Driven

By Andrew Miller

Three short stories place the birth of Christ in modern times. Each brings a very different perspective. Each brings insight, warmth and a touch of humour. Each sees how Jesus might have worked the social media, healed in the light of modern medicine and handled the fame culture. Driven even addresses that nagging question: ‘What would Jesus drive?’

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781304341532

Andrew Miller

ANDREW MILLER is an operations expert whose clients include the Bank of Nova Scotia, McKesson Canada, 3M Canada, Mount Sinai Hospital, and other world-class institutions. Before starting his firm in 2006, he held senior consulting positions with IBM Business Consulting Services and PricewaterhouseCoopers Consulting.

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Driven

Andrew Miller

Copyright © 2013 by Andrew Miller

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored or transmitted by any means - whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic - without written permission of both publisher an author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorised reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-304-34153-2

1. The Seer

i

His hand held the keys.  It was a strong hand, masculine, and lightly calloused on the palm and fingers.  There were a couple of nicks and abrasions and the knuckles were slightly rough and discoloured.  It’s nails were short and clean but of a labourer’s hue.  Well-defined veins and a sparse covering of dark hair ran over the back.  It was at once both an impressive hand and an ordinary one and it clasped the keys with a sense of importance.  Almost an urgency.

He inserted the bulkiest of them into the ignition, turned it and the engine sputtered to life.  With that, the vehicle pulled away from the curb to begin its final run on this route.  Though a Monday, it would be his final day at work and he was glad for the employment and relative security he had enjoyed up until that time.  At the same instance he was both excited and not a little fearful for the new life that lay ahead.  Tomorrow, he believed, he would start to change the world.

His hands turned the wheel and as he rounded the corner he drew parallel to a small creek and ran alongside of it.  A couple of young boys, still ladened with their oversized school bags on their backs, were fossicking around in the near bank, muddying their hands and feet to clear their minds.  One of them, with a shock of brown hair that looked as though it hadn’t been combed for weeks, looked up as the driver passed and for the briefest instant, as light sparkles off a wave in the water, their eyes met. 

The driver saw him.

Though he had passed him by, he still saw the young lad excitedly gather a small frog in his hands and, cradling it, call across to his friends to come and look.  The boy was so happy.  So happy.  He felt so victorious.  What a triumph this was.  Oh, he was happy.  His body almost shivered with joy as he held this marvel of nature in his hands.  He held it up to the sky as though it were an offering and sang out his find.  What a wonderful frog.  And it was such a beautiful lime green, too.  Just the right colour.  Just the right size.  It was perfect.  The other boys stepped with a splash across the creek to admire the creature and feel a little envy.  Cupping it gently in his hands, he washed it in the cool waters and then carefully observed it again. 

The driver’s heart sang at the scene of it all.

The boy pondered.  How would he keep it?  All day at school.  Ms. Durkin’d freak.  He’d have to keep the frog carefully hidden.  He could just put it in his pocket.  His pocket was perfect for that! That’s what he did last time with the bullfrog.  And she never knew.  It was foolproof!  Except for Mum.  She got so mad.  He didn’t mean to forget about it.  It was just an accident.  And she got so mad.  The poor frog.  Round and round in the washing machine.  In the end there were bits of frog all through the clothes.  Mum said it would take several more washes to get all the frog out.  He didn’t get to watch TV for a week after that.  And it was just an accident, too.  It wasn’t on purpose.  He just forgot.  Like Mum forgets to check his homework sometimes and Ms. Durkin goes nuts.  He was so sad about the frog.  And all mum could think about was the clothes.  The poor frog.  But this one was even better!  And now he knew not to forget it in his pocket.  But what if he did forget it again?  But he wouldn’t!  But what if he did?  The poor frog.  And Mum would get even madder.  Maybe he should just put the frog back in the creek with its family.  But it was such a nice frog.  He couldn’t just let it go after finding it.  Why, it came to him!  It really seemed to want to be picked up.  And he would take such good care of it.  And it was so cool.  It would fit so easily in his pocket.  Just as long as it didn’t get out of his pocket at school and just as long as he didn’t leave it there when he got home.  Or should he just put it back it?  Oh, what a problem!  This was a crisis.  He peeped carefully into his hands to see his little green friend again.  It was smiling.  No, he had to keep him.  That much was clear.  He gingerly tipped the frog into the very bottom of his pants pocket and shuffled off to school, now late, with his friends.

The driver smiled.  He shared an affinity with the boy.  He, too, had delighted in playing with frogs long ago.  He saw much of himself in the boy.  He felt as though he knew him. And the boy not only reminded him of his past but also his future.  This was, in part, why he today had to leave the joinery.  It had served its purpose but was no longer right for him.  There was now so much more for him and he could no longer hold back.  How he loved that boy.  That little boy and his joy in the frog was the very essence of all that was right with the world.  He smiled more broadly as he thought of this.  It was a beautiful world.

ii

He took the car down a steep decline and turned left at the bottom into a semi-arterial road.  Picking up speed, he passed a middle-aged lady walking a white scottish terrier on his left and a school boy with his shirt hanging out going the other way on his bicycle on the right.  The early spring sun shone brightly through the bare branches of the trees which stood like sentries along the road.  There was a crispness to the air which gave everything a clean and wholesome appearance.  A couple of barren fig trees stood in a conclave off to one side of the road.  A high school girl, clad in a navy pleated skirt and uniformed blazer, skipped past him on the left.  Her straight, dark hair swung as she moved and her eyes, which turned and met his just for a split second, twinkled.

He saw her.

How she was in love.  He was all she could think about.  Though not yet hers, he soon would be, she was sure.  She had a math test that morning and a big assignment due that afternoon but neither of them mattered.  At all.  All that mattered was that she would in a few moments see him again, talk to him again, feel his smile and be the only one in the classroom that he saw.  She knew to keep her poise but also that it would be hopeless.  But it didn’t matter to her in the slightest if she did go all to pieces.  He would be hers.  When he had asked his friend to ask her friend to ask her if she would go out with him, her heart soared.  Of course she had told her friend ‘yes!’ who had told his friend ‘probably’ who had passed on to him a guarded ‘maybe’, suggesting that he should ask.  He loved her.  She was sure of this.  He loved her as she loved him.  They had only to declare it to each other with a simple question and answer.  It would probably be awkward and clumsy but it would be beautiful and timeless at the same time.  She was so excited by this.  Her heart kept leaping at the thought of him asking her out and she skipped along the pavement which each wave of bliss.

The driver felt her joy.  Though so very different from her, he was also the same and he knew that joy well and he celebrated it with her.  There was a time, he remembered, when he danced for joy like that, when he was so high it was as though the stars were shining for him alone, as though the wind was blowing specifically to caress his face, and the warmth of the sun was order made for his pleasure. 

That song.  It had come on the radio again that very morning.  The tune was for them, the lyrics were their own and the feel of it was like their own private assurance that everything was right.  It had to be their song.  When the lead sang,

"As the leaves sing and dance

At the joy of romance

And the sun pours its rays

For now and all days

Across a sky deep and blue

Stretched out for me and you

And all the world is blessed

Because you whispered ‘yes’"

it was for them.  He was the embodiment of this song for her and she was to be the essence of it for him.  She couldn’t get the song out of her head and as it played, visions of his affections filled her mind and consumed her heart.  She skipped some more.

The driver understood.  The song of love in her heart was a movement of his own.  Her melodies and harmonies were a reflection of his own.  He innately knew that.  It was as common knowledge to him.  He could identify so easily and strongly with her though her age and gender and race and faith were not his own.  And he loved her for that.  He wanted to stay with her but there were others.  But oh how he loved the purity and the joy in that girl’s heart.

iii

He pulled up at a set of lights and watched the parade pass before him.  Kindergarten children in boater hats and ties, old women bent over and shuffling awkwardly all turned feet and canes, businessmen in crisp white shirts and navy suits strutting with occupied expressions over the crossing, middle-aged ladies walking dogs not much larger than rats on long red leashes and an unkempt man wearing shabby shoes on his feet and all the guilt in the world on his face.  A delivery man across the street struggled to balance a load of wine casks on a trolley.  One had split and he was fretting terribly over the loss.  A young women with her mind far removed from her physical being passed in front of him.  She was miles away, preoccupied with matters far beyond those of the day.  She turned for an instant when his car inched forward, and glimpsed through the reflections on the windscreen the driver’s gentle face.

He saw her.

Her life