“The only way something can survive is if it’s being fed.”
“Sister Parker” Is a “thought-provoking” fictional short story about a young woman named “Patricia Parker.” She is seeking spiritual answers to her personal problems. She seeks those answers through the church. She recalls the circumstances that led her to this point. She has many of the material things that most people would consider successful but she lacks the inner happiness that money can’t buy.
“The resounding noise coming from inside the building can easily be mistaken for thunder. The beating drum, tambourines, organ preludes mixed with the strong voices of the choir creates a soulful cadence that spills over into the street.
My car sits idle about two hundred feet away from the front of the building. There is a line to get inside the parking lot, which is nearing capacity. I count the cars ahead of me. There are six. I clutch the steering wheel and ease my foot off the accelerator as the parking attendant stands there looking like a ringmaster. He smiles, takes a bow, and waves his bright orange flag signaling the next car in line to move ahead.
My anxiety catapults to what seems like maximum capacity as the sound of the beautiful noise becomes less distant. It had awakened my sleep-deprived body and led me to this place. I need to be inside that building. I need healing.
This morning as I lay in my bed I heard it. There was a soft whisper of an unfamiliar voice, “Patricia get up and go to church.” I jolted upward feeling delusional. I looked around the room but no one was there. Maybe that voice was grandmother since she was the last person I had spoken with the night before. She was my rock; a great listener, non judgmental, and the only person that I shared everything with.
Last night while on the phone with her I broke down and cried. After countless unsuccessful attempts, I had officially broken it off with Thomas and I was lonely. I was twenty-eight years old and for the first time in my adult life, I had no one to call my own. The fact that it was middle of November and what most considered the official kick-off of the holiday season made it even worse.
Grandmother’s silence spoke volumes. I knew what she was thinking although she would never say it. “You reap what you sow.” So sulking over Thomas was my punishment for hurting Steve. She adored Steve.
When it came to relationships I always struck out. Over the past five years I’ve had one broken engagement, two dead-end relationships and now there are no current possibilities in sight. I always seemed to be attracted to the wrong men.
Charles was physically abusive, Anthony was verbally abusive, and Clinton was an alcoholic.
After being in all of those dysfunctional relationships, I finally met what Grandmother called “the perfect man” my first week working at the bank. His name was Steve.
He was the type of guy that every woman claims to want; young, ambitious, tall, dark, handsome and available. Once he saw me, he made his move. He introduced himself and handed me his business card. He worked for a computer software company. I was impressed. I smiled as I gave him my business card and from that day forward we became friends.
Steve was the model of chivalry. He opened doors, pulled out chairs, bought flowers, cooked dinner and would even massage my feet. Whatever I thought I wanted, he would make sure that I had it, If only that were enough.”
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