Project Short: The Adventure & The Home

Project Short: Story 7

They were seated on the edge of the pier, alone, legs dangling over the wood, the spray from the wild water making them shiver, a little. They had been quiet that night, so much to think about, just so much.

He smiled a little, waiting for her to break the silence. Finally:

“I just- I just don’t want to miss something.” The words burst out of her mouth, and he looked at her, his face only slightly turned toward her. He could feel the tiny droplets of water hit his cheek.

“I don’t want to wake up one day and not have done everything I wanted to do. But I feel like I’ll never get to that place, anyway. And I’m scared to settle down because I’m scared I’ll miss what I was created for. And I’m scared that I won’t leave behind a legacy, that I’ll just be a normal person who lives and dies and is buried and no one cares, no one. I need to make a difference. And settling down: “settling?” The word makes me cringe. I can’t just change diapers and make lunches for the rest of my life, can I? I have to be somebody.”

He had all the answers, and he wondered if she wanted them, and he wondered what she wanted to hear. Did she want to be proven wrong? Right? He wanted to ask her “why?” Why did she have to be great, why did she have to hold herself to this impossible standard, why did she feel the need to be always free and never known? 

He wanted to tell her that she was already living a legacy, that she was already doing what she was created for, that settling down was magic, that all her fear was too much over-thinking. He wanted to tell her these things, and so many more, and he wanted to take her face in her hands and fiercely tell her to stop being ridiculous because love was the only answer to any of these questions anyway. 

She was still speaking.

“And I need adventure. Lots of it. New people and places and opportunities. I need it like air, and I don’t think I’ll ever not need it.”

He said her name then, trying not to reach out to turn her face to look at him.

But the way he said her name made her turn her head, and his eyes made her heart gasp a little. Never had she seen…

“Adventure isn’t always somewhere far off and dangerous and…and unknown,” he said then, and his voice was quiet, a quiet strength. 

It made sense then, everything she had ever wanted. It was all in his eyes…the passion and the compassion, the fire and the fuel, the peace and the storm, the safest danger she had ever encountered. And yet adventure was not what she saw, at that moment.

For she had never seen a home she had wanted, until she saw it in his eyes.

In his eyes was home.

Project Short: “Then What?”

Project Short: Story 6

“Then what?” His question was gentle. He was young, maybe 16. Not your average 16; he had a purity and an intensity that always seemed to contradict. Innocence, and then deep wisdom, would play through his eyes like a haunting melody. 

“Then...” I couldn’t go on. How could a man of 68 explain to a boy of 16 how he had walked away? I swallowed hard, because the regret, even after all these years, still made me choke. But he already knew. He must have, because I saw him nod, and then turn his face away. A car pulled into the driveway, and from his seat next to me on the porch, he stood to his feet, pulling his backpack from the ground. He looked at me closely, as if searching. Maybe he was thinking of a lovely girl, the girl I had once left... a girl with a baby, mine. A baby that would one day have a boy of his own, a boy with contradicting eyes, wisdom, innocence. A boy who would never know his grandfather as his grandfather because... 

I had walked away. 

Project Short: Knew It Then

Project Short: Story Five

I knew I loved him, then. 

But I said nothing.

Nothing of the way I wanted to comfort him, or write him letters, or hear his deepest secrets.

I said nothing of the way I hoped that someday he would love me too, that someday he would let me show the deepest grace and love that I desperately wanted to show him.

I didn’t want to talk about pounding hearts and nice feelings. I wanted to talk about the hardest and the bitterest of life, the trials of faith, the hope of a future together. I wanted to forget the wrongs and celebrate the rights, I wanted to create a home in my heart where he could belong. I wanted to create a home that he could come home to when his day was hard and his heart was hurt. I wanted to be a sanctuary of hope for him, the reason he could smile again. I wanted to tell him that my love for him was as pure as the sunrise as it shatters the grey dawn and scatters the stars in their galaxies, that my heart was as open as the ocean as the sun hits the zenith of the skies, that my trust was as boundless as the cobalt sky over the water.

I knew I loved him, then.

But I said nothing.

Project Short: Nonsense

Project Short: Story 4

“Just slow down for two seconds.” His voice was stern, different from his usually polite and carefully modulated tone. The way he said it, and not the words themselves, made me stop.

“What?” I asked, but the words that I had meant to come out confidently and rebelliously sounded tight and small and intimidated.

He must have been expecting me to be mad, because his face registered surprise at my cowed response.

“I…I just want to talk to you. Without you running off and pretending like you have the world to save.”

“But…” 

He interrupted me. “The world can wait at least as long as I have for you.”

“What?” Seriously, was this the only word in my vocabulary? This time my response sounded bewildered. Why, oh why, and where, oh where, was my confidence and grace and strength and boundaries and carefully guarded inner world?

I looked up, and he was closer than I allowed any man to be. I stepped back, glaring the best I could.

“Would you please give me five minutes of your time? Please?”

I crossed my arms.

“Fine. But no nonsense or else you’re finished.”

“Okay. Fair enough.”

I saw him swallow, hard.

“Is it nonsense to say that I love you?”

Project Short: Uganda 2018

Project Short: Story 3

3.1.2018
I’m sitting in the back seat laughing because I’m in Uganda, in the seventh vehicle in seven days, our car having mishaps for the fourth time in three days.
It’s raining.
I’m in a short sleeve shirt, sniveling into it because I’m coming down with a cold and no one has tissue.
I’m eating pizza left over from dinner and singing James Arthur.
Then I’m writing a song in the back of a friend’s dad’s car and kinda wanting to go home, kinda wanting desperately to not miss the moment, and really, I know this is rambling and weird and just crazy, but I’m crazy happy.
This is adventure.

Project Short: Farmer Jiff

Project Short: Story 2

This story is  based on an incident that actually happened!! 

Farmer Jiff

He lived on a farm. 

He went to my school. 

He was on the wrestling team. 

He was good. 

We all called him Jiff, even though with a flick of his hand he could have sent us flying. I don’t know where the nickname started, but “Jiff” was already a legend, even before the incident. I was there the day it happened though. Anthony Hodges hated Jiff, almost with the same intensity that Martha hated cinnamon. (But that’s another story for another day.) Anyway, it was Thursday, and Jiff was headed home to finish his chores on the farm. The rest of us guys were warming up for a workout, all of us except Anthony, that is. Jiff watched Anthony out of the corner of his eye as he put his uniform in order for the coming match on Saturday. Anthony stopped suddenly and tilted his head to the side, a sneer distorting his face. 

“Aren’t you gonna workout with the rest of us?”

Jiff answered slowly, casually, like he hadn’t heard the challenge and sneer in Anthony’s tone. 

“Can’t. I have to finish up some work on the farm.” 

It wasn’t unique to that night; Jiff never worked out with us, and nobody questioned it. He was our best wrestler. 

Anthony walked closer to Jiff, and Jiff straightened imperceptibly. 

I stepped forward casually, pointed at two apples that happened to be balancing on the table. 

“Jiff, show us how strong you are.”

Jiff tipped his head at me, acknowledging my suggestion. Slowly he reached for the apples, and squeezed. Apple oozed through his fingers, applesauce and juice where two apples had just been. Jiff tipped his head at me again, glanced at Anthony, and walked out. No one ever messed with him again.

Introducing: Project Short

Introducing: Project Short!
It’s writing contained within only a paragraph or page, writing that grasps a moment in time and tells you everything, and nothing.
Join me for the next three weeks as I post a story every other day!


•Story One•

“Are you okay?” His voice sounded breathless, like he’d just finished running, or like he was nervous. I looked into those eyes, and he looked away. Strange. He’d never had any issue with his confidence before. For a moment I forgot how much I wanted to cry.

“Are you okay?”

He took two deep breaths before nodding hastily.

“I thought you were crying..?” he said, slowly, after a moment.

“No. I wasn’t. But I wanted to.”

Had I really just said that? It was against the rules to show weakness.

But the look on his face was not triumphant. He did not seem pleased or amused at my slip. Yet he seemed...glad somehow. Joy and sorrow mixed in his eyes. I wanted to know what he was thinking more than anything.

“What are you thinking?” My eyes widened as I realized that I had again voiced what I had no intention of saying. For a moment his face registered bewilderment. Then, in almost a whisper-

“I was thinking that I just want you to be okay.”