So, I’m going to try something new here. The primary purpose of my blog posts/essays was always two-fold: to practice writing, and to keep the throttle primed. Before last year I only wrote when I was inspired or when I had a coherent premise in mind. Now that’s not necessarily a terrible approach, I mean you’re still stoking your creativity after all. But it’s not the most efficient or effective (for me at least). In order to get better at writing and to form a habit you have to be writing regularly. It doesn’t have to be every day, and it doesn’t have to be a certain number of words written or time spent. Regularly for you is likely different than regularly for someone else. That being said, I think it’s time for me to experiment a little. So, what am I getting at here? Glad you asked; that’s a great question!  

Before I tell you, let me clarify that I’m not changing my direction. I’ll still write about mental health/illness, provide positivity, and give advice, but we’re going to add something else to the mix. I decided a few weeks ago that I’m going to start writing short stories. I figure that’s the best way to learn how to teach myself how to write a novel. I’ve had a good amount of practice writing poetry and first-person accounts of events, but I haven’t done as much with third-person storytelling, which will be critical. So here we go, I’m going to try it out. The truth is that I did start writing one, and I probably would’ve posted it by now already if I hadn’t accidentally deleted it. Lesson learned, always keep backups. Storing your files on the cloud is usually a good idea, except that it doesn’t thwart user error. Well, now I know. It’s best to have a cloud version and a local version, that way you don’t lose all your work. Which actually, thankfully, isn’t exactly what happened. It could’ve been worse. You know me. I try to find the positive in every negative situation.   

So, what happened was I had decided to transfer my photos/videos from my old iPhone to my new one. In order to do that, I first uploaded all the files to my iCloud, then downloaded them onto my Macbook, so that I could turn off the old iPhone and finish the last step of the transfer at a later date. Looking at it now, I realize I didn’t have to do all this. I could’ve just left them on iCloud for now and downloaded them straight to my phone when I had time. Oh well, it’s too late now. But as I was saying, I downloaded the photos onto my Macbook and reuploaded them to iCloud, then deleted the photos from my Mac. In doing so, I inadvertently deleted a folder that I had named Morning Pages. This folder contained the short story I was working on, as well as backup copies of my blog posts and everything I had written since 2020. But I have to admit that I did get lucky. A lot of these documents were just words and random thoughts & musings, not publishable content. The only thing I really missed was the aforementioned short story that I had started, but it wasn’t like I scrapped a magnum opus or anything like that; at this point it was only a 500-word story. It can and will be restarted and rewritten. After all, that’s the whole point of this post.  

I’m not going to lie; I was a bit bummed out after this incident. That’s why I didn’t try to rewrite it right away. I had started writing this story the Friday before Memorial Day weekend on what turned out to be an unexpected day off. On Monday June 7^th after work, I decided to sit down, work on the story, and hopefully finish it. Only to discover that the story no longer existed. What a bummer… But that just means the story will be even better than it was before! But I have to say, the biggest relief had nothing to do with the story at all. My biggest relief was that I didn’t delete the folder that contained all of the material that I’ve been working on for my fantasy series. Honestly, I don’t know what I would’ve done if that was deleted. Months of work and planning would’ve been gone down the drain at the snap of a finger. That would’ve been truly devastating. But God was watching out for me, as He always does. And He saved me from true heartbreak. His divine providence is something to rejoice over, and to count as a constant blessing. But enough preamble, without further ado, here’s a tale I call “He Watches Over Me.”  

Richard had it all: money, fame, fortune. But he wasn’t happy. Wasn’t happy and now he’s dead. He was a workaholic. Always had been. He saw that his father was a deadbeat, and vowed from a young age that he wouldn’t be like him. But that didn’t help him any in the end. Dick and Richard died the same way, a heart attack followed by a fiery car crash. In life, the two were as different as different can be, but that didn’t mean a thing in death. 

Dick couldn’t hold down a job to save his life. It just never worked out, although admittedly he never tried that hard. Excuse after excuse, but he was never to blame. They didn’t appreciate the work he did; his coworkers were out to get him; this workplace was un–American. Always a different story for why he was out of a job yet again. But the reality was that the drink was always what did him in. Dick was a monster with little self-awareness. Angry at the lemons that life threw him, but never enough ambition to do anything about it. A blame-shifter, a gaslighter, a beater; Dick was a despicable human being. Everybody knew it, but nobody did anything about it. It wasn’t their place. No surprise that Richard rejoiced when he died. Dick was his father, but was never a father to him. It would’ve been better had he left. He was present but not present. Which made him no different than any of the other deadbeat fathers that had abandoned their families when the going got rough.  

Richard vowed to not be like him, and he wasn’t. Richard worked hard at everything he did. He was a perfectionist. At the slightest change of plans, freak-out was imminent. He would get his way, no matter what. It didn’t matter how improbable a task, things had to happen the way that Richard envisioned. Or else someone would pay. And by God, he knew how to make someone pay. Scapegoat wasn’t a word in his vocabulary, but it was ever-present in his life. So, in that sense, he and his father were no different. Self-righteous, serial blame-shifters. But in the end, it really didn’t matter. They were both dead as can be.  

“Where am I? What happened?”  

“Car accident.”  

“I mean, I can see that. What the fuck?! Why’s my car totaled? Someone will pay. Who did it?”  

“You. You had a heart attack then crashed.”  

“You can’t be serious. I was perfectly healthy.” 

“No… Actually, you weren’t.” 

“Wait… Who are you?”  

“I go by many names, but you can call me the Reaper.”  

“Is this some sort of sick, twisted joke? What are you, some sort of demented weirdo?” 

“I assure you this is no joke. Look at my clothes. I am who I say I am.” 

“Wait a minute. So, you’re telling me that you’re actually real?!” 

“Yes. You see me clearly in front of you, do you not?” 

For the first time during this whole ordeal, Richard took a look down. What he saw unsettled him no end. He saw his battered and broken body strewn across the pavement. Blood splattered fifteen feet in nearly every direction. His corpse was in fact nowhere close to his burning vehicle, as his body had been launched from the Corvette as soon as it had hit the median. The vehicle was straddling the guardrail, resting on what was now its crushed, non-existent passenger side. What unsettled Richard more than seeing his own bloody body was seeing his incorporeal-self floating several feet above the accident. 

“Bring me back. I’m too young to die.” 

“What was that?” 

“I said bring me back! You’re the grim reaper. Bring me back to life!” 

“I cannot do that. It is not in my power to grant life. I bring only death.” 

“Well, if you can’t do anything about it, get me in touch with someone who can.” 

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. There’s no one else. It’s just you, me, and death.” 

“C’mon man. I’d like to speak to your supervisor. You must have a boss; everyone has a boss.”  

“That’s not how this works. Follow me, I have something to show you.” 

“What is it?” 

“So many questions. Stop asking, just follow.” 

Before Richard could say another word, there was a blinding flash and he was transported to a different time and space. Or rather, a capsule devoid of time or space. Or maybe, just a memory. Richard, always so sure of everything that happened in his life, for the first time was unsure of what he was seeing. Richard, always with a word to say, for the first time was left speechless. Richard, who always knew everything about everything, for the first time had to admit that maybe he knew nothing. That was as far as he would go. Maybe. After all, it would be very off-brand to concede fault, ignorance, or weakness. Nevertheless, despite his reservations, he ended up opening his mouth, but before he could speak, the Reaper interjected, “don’t speak. Just watch.” 

Entranced by the scene that was unfolding before his eyes, Richard did not realize that his mouth was hanging agape. But he did as he was told, and watched. What he saw was not something that he remembered, but there was a strong inkling in his mind that this past event had actually occurred. 

His son, Ricky was sitting on the floor of the living room, eating dinner and watching TV with his mother, when he asked, “Mommy, when is daddy coming home?” 

“I don’t know Ricky. You know how busy he is.” 

“But, mommy… I miss him. Can I call him?” 

“No, sweetie. You know he doesn’t like being bothered when he’s at work.” 

“So, what do we do now?” asked Ricky as he started crying. 

“Your father and I love you very much Ricky. I hope you know that. Eat your dinner, so that you can grow big and strong. If you finish all your vegetables, I’ll read you your favorite book.” 

“But I’m not hungry anymore.” 

“It’s ok. Neither am I. Just sit here and hold onto mommy,” said Richard’s wife as she gestured towards her lap. 

         

Pop! Flash!

For the second time, Richard was temporarily blinded. When his vision cleared, the scene that he was watching disappeared, and was replaced with a different one that Richard surmised had occurred five or six years ago. Looking around, he realized that he was at a baseball game, and his son Ricky, now 12 years old, was stepping up to the plate. 

“It’s the bottom of the 9^th, and Ricky Kelly is up to bat. The score is 4–1. Bases are loaded. The Devil Dogs are down to their final out. It’s their last chance at getting into the playoffs. 

Swing & a miss. The count is 0–1. 

Good eye Ricky. That ball was up & in. 1–1”

Crack! 

“Ooh, Ricky launched that one to right field. But, oh no… It’s curving foul. Count is 1–2. The Dogs are in trouble now.”

Crack! 

“Oh my God! He did it! He really did it! He crushed that ball! Going, going, gone! Ricky Kelly with the walk–off grand slam! The Devil Dogs are in the playoffs!”

As Ricky rounded the bases, Richard could see that his son had tears in his eyes. 

“Way to go Ricky!” Richard’s wife exclaimed as soon as he reached the plate. But Ricky wasn’t in the mood. 

“Let’s just go home mom,” Ricky said dejectedly.

“What’s wrong?” 

“He wasn’t here. He didn’t come. He promised me.” 

“I’m sorry you’re disappointed Ricky. You know how busy he is.” 

Pop! Flash!

The scene reset. Pomp & Circumstance was playing in the background, as Ricky walked up to the podium.  

“And now a few words from your Valedictorian Ricky Kelly!”

Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!

“Thank you everyone. I’m going to keep this short & sweet, I’m not one for speeches… I do have plenty of people to thank for supporting me along the way: my mom, my friends, and my teachers. Without them I wouldn’t have been able to get to where I am now. Like I said, short & sweet, so I’ll leave y’all with this. Just remember that you can accomplish your dreams and more if you put in the effort and believe in yourself. But you can’t do it alone. Cherish what you have and count your blessings. But most importantly don’t forget to tell your friends and family that you love and appreciate them.” 

Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! 

“Way to go Ricky!”

“Let me guess, he’s not here is he mom?” Ricky asked as the ceremony concluded.  

“You know how busy he is.” 

“You know I hate when you say that. I’m tired of it. I’m sick of the same damn excuses.” 

“Language Ricky!” 

“I’m sorry. Whatever, let’s just go.”   

Pop! Flash! 

“Enough. I’ve seen enough,” Richard mumbled. 

“I have nothing else to show you. I take it you have learned your lesson?” 

“Yes, I have.” 

“And tell me, what is it that you’ve learned?” 

“I’ve tried my hardest to give my Ricky a good life, but I haven’t been there for him. I’ve missed every significant milestone in his life. He needs me around.” 

“Very good.” 

“I know what I must do now. I tried my hardest to not be like my father, but like him I have not been present in my son’s life. The process was different but the result was the same.” 

“So, what comes next?” 

“I’ve made plenty of money in my lifetime. But I’ve barely spent any time with my son. I will quit my job tomorrow. Hopefully it’s not too late for me to learn how to be a father.” 

“Well, my job here is done then.” 

“So, you really aren’t the grim reaper then, are you?”

“I am what you made me to be.” 

“Ok, clear! Let’s try it one more time.”

Whoomp 

Beep… Beep… Beep… 

“We have a pulse! Man was he lucky. Someone up there was watching over him. He’s lost a good amount of blood, but he only has a concussion, a broken leg, and a few cracked ribs. He’s going to be alright folks! Step on the gas, we still need to get him to the hospital though.”

Richard opened his eyes and smiled. He knew what he needed to do next.