A Jar of Clay

I'm sure I won't live long, purposeful people never do. I understand that time is not on my hands, but rather on my side. It's not something I can hold on to, but yet it's something I can race with. Something I can pace myself to or even something I can measure my life by. Time. Time is so versatile, while it’s building and strengthening me it's destroying and weakening many people. One of those people being someone who’s very dear to me, Michael. I've known him for about 20 years now, he’s a close friend of mine. He met me when I was just a fetus in my mothers womb and from there our relationship began to grow. Micheal is one of the most inspiring people I've ever met. He encourages me to always look at the best side of things, and he pushes me to keep going. It's actually ironic, how someone so caged can inspire me to be so free. Right now, Michael is in a cell looking at four walls. Paying for a crime he was accused of over 2 decades ago. He’s paid 26 years of his life. That’s a lot of time spent repaying for something that you should already own. It's crazy, I know. He’s on death row, and if his final appeal gets denied it's over for him. Just like that. The state will decide if he lives or dies, how unfortunate. Although Michael knows and understands all that is going on, he never holds his head down. He finds joy in the little things. I admire that about him. With Michael I've shared my dreams, my hopes, my desires, and everything else that I have. We constantly write back and forth. It's been awhile since i saw him though, the prison he’s at hasn't been taking any visitors. It's been that way for a few months now. The last time i saw him he said something that really stood out to me, and he said it as if he knew i’d never forget it. Right before it was time for him to go, he looked me in my eyes with his hand on my shoulder and said “if they put me under, dig up my existence”. When I spoke to him again through a letter I asked him about it, but he never addressed it. I knew he knew I wanted to get to the bottom of what exactly he meant. And by him knowing me, he knew that I was gonna break down his words until they were crumbs in my hand. See, Mike knew that I was smart. He knew that I was strategic. He saw potential in me, potential that I didn't even see at first. I kept thinking about what he said, it even kept me up at night. One day I just couldn't take the agony anymore and I wrote to him and asked “what's buried ?”. I sent it off hoping that he would be able to feel my wonder and frustration through those two words. I waited for his reply.

A few weeks passed and I began to get anxious. I knew his hearing was a few days ago and it wasn't like him to not write me back. I wondered if he was alive. Sure enough, a week after that my mother came into my room with a sorrowful look on her face. “Is it Mike ?” I asked reluctantly.

She just nodded her head and shut the door as a tear dropped from her eye. She and Mike had their own relationship. They were childhood friends and had known each other over 30 years. I knew she was hurt. I was never really good at comforting people though, so I gave her space.

A few days had passed and we went to his funeral. I wore navy blue pants and a white button up shirt. I remember it was hot outside that day and when we put him in the ground the words he last said to me played in my head like a broken record.

“if they put me under, dig up my existence”

“...if they put me under, dig up...my existence”

“If they….put me….under...dig up...my existence…”

What did he mean ? I continually asked myself. What's buried ?? I questioned. As far as i knew he could have been saying anything just to feel something. That wasn't like him though. All of his words were meaningful. I then started to think about all he’s ever said to me. I thought for days. Days that turned into weeks and weeks that turned into months. Until one day I was having a conversation with my grandfather and he told me that everything I was looking for was looking back at me. As mysterious as that may sound to me it actually made sense. Right after he said that, coincidentally my mother pulled up in the driveway and it crossed my mind that I never even told her about what Mike said to me. So that night i went to her and asked about her and Mike's relationship, and if he had ever said anything about something being buried or underground or if he even mentioned anything questionable relating to what he had told me. She thought for a moment, then said no. That night I went to sleep disappointed, feeling hopeless. Wondering if i should just let this go or keep going. I prayed about it and went to sleep. The next morning I woke up to the sound of rain. I went downstairs and poured some cereal but there was no milk.

“Ugh” I thought to myself.

I still had feelings of discouragement resting in my mind from yesterday. I hated that. I hated not being able to let go especially of something that may not even be real. I just sat down at the table and put my head down. A few minutes passed and I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. I looked up and it was my mother. She dug in her purse and got out a small black book. She placed it on the table.

“I don't know if this will be any help, but i found this looking through some of my old stuff. It was Mike’s.”

I paused. I was unsure if i should open it or not. Reluctantly I opened it and turned to the first page. It was a map he had drawn of his old neighborhood. I could easily recognize it because it's where my grandparents live. I flipped through the book. There were multiple drawings of the same neighborhood, about 50 phone numbers, addresses, names, and even some pictures he taped in there. “What does this mean?” I thought to myself. Could this book be what I was looking for? I studied it carefully. Going over every word, analyzing every picture. Still I had nothing. No lead, no clue, no hint, and no direction. I got up from the table and left the book there. I got in my car and drove to my grandparents house. When I got there I talked to my grandad for a while, we sat on the porch and conversed about life. His house is right off the expressway. The sound of the cars passing has always been comforting to me since I was a child. The rain was still falling so peacefully and I began to feel less and less disappointed. Watching the cars pass reminded me of how fast life moves. One minute you're here, the next minute you're there. It makes you want to appreciate the things that are consistently in your life. The people who are consistently in your life. Michael once told me that the most consistent thing in life is change. Of course I never forgot that. The more I thought about it the more I came to terms with just how much Mike and I were actually alike. We even grew up in the same neighborhood, just at different times. Then it dawned on me. I know this neighborhood just as well as him. So if i wanted to hide something, where would i put it ?

Now i felt like i was getting somewhere, all i had to do was think like Mike. It wasn't hard because for years we’ve shared thoughts and even secrets. I just had to put myself in his shoes. Then like a ton of bricks, it hit me. I remember a few years ago when I went to see him. I was telling him how I was torn between two things and how I had to make a decision. He told me that if i ever did something bad, to make sure i did it in a good place. A place so respectable that no one would think twice about it. A place even the devil wouldn't bother, a church. I told my grandad I had to go and I rushed home. I got in the house and the little black book was exactly where I left it. I opened it and looked carefully at the maps he had drawn. I got my shovel and went back to my grandfather's house. As i mentioned before, my grandparents lived right off the expressway. To be more specific, the only thing in between their house and the highway was a church. A little white church that had been there probably 100 years. I went to the back of it and took eleven steps from it. That was Mike's favorite number. I planted my shovel and began digging. After about 4ft I wondered if I had gotten this all wrong, if the clues I thought I had were not clues at all. At that moment I hit something hard and loud. My heart dropped. Was I right ? Is this what he was referring to ? I kept digging. I finally pulled out a plastic ben. It was about 15 inches wide and 20 inches tall. It weighed a ton. I dragged it to my car and put it in the backseat. Wet and dirty I drove home. I couldn't wait to see what was in the box. I pulled the box inside and called my mother downstairs. She watched me go through it. Inside I found clothes, shoes, letters, and at the bottom was black garbage bag filled with hundred dollar bills. My mom and I counted 20,000$ in the bag. Shocked, I didn't even know what to do. I knew this was something I had to sleep on so I showered and went to bed. The next morning I knew exactly what I was gonna do with the money. I gave my mother 10,000$ and gave my sister the other half. I've never really been attracted to money, money has just always been attracted to me. After giving it all away I wrote a novel about Michael, and the influence he had in my life. It actually turned out to be a bestseller. I surprised myself, I didn't know I had it in me. But Michael knew. He always knew. From the beginning he encouraged me to write what was in my heart and nothing less. It was obvious that turning my thoughts into spoken and written words was a part of my purpose here on earth. A purpose that without Mike i wouldn't have had a chance to reveal. I appreciate him for that. It wasn't but a year after my novel became a bestseller that I took my last breath. And I was happy to take it. I was happy knowing that I was able to get some of my potential out. I was happy knowing that during my 22 years of living it was God who used me the most. He used me so much that I am now finished and no longer have to race with time. It was never a long life I wanted, but a purposeful one.