RESTING MY CHEEK on the palm of my hand, I tried to pay attention to Mr. Jackson’s monotone voice in English class. But it was no use. After counting tiles in the ceiling I doodled on my math notebook. When I glanced at the clock I saw I still had a half hour before the bell rang.
Mr. Jackson wrote something on the blackboard. The chalk particles collected into an image of Mike’s face. The dust kept moving across the board until I could make out the outline of his upper body. He smiled and winked at me.
Nice trick! I knew he could hear my thoughts.
“Thanks.” Mike mimicked Mr. Jackson as he waved his textbook, dramatically explaining the meaning of a poem we were studying. A giggle slipped out. Mr. Jackson shot me a disapproving look.
John Matthews, a guy I went out with once last semester, winked at me, obviously just as bored with this class as I was.
On my first date with him, he asked if he could kiss me, and I said no. He had salami breath. Disgusting! Our second date got canceled on account of a flat tire. He never rescheduled.
I looked up at Mike’s face on the blackboard. Did you deflate John’s tire to keep me from going on that date?
“Guilty!” Mike wagged his finger at me. “That guy has slept around. I didn’t want you with him. If it helps you feel any better, he picks his nose when he does his homework.”
No way. Another giggle came bubbling up, so I put my head down on my desk to help contain it. When I had gained my composure, I looked up again.
Mike’s eyes darted in the direction of Bill Chathem’s desk. I blushed at the memory of that date. It was one of those awkward kissing experiences I’d rather forget.
That date ended quickly when the car sputtered to a halt on the way home. He had to call his dad to pick us up. He never asked me out again either.
“I unplugged his spark plug. I didn’t want him touching you.”
Darn it, he did it again!
“You pick some real winners, Olivia. Oops, sorry. In John’s case, no pun intended!” Mike tossed his head back, laughing. As he did, the particles of chalk dust scattered like someone had blown on them.
Although disappointed at his departure, I sailed through the rest of the day, feeling good that Mike cared about me. He made me feel special. I didn’t feel alone anymore.
When you’re a child of God, you’re never alone. This wasn’t Mike’s voice. It was my holy Father speaking directly to me, just as I had heard those other nights. You are very special to Me.
I’d always thought of prayer as a one-sided conversation that sounded like a long grocery list of things people wanted. I now realized the communication was supposed to be two sided. And I was beginning to listen to the other side.
So this was what people meant when they talked about a personal relationship with God.
Arriving home from school and volleyball practice on Tuesday night, I found my parents sitting at the kitchen table. Usually after they both got out of work at the elementary school where they taught, they ate dinner and then spent the night in the living room either watching TV or reading. The fact that they were waiting for me when I walked in the door clued me in that something wasn’t right.
“What’s up?” I yawned, hoping I could make this brief by acting tired.
“Your father and I think you need to see a psychologist.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “Dad?” I pleaded.
“Your mom and I talked about this last night. I’m sorry, but I agree with her. Since you’ve been seeing things no one else does, we think it would be a good idea for you to talk to someone about it.”
“I’m not crazy.”
Mom folded her hands across her chest. “Sane people don’t have hallucinations.”
I slammed my backpack onto the floor. “I won’t go. You can’t make me.”
“Honey,” my dad said in a timid voice, “a psychologist can help you know what’s real and what isn’t.”
“Can I go to my room now?”
“Yes,” Dad said.
I picked up my backpack and ran upstairs to my room. I flung my pack onto the floor and jumped on my bed, landing face down.
After crying for a minute or two, I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. But I didn’t want to talk to Mike right now. If it weren’t for him, my parents wouldn’t think I was crazy.
God, why did You allow me to get into this mess? I need some help here.
God had sent a guardian angel to help me. But I doubted he could help me with this.