THE TOPIC OF THIS CONTEST WAS:
The fishing pier was long, and narrow. It was late and she had to hurry before someone saw her. She clutched it tight as tears streamed down her face. When she got to the end of the pier, she looked out over the water and, with all of her might, she threw it in.
(Stories need only touch on this topic in some way to qualify.)
Before you continue reading, take a moment to consider where you would take that story…
Vincent was acutely aware that he was not embodying the meaning of his name right now; this determined pursuit was evidence of neither prevailing nor victory. He had begun crawling down the long and narrow fishing pier, mostly on his stomach, dodging the strobing beams of the lighthouse ahead. The tears of shame streaming down his face commingled with the sweat of fear. The longer dreadlocks framing his jawline were already wet and he hadn’t even jumped in the water yet. Nine months ago, his behavior would not have surprised him…nor his friends and relatives. He desperately wanted to win for his family. But even the crushing weight of his 12-year-old son’s certain disappointment was not giving him the strength he needed now. If-I-could’a-should’a-would’a regrets of the last few hours strangled his soul.
Snippets of last Sunday’s sermon pulsed through Vincent’s mind in the cadence of his labored breathing. In his explanation of Proverbs 7, the pastor had exhorted the small congregation that the best way to avoid falling prey to the seductress or any other temptations of the flesh is to avoid the door altogether. “If you don’t even go to the door, then you don’t have to worry about opening the door and being tempted with what’s on the other side of the door,” the pastor had admonished. Too bad he hadn’t remembered that two hours ago, Vincent mused.
When Vincent ran into his former running buddy Efren in the market earlier that afternoon, he was overjoyed to see him. It had been over a year since they had hung out together. Efren had been more like family than his blood relations. When siblings had deemed Vincent a lost cause, Efren kept telling Vincent he was born for greatness. And while Vincent’s mother’s faith and prayer persisted, his father’s constant negativity had shattered his confidence and eroded his self-worth, so he hadn’t visited his parents for over five years. Vincent was convinced it was pointless until he could prove a lasting breakthrough. Interwoven with other cascading thoughts, Vincent could hear his father’s Bajan accent delivering his favorite mantra, “Talk is cheap, especially when your behavior is bankrupt.”
Efren was stoked about his steelpan gig tonight. He was a local musician who had made it big, now regularly playing in the hottest calypso nightclubs and party spots throughout the Caribbean. Vincent wanted to support his friend and celebrate Efren’s success. Neither of them understood the door they were opening and the ferocity of the temptation that awaited Vincent on the other side. Efren would never have invited Vincent had he known where this reunion would lead.
This lounge was one of the town’s most vibrant bars. Most of the locals there were staff, while most of the patrons were traveling executives, wealthy island hoppers, well-to-do business owners, and other musicians. On the surface, it seemed like a safe place. Vincent had never been much of a drinker — he never acquired a taste — so being in an alcohol-rich environment wasn’t a challenge. It was after the second set when Vincent went to relieve himself that the evening had taken a dark and dangerous turn..
There was a private room off the hallway. Although the door was partly closed, the all-too-familiar smells and sounds of opium-filled bongs and lines of cocaine being snorted seductively called his name like a long-lost lover. Vincent had been clean for 8 months and 27 days. But right then, all the work he’d put in, all the promises he’d made to his wife, his son, and himself, and all the words of wisdom he’d heard from the pulpit and the rehab program disappeared in the vapor. Vincent barely recalled what happened from there. He remembered slipping out the back door without saying goodbye to Efren but had no recollection of the walk down to the jetty.
And now, here he was, under the cover of darkness, about to slide all the way off the wagon because he just wasn’t strong enough. He had reached the end of the fishing pier, had tightly secured the bag containing a small pipe, a lighter, and one gram of crystal meth to his belt, and slid the buoy over his head and down to his waist. Guilt, fear of exposure, and competing reflections running rampant within had driven him to this extreme.
Just as he was poised to dive into the placid sea and float away to satisfy his raging craving far from any curious onlookers, his phone rang. With a nervous jerk he answered on autopilot, not paying attention to whose name appeared. But the voice was warm and well-known. It was his sponsor, Guerdy: “Hey, Vin, what you up to?”
Completely caught off guard, Vincent blurted out while trembling, “I thought you were in the States for another week?!”
Guerdy responded, “Yeah, I am. But you were really on my mind a lot tonight, so I wanted to check on you.”
In that moment, Vincent knew without a doubt, there is a God. The timeliness of Guerdy’s divine intervention was the helping hand he needed to close the door. Now through tears of relief, after receiving a couple of hours of encouragement from Guerdy, Vincent looked out over the dark waters and, with all his might, threw his poison pack into the deep.
