I’m so Sorry

By Lonnie P. Anderson

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669843146

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Copyright © 2022 by Lonnie P. Anderson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/16/2022

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

846047

This book is dedicated to

Those not forgiven,

Those seeking apology,

Those who uphold justice,

Those who want transformation into Heaven

CONTENTS

Foreword

Aggravating Companion

Cursory Acceptance

Incoherent Gestures

Sinister Attempts

The Doctor’s Suggestion

Lake Jupiter Park

God’s Path

Interpreting

Complacency

Full Throttle

Splurge The Mess

Fish

Guidance

Falling in Love

Sweat

Riches and Glory

Walk with Christ

Liquidation Factor

Longsuffering

Opportune

The Season

Uncover

Sanctification

Lemon Cake

Reiteration

Shock

Living Life

Thrusting

Little Ones

Pint Size

Religious Impairment

Middle Men

Glorification

Lateral Passivity

Door to Door

Superfluous

Pursuit

Command

Acute

Listening

Tweaked

Normalcy

Beyond

Training Fields

The Silence

Segregated

Closets of Darkness

Cumbersome

Hope and Mercy

Justice

Fortification

Gratitude

Literal Agency

Letting Go

Epilogue

FOREWORD

Ingratiated darkness, and forbidden attempt imply a gestational apology that waxes and wanes in the deliverance of forgiveness in unjust situations

Magnitude and despondence are revival of qualities of nothingness and overridden apology. I’m So Sorry carries with it a demeanor of forgiveness and what it means to overcome sin with reduction and compliance in a nature of retrieval that betters technology and apologies for injustice.

Letting go and forgiving in nominal situations, the fact that overridden apology is found in discouraging situations that remember repose and the oblong release of gesticulated rambunctiousness.

Giving into reprise and nature, there is justice in truth, and apologies on either side. People say I’m sorry or I’m so sorry… in many ways all throughout the days of impertinent justice.

Factions of truth deliberate the wrongs and rights of injustice and procreative continuance. Belonging to retrieval, we have mites of destruction that forgive in continuance with obligated despair. Say truth, say freedom and give justice her due course. Apologize and learn why in this book. Tender redundancy, forgiven upset, and broken retrieval are ladders of hope in gesticulated despair. Pain, not freedom, brings about an apology. Delinquent in nature, upset in despair, crawl out of your hole.

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Aggravating Companion

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Forgiveness is the essence of remission. It is a peace weapon. It allows the air to clear between two striving parties, and enlists effort to work out differences with the unity of the spirit and the bond of peace. It claims indifferences, companionship, luck, and maturity. I’m sorry. You’ve heard it countless times again and again. The truth is that people want to be forgiven.

It favors the necessity of truth, and obligates one to another in the essence of revival. Tremendous issues can be absolved with a simple apology. But an apology is not always so simple. We want to be forgiven, for and of ourselves, God, and others. It is immediate positioning of soul free climate that relegates wrongs occurring out of due order.

Instantaneous regret can be mandated in the unnerving possibility of remorse, and solitude. Be very careful. An apology is a potent resource. To find peace we must forgive and forget. Otherwise our wrongs follow us around everywhere we go and tantalize us with blown up images of our own importance, righteousness hanging from a palm tree. As eager as we may be to get rid of regret, the force of an apology, I’m so sorry, can bring with it relinquishment of desire founded on complacency.

Introduction to alleged behaviors that remit not the sin with its institution, we all have consciences that weigh us down like a pair of scales in balance. The postulate of forgiveness comes with acquaintance with sin, and the colored mortification of lost imbalance. Regret, carried about with sin brings an apology to the lips. In prayer we can forgive and forget. More immediately, we can do it face to face, though this may be more difficult than through a letter or correspondence, in the infatuation that comes from the forgiveness of sin.

Dancing on the anomalies of fright and disturbance, our weighted scales can fall upon our shoulders and cause us to trudge much more slowly, fastidiously, and without air to breathe. The luck is, that most people cough up I’m sorry quite easily in remittance of sin. Golden glory it is to have the rhapsody of faith instituted among a conglomeration of uncharted opinions. Tread lightly and try not to step onto your neighbor’s foot. His pain would cause you easy denial, and replace your denial of infancy with the perturbing thought that you have hurt someone. Most of us don’t want to hurt each other, but in oblivion, there are times when people seek vengeance for wrong done.

Oblivious to this tool of vengeance, behaviors ratify the enervating opinion of hate, malice, and fortitude. Sometimes it’s not enough to say I’m sorry. Actions take place which fulfill and edify defunct situations. Apologize for your actions and people will begin to look favorably upon you. Courses taken in your walk of life brings diligent regression and pain in consequential mistakes and happenings. The accident can be forgiven easier than the malicious attack. Give and take, the ease of living together, grows over plentitudes of I’m so sorry, prevailing with the intent to smooth over and demonstrate peace, happiness, forgiveness and content.

Probably the most obnoxious reason to write off an acquaintance is the cause of betrayal. Litigation and anonymous apology combines with rejection and alternate forgiveness. Even in numbers of joy, the pain of betrayal rings true to the foundation of faith. It spatters blood on our faces and breaks our fingers off one by one.

Patterns of betrayal speak loudly and are heard in the presence of many. One warns against another, and soon the devil may be found in unwanted circumstances. Allegedly, the preposterous inference of carnal behavior grows on the conscience, and then eases into forgiveness. Turn your back on your betrayer, and seek justice for them and yourself.

This is not a wasted source of betrayal, for forgiveness covers all sins and equates a multitude of wrongdoings with the righteousness of eager anticipation. True friends can sometimes hurt each other, not normally on purpose. Aggravated companionship is subliminally important due to the measure of faith that it purposes. Agreeable differences do nothing to hinder love, respect, and indifference. Acceptability and constant utterance begin the process of relationship, whether agreeable or unhealthy.

Learning to lose the fight without fighting back can ease the flame away from a broken finger held to the flame of accusation. Perpetrated knowledge and indifference do much to the utterance of faithlessness and morbid possibility of hope. Where there is hope, there is learning, there is endangerment of disappointment, or the losing of a once fertile friendship. Aggravated companionship echoes with the joy of overcoming the challenge of agreement in harsh circumstances. One must forgive another for damage done, whether emotional, physical, or by reasons of propriety. Our possessions carry much weight in appreciation in due order, binding our belongings to places in the heart that are sympathetic to enjoyment.

The symposium of frustrations and disagreement with loss or destruction of property can be fatally misleading. Sentimental value is behaviorally astute in blanketed guard of our own agreeable manifestations. We assign meaning to those places in our hearts that belong to one another. The aggravated companionship found in many marriages, overcomes the possibility that rupture might ensue where our mental emotional scales are severely out of balance.

Sound effort brings us a list of things that desire to be equated with the destiny of simplicity. Organizational failures and rejection comprise hope in the start of a new day. So it was on the day after the official death separating Dustin Songbird from his belated wife Karin Marsch. What started as a lovely day, the day he first tripped over his feet and landed squarely at the feet of Karin as she sat reading and drinking her coffee in a small Diner outside the city of Newstead near a park with rolling hills and a small lake, Lake Jupiter, which led to an obnoxious turn of events that evolved out of their first get together.

She laughed at his demise as he apologized lustily, Oh! I’m so sorry! Clumsily he regained his composure and lifted himself from the floor, brushing off his clothes and going to find napkins for his spilled latte. Karin laughed and narrowed her eyes in contrition as she sipped her coffee intermittently and laid down her book.

Quietly she placated the demoralized man, telling him not to worry and that everything was alright. Noting his ruddy composure and handsome features, she next invited him to sit across from her, which he agreed to do before going to order a new latte.

Bringing the drink to the table, he quivered with nervousness and anxiety about meeting with this beautiful woman who had long dark hair. Her eyes were green and inviting, here fingers beautiful as they wrapped themselves around her drink. She smiled and sighed as Dustin sat down across from her. How are you doing? Sorry about my clumsiness, he quietly interjected into the situation. She seemed alone, she had no marriage ring on her hand.

Oblivious to his question, Karin spoke boldly saying how accidents happen and he was forgiven. Joyfully Dustin grinned and began to slowly drink his latte. Anxious to make this right, he shifted in his seat, and realized too late that he had stepped on her foot under the table. Oh my God, I am so sorry! He cried in self cursing and morbid discovery that this trespass might not be forgiven.

Oh don’t worry, she said, these are small tables and I know you didn’t mean it. Very carefully Dustin sat up, astute in his perplexity, and meaningful about doing things right. What are you reading? He asked gently, taking an interest in the obvious present situation. "War and Peace, she replied instantaneously, by Leo Tolstoy. I’m almost done. It’s a long book and kind of hard to read."

Is this for school or enjoyment? He asked, intrigued by this voracious reader. Oh, just for my own pleasure, she replied. He nodded vigorously and didn’t ask anything else. Do you come here often? She questioned him. Yes, nearly every day I stop here to buy a latte. Double tall hazelnut. It’s my favorite drink. I have to stay away from dairy, she said, so I usually have an Americano, with sugar free vanilla flavor. My late husband introduced me to the vanilla without sugar, since I need to watch my sugar intake as well. I also like to drink plain drip coffee. Black. Just not bitter. The coffee here is not bad at all.

I’ve never seen you before, Dustin related softly. Then the two introduced themselves and agreeably shook hands across the table. The Diner around them hummed quietly with quiet conversations taking place at various tables. Dustin felt suddenly secure as if belonging to this place as well. He always viewed himself as different, but when good things happened he found it within himself to rejoice. He rejoiced over meeting Karin that day, and they exchanged phone numbers albeit to text or call each other if the notion would arise.

Karin smiled to herself and got up promptly, excusing herself from the situation and resolving to go to the library and read, now that her coffee was gone. Dustin walked out with her and they went to their separate cars.

Both drove off in opposite directions. Dustin realized he had coffee spilled on his shirt, and decided to skip his errands in order to go home and change clothes and feed his goldfish. Tang, his largest orange fish liked the company of the two smaller white goldfish, Norman and Lucy. The bottom of the tank was covered with colorful rocks, and a plastic tree stood in the middle so the fish could enjoy swimming around it and hiding if need be.

Wow, War and Peace, he thought to himself. Karin was bold in her choice of reading. He decided to text her. It was nice to meet you today, he wrote. He sent the message. Twenty minutes and one quick scrub down of the fish tank later she texted in return. Yes, thank you, likewise. No one asked a question. Dustin remembered stepping on her foot and decided to forgive himself. He had apologized, the only way to resolve the situation. The blunder humiliated him, with pangs of self rejection. It was an accident, an occurrence. He gained confidence knowing that everything had turned out okay. As the day passed, he napped and finally returned to his errands, grocery shopping and working out at the gym.

Normally he would think about his faith in Jesus, but today he pondered over Karin and how he might see her again. The fact that he didn’t have a job didn’t matter. He had a mental disability, which prevented him from working. So he tried to make the most of his days by occupying himself in ways that supported his condition. Dustin was a reader, himself, and didn’t know many people.

Karin had no idea of this predicament in his life, but decided to reach out to this handsome man who had so politely inserted himself into her life. The next day she texted him again. Hi Dustin, would you like to meet again for coffee? Driving in his car, Dustin had to wait until he reached his destination before checking the text message. Finally he got to where he was going, the park with rolling hills across from the Diner of consequence. Of course. He wrote. When is a good time for you?

Later today, like at three o’clock. How’s that?

Dustin was eager to please and looked forward to meeting with her. He only needed to finish up at the Laundromat, get home, deposit his clothes and make it to the Diner by three. He hummed to himself congenially and smiled as he folded his laundry. It was time to buy new clothes as his current wardrobe was beginning to seem threadbare. Lazily he sat down on his bed to wait for 2:45pm when he would go to meet Karin at the Diner. The place was called King’s Diner. To his dismay, he woke up at five minutes past three, and groaned in self-condemnation as he realized he was late for the date. Quickly he texted an apology, writing, I’m sorry I’m late. I fell asleep. I can get there in fifteen minutes. Should I still come?

It’s okay, she wrote, I’m just reading still. Take your time.

Dustin fretted with his self-condemnation and realized he needed to forgive himself if he intended to be at all pleasant in his meeting with her. He gave himself some more mental poundings and then kicked the leg of his bed in anger. Damn! he cried. "Why can’t I do anything right?

His bad mood lasted for a few more minutes and subsided as he neared King’s Diner, becoming nervous and fretful due to his social enigma of being extremely shy and introverted. He knew he was good looking and could make a good first impression, but he hid a lot about himself deep within the reserves of his heart. At thirty-three, he was enjoying his life as best could be having the severe condition of paranoid schizophrenia. It had been thirteen years since he was first diagnosed, and he took his life seriously, because he was so easily thrown off the track during his days.

Oblivious to this danger, he often hurled himself into uncomfortable situations in order to widen his horizons and press the limits of his limiting brain disorder. She might accuse me of being careless, he worried needlessly as he pulled up and parked outside the place where Karin sat possibly reading or drinking her Americano.

He ran his hand through his hair and straightened his shirt collar. He was wearing his favorite shirt today, pink and blue plaid with a touch of green fabric interlaced creatively. Please, please don’t let me spill my coffee again, he prayed quietly to his God, whom he knew was listening as always.

Getting out of his car, he realized disappointedly that he should have brought her some sort of gift, or a flower. Young though he was, his impressionable self often deigned to be about nothing in particular, through learned instances of vital behavioral significance and the need to please for the gift of approval. Dustin needed to feel approved of, as he sought to gain consequence of freedom in belligerent situations. This was not one of those. As of yet, the two young people were on good terms, or so Dustin hoped.

Maybe I can buy her a drink or a cookie, he thought carefully as he walked toward the door and pulled his shoulders back with his head held high. At least he could appear confident, and truly he was except when it came to situations that belied his confidence and purported his shyness and egotistical consummation. I need to be free, he thought to himself. I need to reach out and not hide myself completely.

Walking through the door, Dustin spied Karin at a window table. She was reading. He took a big breath and walked, striding confidently, to her table. Hello, Karin, he breathed easily.

Hi there, Dustin, she let the words slide out of her mouth and added a small smile to her face. How are you? Sit down.

I would like to order a drink first, he demanded. Would you like anything to eat? A cookie? Muffin? Sandwich?

She realized his good intentions and told him that coffee cake would suit her fine. So he went to the line at the counter and stood there, breathing quietly. Maybe I was too forceful, he muttered to himself. Oh well. We’ll see how this goes. As he waited and got closer and closer to the counter, he rehearsed in his head what he would order. Perusing the display, he decided on an M & M cookie for himself. So, finally, he ordered. Coffee cake, cookie, and double tall hazelnut latte.

Quickly he walked back to Karin’s table with his loot and set everything down carefully. Karin smiled at sight of the coffee cake. Everything was working out just fine. Carefully Dustin sipped on his coffee, being careful not to burn his mouth. Karin picked daintily at her treat.

Now came time for conversation, or not. Both parties were introverts and forced conversation could be difficult. Dustin didn’t want to rush into anything but Karin did. She was lonely, and having a stranger to talk to suited her succinctly. If ever she tried to be lenient with herself, it was now. Take an interest, she though to herself, and reached out to ask if he liked to read books.

Of course, he said adamantly, and hurriedly took bites of his cookie. I like to read all sorts of stuff. The classics, too, he said and announced that he had just finished reading The Idiot, by Fyodor Dostoevsky and was about to start Crime and Punishment by the same author.

He asked her if she had read Anna Karenina also by Leo Tolstoy, musing that he had truly enjoyed that read. I like to write, also, he mumbled and rejected the thought that he was a failure, only to surmise that his disability prevented him from a normal middle class life with a job.

Karin reported that she had indeed read Anna Karenina and liked it very much. I don’t like writing, she said carefully. I always get stuck. I don’t think I could organize a book and create and craft one. I’m more of a literature addict and appreciate other people’s works to be certain, she said.

Hmph, Dustin muttered. He so liked to write and had kept extensive journals throughout his life. He had a huge box full of journal writings, which he kept under lock and key. If anyone ever found his journals and read about his life he might likely commit suicide. He was proud of himself and loved to sit and scribble away his thoughts and projections. I’m an idiot, he thought to himself. I have no class, no worth, no projectile personality to lift myself up with. I am an astute failure at life, boring at that.

Karin looked up and asked him about his writing. Had he published anything of significance? He had, he said. I have written and published two books, he announced beaming and suddenly feeling meaningful. I have some copies here in my tote, if you want to see them. I sell them randomly. He reached into his bag and pulled out two fiction novels that he had written. Look and see, he said. Maybe you would like to buy a couple of copies? Karin was amazed, having never met a real author. She looked carefully at his two novels, about knights and horses, kings and princes, and warring kingdoms with romance interlaced throughout the pages. Eagerly she pulled out her wallet and decided to pay him for a copy of each. "They’re $15.00 a piece, he explained. So she bought one of each and thanked him profusely.

Proud of himself, Dustin pocketed the money and reached for his coffee again. He smiled.

Where do you work? he asked her.

I’m a nurse, she said at the Allen Amen Hospital not far from here. I work part time there and then I volunteer at the Underground Museum of History and Industry in Yorktown. I get by, with an income from my deceased parents as well.

This was a sad subject for her. In a way she despised her family, for feeling like an outcast. She wasn’t sure why, but she just didn’t get along with her siblings. Also, she was adopted into a large family and often felt like the fifth leg on the horse. The strange part was that this had been kept a secret her whole life until her mid-twenties. She resembled her siblings but not really. They all had brown hair and brown eyes. Hers were green, and her long dark hair played the part of inclusive relay. Pardon the partition, but she felt rather strange about her situation, and couldn’t believe that her family loved her, after having her identity crisis when she found out who she was.

She was the daughter of her mother’s sister and an old friend of her father’s. Interbreeding and recalcitrant nuances pained her face when she watched her family turn against her in the midst of her revelation.

Twisted and congruent, her dilapidated self-identity poured buckets of dirt on her head and she muddled through life now, looking to belong.

None of this would she relate to Dustin as of yet since she had just barely gotten to know him. Her eyes were downcast and her shame enveloped her. Quietly she looked into Dustin’s eyes and asked him where he worked.

I don’t have a job, I have a disability, he said, safe and secure, since he had acknowledged this many times already and felt part of his own situation, unlike her. The twisted nuances of his relationship toward her was promising and exciting, full of flavor, intrigue, and desperate romance.

Together they talked over coffee and treats, exploring tastes in music, educational intrigue, and life goals. Dustin was sadly uneducated after dropping out of college following a successful high school education. His mental illness, which he confided in her, had made college education an impossibility for him. This was sad, but he meant to pursue reading on his own and working at his book writing.

Karin absolved him of fear when he admitted his mental illness to her by nodding and sympathetically listening to his story. It was a sad story. She felt pain for him. She wanted to get into his bed.

Not