On the way home from their second trip together to Havana, Conforti finally asked the question Levinson had been dreading. “I’ve been thinking about trying to bring Rosa home,” he said about twenty minutes after the plane was airborne. “Am I crazy?”
“You’ve been crazy as long as I’ve known you.”
“But about Rosa –”
“What do I know?”
“You’re ducking.”
“Me?” asked Levinson with a guilty smile.
“Think it can work?”
“Getting her out of Cuba?”
“Living together.”
“I can probably give you fifty reasons why not.”
“So you think I should drop it?”
“And have regrets forever?” Levinson exclaimed, despite his many reservations. “Hell no!”
I was meant to have three uncles, just three. I never met one – In person – but I read (with) him, read his books, his notes, and saw his spirit, his drive; I do not know what he looked like, yet he taught me: he taught me to dare.
My other uncle nurtured me from afar; I learnt by osmosis. He once said he’d not have (or take) whatever God had not given him. So in his short, fulfilling, life – no but’s – he taught me that Pastors are not God, that Winners are made and not enslaved, that right is forever right irrespective of what any Pastor says; and, most importantly, he taught me contentment.
My third uncle is the first. He taught me from Pluto, he taught me by radiation. He is a genius, and I learn to be one. I pretend not to listen to him, and he in turn pretends not to notice, but I do, and he does. I inform him whenever I want to start something, not so much for his monetary input, but so that he can discourage me – as he should – and I can go ahead anyway (making adjustments for his concerns) – as I should. He teaches me caution, a by-product of anticipation.
So that whatever and whoever I am today and forever I owe it (in part) to these three people – and I am always indebted to my father, who made me (painfully). Of course, I pick up lessons as I go on: I recently saw what personal ambition can do to a Church – or any organisation for that matter. I recently observed how comparison and strife can ruin peace and progress.
Newton had said if he saw further than his peers, it was because he stood on the shoulders of giants; well, I have seen. I see how my forebears forever change me: I learnt diligence from my father, and camouflage from his mother. In fact, as much as I can remember, the only word Father ever taught me was “diligence” – it just so happened that I hadn’t known that word at the time.
All these people together influence(d) the way I eat my mango: daringly, cautiously and contentedly, diligently and in camera.
Kevin Sampsel grew up writing poetry and fiction in East Tennessee. He currently makes his home in Norfolk, Virginia. His first book of poetry, Vibration and Swaying, was published in 2012.www.kevinsampsel.com Continue reading →
Michael Johnson sits alone on his bed staring at an old photo of himself and a girl at their senior prom. He realizes that the girl he is looking at probably doesn’t even remember he exists, but he can hope.
“You should call her,” his older brother says, walking into the room.
“How long were you standing there?” Michael asks suspiciously.
“Long enough. Whatever happened to that girl?”
“I have no idea. I don’t even know where she is.”
“Maybe you should track her down.”
“It’s been five years; I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want me back in her life. Anyway, seen any good movies lately?” Michael asks, clearly trying to change the subject.
“You should call her,” Matt says persistently.
“I’m not going to call her,” Michael says defiantly.
“She was your high school sweetheart.”
“Was.”
“You need to call her.”
“I don’t even have her number.”
“She could still have the same one.”
“I highly doubt it.”
“Just try it!”
Michael finally picks up his phone and dials in the numbers. After what seems like an eternity, a familiar voice answers.
“Hey! Um…this is Michael Johnson,” he says nervously.
