Grasp of Faith

Grasp of Faith
For as weak as she is, her hand grips mine almost impossibly hard. Her face is pale, her lips an unhealthy shade of light blue, and her eyes, wet from tears, holds a scared and helpless gaze. I realize our clenched hands are shaking. This is probably my fault; I have never been this terrified. I attempt to focus my attention elsewhere for a brief moment as I try to contain myself for her benefit. I don’t succeed, and I find myself focusing on the steady drop of the fluid in her IV, the beating of her heart, the shallow, painful breaths she takes. I suddenly feel her grasp tighten as she struggles to say “If you don’t have faith, there is no way I can.”
__
Reading the newspaper is a way for me to see firsthand that there really are people more unfortunate than I am. I read everything from the top stories to the daily horoscopes. I devote my mornings to strangers; I read about their lives, their problems, and the ill-fated things that happen to them. It is not that I get pleasure out of other peoples misfortune. It’s more of a comparison to my own sad life. Isn’t that the point?
I eat my toast almost completely black and slightly buttered, and ignore the irritating fact that my hands are now covered with the dirty ink of the newspaper. I prefer the touch of a magazine, but the stories of the newspapers are what I prefer. There is nothing like the bitter, fucked up truth that is reality, to brighten my morning. Today, there is an interesting article that no one would probably ever look at. It is almost as if it is supposed to be unnoticeable. It is in the back, and it is only a paragraph long. I read it immediately.


NEAR SUICIDE OF 34 YEAR OLD DOCTOR.
PRINCETON, NJ- Robert Manning, 34, tried to end his life on March 31, 2010. At 8pm that Saturday evening, Manning, a Cardiologist, climbed to the top of his apartment building and prepared to jump off. Right before jumping to his death, Manning said something stopped him. When asked what, Manning responded “It felt as if someone or something made me stop. It was as if I was physically being stopped from jumping.” By this time, the police arrived on the scene and climbed up to the roof. Officer Jackson slowly approached Manning, announcing his presence first, and offered Manning his hand. Manning took it, and climbed down slowly to his safety. “I have faith that some force made me not jump. Something wanted me to live. I just wish I knew what.”
__
This situation cannot be real. Nothing like this should ever happen to me. This is not reality. It was as if some playwright used me as a character and wrote an unbearable scenario into my life. In a few seconds, the director will yell “Cut!” and you will let go of my hand, sit up in your “hospital bed” and ask “How was that? Was it believable?” Then, later, we will go back to filming, fake cry, and be entirely sure that this was not reality. It was just some play we were acting in. Nothing like this could happen to me. Not really.
__
Recipe for Faith:
51% hope.
49% passion.
__
Sundays were our day to get our nails done. We go to At Your Fingertips because they have the comfortable leather chairs, the luxury of free drinks, and a big, flat screen TV. This particular Sunday, we arrive and get seated immediately. The manicurists’ soft hands hold ours while they polish our nails. We talk about mundane topics, such as our families, our jobs, and the weather. They are our friends now. We dry our nails, tip our new friends, and lazily walk to the car, enjoying the fact that we have nothing to do for the rest of the day. We get to the car; she gets in the driver’s seat, I get in the passenger’s.

We are fishtailing. She controls the wheel; we breathe a sigh of relief. We continue along. The rain increasingly gets worse, and we slow down. This not does help. Her vision is hindered. We fishtail again, this time she can’t maintain her power over the car, and we lose all control. We swerve onto oncoming traffic. We see headlights, hold our breath, and pray.


__
Cut! yells the director.
The audience applauds. We finished the scene. Now she can go home. We can both go home.
Just a play, right?
Sadly, this is not true. This is reality.
She can’t just go home. She can’t just heal. Reality isn’t like that. She has to fight. She has to hold on. This is reality.
__
“If you don’t have faith, there is no way I can.”
I take both of her hands in mine and say “Faith isn’t faith until it’s all you’re holding on to.” She looks at me, and we sit like that. We sit like that for hours. All we can do now is hope.