
"Jerominus!"
"What now, Hebrew?"
"Do you know what day it is?"
"The Ides of August."
"No, no, no… do you know who's day it is?"
"What? I dunno… you mean the day is Caesar's?"
"I mean the day is the Lord's!"
"What?"
"Today is the Sabbath! It's the Lord's day!"
"Not 'the Lord' again…"
"Why, won't you sing a song with me?"
"A song? No, no songs."
"Oh, but please! I just feel something inside me; we just have to recognize this day somehow."
"No John; we don't."
John began to sing in a language that Ryan couldn't understand. He guessed that it was Hebrew. John sung very jubilantly for about two seconds until Jerominus yanked hard on the rope. John stumbled and gagged. He stopped singing, but his face glowed. His smile engulfed his entire face and made it shine. John and Jerominus continued walking.
"Okay, we don't have to sing. Maybe we could just talk! We could talk about how great this day is, how awesome the ocean is; how weird the seagulls act…"
"Or… YOU COULD JUST SHUT UP!"
"You don't understand, my excellent Roman friend; I can't seem to keep my mouth shut! I don't quite understand it myself, but I… he he he he… HA HA HA HA… I just feel this amazing… HA HA HA HA… joy!"
"THAT'S IT!"
Enraged, Jerominus yanked so hard on the rope that John fell down face first in the sand.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! WHO ARE YOU! WHY ARE YOU ACTING SO… INSANE! HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY BE WHAT YOU CALL 'HAPPY'! WHAT DISEASE ARE YOU INFECTED WITH? I KNOW YOU'RE NOT CRAZY; I'VE BEEN WITH YOU FOR ALMOST FOUR STINKING, MISERABLE MONTHS… I know you're not crazy. I know almost everything about you. What is it you have? What is it… about you? Well, speak!"
John lifted his head out of the sand. He had obviously been listening intently the entire time. He replied to the Roman.
"The same thing that I've been telling you for the past four most enjoyable months; you know what I 'have'. As for this joy… well, this surge of ecstasy is frankly quite a mystery to me. That is, I know who's providing it; I'm just not sure why."
Jerominus said nothing for a long time. He only stood in awe at John. Then the Roman blinked and reached his hand down to the prisoner. John took it and was pulled to his feet.
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine."
"See, I knew it'd be fine; I knew you'd say that. I knew you wouldn't hate me for what I did. But why?"
"You know the answer, my fine Roman friend. I think the proper question is 'how can I get what you have'."
At that moment a thunderous voice boomed from behind Jerominus, John, and Ryan. All three of them turned around, startled. Only three yards away from the threesome, on the sand, was an extremely bright light. Jerominus and Ryan shielded their eyes, but John stared into the light with awe. Somehow Ryan knew that John was looking at something that no one but John could see at that present time.
The voice said, "Write on a scroll what you see and send it to the seven churches: to Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea."
Then Ryan left the beach. He was once again back in the courtyard. The demon was there. It resumed insulting him. But Ryan felt odd. For some reason he felt as if he was back in the middle of the schoolyard, during the thunderstorm. Ryan felt as if each time the giant demon insulted him, a slop of mud struck him in the face.
You are worthless and that's all you ever will be.
God doesn't care about you, you miserable piece of trash.
You'll never be like Gandhi, Wallace, or John; you'll never have joy.
Ryan's heart burned with anger. He walked right up to the giant demon and looked up into its face. He spat. And then he spoke.
You're a liar and a robber of hope. But I have heard the truth. I've heard it from the mouth of Mohandas Gandhi, William Wallace, John, and, above all else, God. God says that anyone can have joy. Now, I am going to have joy. By the grace of the Lamb who took away my obstacle of sin, I can have it! Now, out of my way, you deceiver. In the name of God Almighty, get out of my way! I'm going through that gate. I'm going to have joy. And when I get it, I'm going to be the happiest person in the entire world! In the name of God, LEAVE AND NEVER ENTER MY LIFE AGAIN!
It was raining. Thunder roared in the sky above. Ryan was lying on his chest in the mud. The three demons were gone, but over fifty students were gaping at him, from the shelter of the pavilion that hung above the school doors. Ryan scanned through the crowd. He spotted Chris, Eric, Cole, and Kyle amongst the gathering. He winked at each of the four of them, individually. Each of them took a frightened step backward when Ryan winked at them. Ryan giggled at this. Then he giggled at himself for giggling. Then he began to laugh very, very hard. He laughed for a very long time. There were teachers and school security guards in the crowd as well. They were petrified; none of them dared to go near Ryan.
The longer Ryan laughed, the harder he laughed. Lightning blazed in the sky, thunder shook the earth, and Ryan laughed. His face glowed. It glowed brighter than the lightning. Ryan smiled wider than he had ever smiled in his entire life. His smile secretly inspired each student that stood there watching him.
Who the heck is this kid? Isn't he that depressed one? Isn't he the guy that couldn't possibly be happy about anything?
What is going on here; first this weirdo spends almost three complete years moping and trudging around the school, and now he's laughing like he doesn't have a problem in the world. What happened to him?
God, have mercy on this kid. What is happening to him? I don't get it; he used to be depressed. You know; like me. Why – is – he - laughing?
Ryan Borgori started to laugh so hard that he began to choke and gag. He kept laughing though. He flopped backward into the mud and continued to laugh and choke. His body continued this for about three minutes more, until the laughing noise it made became completely in the throat. Then Ryan was silent.
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God."
Philippians 4:6 (NIV)