Stories for a Friend

By Colin Livers

How do you live a spiritual life in this world? And how do you find love? These five related stories explore, through one young man, those eternal questions. A different girl in each story helps to provide an answer, illuminating the meaning of friendship. There is loneliness in life. There is suffering. There is sin. Yet there is also a path toward happiness. In essence, this collection of stories is about one man's search for God, the Friend.

We meet Colin in the first story when he's in college. A girl in one of his classes sits next to him, leading to an experience that can barely be imagined. In the second story, he finds another girl on a social networking site, with reality and idealism mixing together. A bizarre television show appearance, along with a confession for all the viewers, follows in the third story. In the fourth story, a high-school acquaintance shows up, bringing true faith to light. Finally, in the last of the five, Colin meets and becomes friends with a child on a cruise ship. It isn't going smoothly for them on the melancholy sea. Help must be sought, especially in the darkest moments.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colin Livers
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781736703632

Book preview

Stories

for a

Friend

––––––––

Colin Livers

Copyright © 2012 by Colin Livers

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

PoorBirds Press

ISBN 978-1-7367036-3-2

To my mother and father

Stories

for a

Friend

Contents

Preface

1

2

3

4

5

Preface

THESE STORIES are about some girls I knew—or didn’t know. I just decided to use one name for the main girl in each story. Don’t ask me why. They’re stories, yeah. I mean, I made them up. But I didn’t, really. What I mean is they’re autobiographical. I wrote a lot about myself. I also wrote for someone else. The stories, see, even though they might seem self-involved, were actually written for a friend.

Now, since this is my first book, I want to explain something. I am not an artist, or at least that’s not what I’m trying to be. I’m using art for religious purposes, with storytelling as the medium to share my message with others. I wanted to become a priest when I was younger, and while that didn’t happen, I haven’t stopped wanting to preach and save souls, which is the priest’s vocation. It just so happens that I’m not able to speak about God, my Friend, in front of a congregation, but I can write and possibly reach people that way.

Having written about girls, some younger than others, someone may wonder why I chose this subject matter, although I would say it chose me. If you’re not a spiritual person, you may interpret my stories literally and carnally instead of spiritually and symbolically. That is the risk I take, knowing there are people who are liable to see impurity where purity exists because their own minds are impure. I can only pray my feelings won’t be misconstrued.

Just as a life without a purpose is not worth living, a book without a purpose is not worth reading. Literature without a purpose becomes mere entertainment or meaningless art for the sake of art. The only purpose I’ve found in life is to seek God. That may turn some readers away, those who are not seeking God, but that’s their problem, not mine. Besides, I don’t want readers. I want souls.

Obviously I do want to be read, like any author. What I’m saying is I don’t merely want that. If this book can help even one person to become a friend of God, or help someone who’s already a friend to remember God, then I will have done my duty. These stories have imperfections just as I do, but I am human. What I really want is to make friends through my writing. I believe everyone can be friends with one another if we all love God.

1

I LIKED DRIVING down to campus. It took a long time, but not that long. I usually didn’t listen to the radio. But I didn’t just sit there in silence. I talked to myself. Or I prayed. I was heading there now, on the way to the university where I’d already spent over three years. I was a senior. While driving, there was nothing to look at except cornfields. The highway stretched out in front of me in an endless line, like a stream to nowhere.

I didn’t have any friends at school. I kept almost entirely to myself. I did sometimes stop by the chess club to play a few skittles games with the guys, but that was the extent of my social life. I wasn’t too concerned. I wanted to be alone, after all.

I’d only eaten half a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast. I’d woken up late, so I had to hurry out the door. I never had much in my stomach anyway until I got home. My mother sometimes forgot to give me lunch money, but today she’d left a crisp five dollar bill on the kitchen counter, which I snatched up. That meant I could actually get a meal instead of just a snack at the vending machines.

My classes weren’t that challenging. That’s not to say I didn’t have to study. I did. But it wasn’t too demanding. And it occasionally kept my thoughts off more painful things. I spent as much time as I could down there. I often didn’t get home until ten or eleven at night. My mother didn’t like that, but then again she also thought I was putting in a lot of hours studying. Sometimes I was. But other times, I was just sitting around in the library, doing no work at all.

I came to the exit, veering my car, a burgundy Dodge, off to the right. I had to stop, waiting for the oncoming traffic to clear. Then I made a left onto Highway 78, which took me straight into campus. I passed through a couple of barely inhabited towns until I saw the white water tower in the distance. The football stadium was next, then onto Jensen Road, where I began seeing students. They were walking across the crosswalks, bags on their backs. I put my foot on the brake at the red light next to the fast-food Italian restaurant and waited. The multi-story parking garage loomed amid the gray sky. I was hoping I could find a space. Luckily, when I pulled in, I managed to squeeze into one of the last spots on the top level. The clock in my car said 9:52. My first class was at ten, but I didn’t have far to walk. I’d make it on time.

When I got to the lecture hall, the professor was already speaking. This was an introductory anthropology course. I wouldn’t have taken it unless I had to for my degree. I’d waited until my last year to fulfill some of the electives I needed. Most of the students in the spacious hall were freshmen, I presumed. They were just out of high school, eighteen years old. I was twenty-two. I sat down in the back row, resting my body in the hard wooden seat. The woman who taught the class was serious about her job, but sometimes she’d get away from her lecture and start talking about random topics, like movies, or her memories from when she was in college. She tried her best to have a sense of humor. The main reason I felt affection for her, though, was that she made the class easy. There were no essays, and the tests were multiple choice. All I had to do was take notes. Some days I didn’t even do that. I could always study the assigned chapters at home. Plus, the tests were designed to be passed.

I took a book out of my bag after about fifteen minutes of listening to descriptions of early hominids. I was reading a short work by Jakob Böhme. I found my place and tried to concentrate, but it was difficult. It really wasn’t enjoyable for me to read unless I could have almost complete silence. I put the book down on top of my black backpack, which was lying by my feet on the floor. That’s when a girl appeared to my right, wanting to find a seat in the back row where I was. She’s awfully late, I thought, moving my knees to the side so I could let her past. Thanks, she whispered. I just looked at her.

She was short, maybe five feet at the most, and she had bleached blonde wavy hair. For some strange reason, she sat down in the seat next to mine. There were plenty of other empty chairs available in the row, so it didn’t make sense that she’d chosen to occupy the one to my immediate left, sitting shoulder to shoulder with me—unless she was interested in me. When she’d passed in front of me before sitting down, I noticed her cheeks were somewhat sunken, or caved in. She was sucking on a piece of hard candy, I realized. Since she was so late in arriving, she probably was happy to find any seat and wanted to sit down as quickly as possible so as not to draw attention to herself. That must be why she sat next to me, I thought.

After a moment’s reflection, I remembered I’d seen this girl before. She usually sat on the right side of the lecture hall, near the back. I’d stared at her on a few previous occasions, admiring her pale skin. She hadn’t seen me staring at her then. I was safely behind her, unseen. But now she was uncomfortably close to me, with her notebook out and a pen in her hand. She wasn’t writing anything. I wondered if she found this class as boring as I did.

A little while later, I felt the girl steal a glance at me. I perceived the quick shift of her head turn to the right, then forward again. Why’d she look at me? I wanted to know. I didn’t make any attempt to look at her. I decided I’d try to read my book again. I leaned down and picked it up, thumbing through to the chapter where my bookmark was. Before I could get past the first paragraph, I heard, Hey, what’s that you’re reading? The girl was speaking to me.

I said, Uh . . . I didn’t know what to do. Why did she care what I was reading? It’s . . . just a book, I said. Not for this class, I added, keeping my voice low.

I see, she said. But what book is it? She was bent on knowing.

It’s a religious book, I said. I looked her in the eyes. My God, I thought, she’s beautiful. I looked away at once. What’s it about? she asked. Since we were so far in the back, the professor couldn’t hear us. It’s about . . . love, I said. Oh, she said. I turned my head and searched her expression. She seemed to be pondering something that didn’t involve me, her eyes unfocused, not meeting mine. We didn’t speak for the rest of the hour.

At ten to eleven, when the class ended and everyone was getting up from their seats, I looked at the girl again. She was putting her notebook away in her backpack. I wanted her to say something else to me. I was too afraid to say anything to her. Her hair was almost white, so shiny and inviting. It was effulgent. It was also a bit messy—not slovenly but like she’d just gotten out of bed and didn’t have time to care. I was still sitting in my seat while everyone else was filing out. Excuse me, I heard the girl say. Oh, sorry, I said. She wanted to leave, but my legs were blocking her way. I got up and walked toward the exit.

I didn’t have another class until noon. After that first class, I always went to the library. In the crush of students filling the hallway, I maneuvered myself through the bodies until I found the door and went outside. Noticing my shoe was untied, I bent down to tie it. When I looked up, I saw the girl. She was walking steadily away. I followed her for a minute with my eyes, and I noticed something peculiar. Her light blue backpack was unzipped, and there was a heavy book sticking out, ready to fall onto the whitish-gray sidewalk. She’d forgotten to zip up her bag and was now in danger of losing what must’ve been an important textbook. I began running over to her. But then I slackened my pace when I saw her reach around and pull the zipper herself, securing the flap. I was a few feet from her. She’d stopped in the middle of the winding concrete pathway, turned to the side. She saw me looking at her.

Hey, I said, I was gonna warn you about that. What? she asked. I walked closer.

Your backpack, I said. I saw it was hanging open.

Oh, she smiled, yeah, I caught it. I should’ve said something else. Instead, I let my eyes dart around. Well, see ya in class, she said.

Yeah, I said. Um, wait. What’s your name? I asked. I blushed. Natalie, she said.

Natalie?

Yeah, she said.

I’ve never known anyone with that name.

It’s not that unusual.

My name’s Colin, I said.

Good to meet you, Colin.

Yeah, good to meet you . . . too.

Hey, I have another class in a few minutes. I’d love to talk, but I have to go or else I’ll be as late as I was for that last one, she said, again smiling. Oh, okay, I said. Bye, she said.

Bye. I stood in the wind, watching her walk away. She didn’t look back. Why did I think she would?

––––––––

Sometimes, for whatever reason, I chose not to stay late. The day I met the girl was one of those days. I wanted to go directly home after my last class. I wasn’t exactly tired. Disgusted would be a better way to describe how I felt. It seemed like I was wasting my life sitting through those classes, literature and history and all the rest. If I wanted to learn, I could’ve read on my own. I didn’t need a professor. Just the fact that I was supposed to be learning seemed pointless, though. I wasn’t interested in what I was reading, the books I’d been assigned. I wasn’t interested in anything really, except spirituality.

I walked with my head down toward the parking garage. How insignificant it all seemed, everything. I brought an image of Natalie to mind. She was friendly to me. She’d smiled at me, twice actually. But there was no sense in dwelling on her. It wasn’t as though she was going to save me from despair. Maybe if I saw her right now, she’d be able to help me, I thought. She could listen to me and be a friend to me. That wasn’t realistic. I knew that.

I reached the stairs. Forcing my legs to lift, I finally got to the top level of the building. There was no roof where my car was parked, only the darkening sky. I opened the door and got in, slumping down in the seat and resting my head against the steering wheel. I started the car and backed out, barely even looking to see if there was anyone behind me. In the state I was in, I could’ve easily gotten into an accident. I wasn’t focusing on outward circumstances. Lord, I said. What did I do wrong? I thought about what had happened to me during the interval after I’d talked to Natalie and now. I’d gone to the library, walked around there, and read. Then I’d eaten, sat through my other classes, all of them as tedious as ever, and that was it. Now I was going home. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so empty.

––––––––

When I got home, I headed straight to my room. My mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner. The sound of her distressed me. She was banging plates around in the sink while washing dishes. She asked me how my day had gone when I first walked in. My room was down the hall from the kitchen, so I had to pass by her. Fine, I said, and that was all I said. I could’ve told her the truth. I could’ve said, Mom, I don’t know why you wanted me to go to college. I’m almost through, and I’ve got nothing to show for it. But I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t going to be frank with my mother and then have to yell and exchange hateful, self-defeating words with her.

In my room, I peeled my socks off my stinking feet. I decided I’d take a bath. I liked soaking in the hot water, and it felt especially good now that winter had arrived. Outside it was like death, cold and dark. But inside, in the light of my parents’ warm house, I was protected, safe from the harsh and brutal world. After taking some clean clothes in hand, I went through the hall closet, into my father’s unlighted room and then to the bathroom. I undressed, got in the tub, and let the steaming water overtake me gradually. I laid back, listening to the splashing hum while looking down at my exposed body. I thought about death, how I’d someday have to leave my flesh.

God, this isn’t the real me, I thought. I’m not visible. To other people I am, but to you, Lord, I’m a soul, and I’m beautiful to you—maybe not to others, but to you I am. That’s why I love you.

What I was saying was a genuine prayer, a communion between myself and God, but it was also a self-justification. And that didn’t help me except to confirm what I already knew. Natalie, I said softly. The water was covering my chest, and I sat up and turned off the faucet. Then I resumed my flat position. If she sits down next to me again, what will I say? Hey, Natalie . . . then what? Ah, it’s pointless. She’s like everyone else. Of course . . . she has a soul. I have one too. I want to see hers and have her see mine.

When I was in college, I idealized girls. Why, I don’t know. Maybe because I had no experience with them. I didn’t want to admit to myself that they also had bodies—as strange as that sounds. But let’s face it. If we didn’t have bodies, we wouldn’t be able to experience our souls.

When I say girls, I don’t mean children. I’m referring to those in their late teens and early twenties, college age. There was one girl I was attached to when I was younger, and she was a child. She went to my church. One time, after Mass, when I was outside at the park across the street from the church, I saw Mary from my Sunday school class. It was warm outside, the breeze caressing our faces. Mary was over by the tire swing. We were waiting for our class to begin. I hadn’t spoken to her very often, but we’d known each other for years, and she seemed to like me, or at least tolerate me. I was sitting on a picnic table, watching her push the tire, making it spin. We were the only ones at the park. I made the bold decision—for me it was bold—to go over and talk to her. When I approached her, she acted like I wasn’t there. She was wearing jean shorts, revealing her legs up to the thigh. I stood under her as she climbed onto the tire swing and grabbed the bar above her head. She let herself hang, like a gymnast trying to remember her routine. Then she looked down as if seeing me for the first time, although she must’ve seen me walk over.

While she was holding onto the metal bar, which was painted blue, she would let go for a minute, gripping the tire on top and resting her feet on the bottom. Watch this, she said to me. She then moved over to the side of the tire, inching over with her