A Tiny Faith
After sleeping rough, I needed to bathe in the creek. I removed the necklace my grandmother had given me and placed it on a rock. It was teardrop-shaped glass dangling off a gold chain. In the middle of the glass floated a tiny mustard seed. "You only need this much faith in yourself," she'd say. Then, with a sad smile, she'd pat my hand.
Drugs had pulled me from my grandmother and the life I wanted. A life where I'd drink gourmet coffee by a clean window sill, looking out on an orderly world. The surface would smell of lemony furniture polish absorbed by the barren wood; bringing it back to life. Could I be brought back?
I climbed out of the water and reached for my necklace—it was gone. My body became very still, and I froze in place. It was hard to breathe as I realized the loss.
That mustard seed held the memory of being loved. It was the last reminder that someone believed in me. My hands were shaking and tears blurred my vision.
My fingers traced the bare skin around my neck. I imagined a noose, robbing me of all those tomorrows my grandmother promised.
Shaking the image, I scoured the dry grass on my hands and knees. Despite having just bathed, my body reeked of desperation.
I unearthed slippery rocks and explored their crevices. My hands shoveled scoops of dirt and separated fallen acorns from pine cones…nothing.
I shook my blanket, but only leaves fell. An emptiness hollowed me when I stared at my filthy fingers.
Long ago I played piano. My grandmother said my hands fluttered across the keyboard like pale butterflies. They floated, producing melodies that sounded like a hundred angels singing. Now I gripped my backpack with clumsy hands that moved as fast as the Oxy allowed. Reaching inside, I grabbed more drugs, seeking oblivion.
From somewhere, between the branches of the trees, a piercing glint. There was a sparkle… a teardrop-shaped sparkle coming from a big elm. I shuffled closer. A squawk erupted from a myna bird, mocking me from his bejeweled nest.
My only connection to love had been woven between twigs and moss, reflecting sunlight and hope. Sitting in pride of place, he'd crowned his home with something irreplaceable…something precious. He had more faith than I did.
