Do you Pray to God?
A Short Story By Nancy Goldberg Hilton
The weather was stormy and icy particles licked the windshield as the wipers swung back and forth in cadence with the radio blaring rock music. The driver leaned forward, trying to see a few feet ahead, but could not. His friend sang along with the music and bounced in his seat. “Hey man, this music’s great, isn’t it?” he yelled—high on drugs and blind to the danger of their situation.
The driver turned off the radio. The passenger kept singing until he noticed the silence. “Hey, man—why’d you turn it off?” he asked. The driver said, “Look outside. It’s solid ice. I must concentrate on driving—your music and singing don’t help.” The passenger fell quiet and peered through the frozen windows. “Wow,” he whispered. “Look at all the ice.”
Soon the windshield wipers stopped; the ice had frozen solid. The driver pulled to the side and stopped the car. They would have to wait for help. Snow piled up. No other cars passed. He had taken a shortcut and no one knew where they were.
The passenger began to come down from his high and broke into tears. “Why’d you drive this way? I feel awful. We need to do something,” he sobbed. “What do you suggest?” the driver asked. “I don’t know—I feel awful,” the passenger replied, growing sick; the stench in the car was terrible. The driver tried to open his door, but it was frozen shut. He pushed his friend into the back seat. “Try the back door. If we stay here we’ll die,” he said. The doors wouldn’t budge; they were trapped in ice.
The driver had run away from home a year before and had been drifting from place to place. He never called his mother—he’d grown tired of listening to her warnings and left, convinced he had better things to do than live by her rules. Now he learned, too late, that a life without rules and direction can lead you to dangerous shortcuts.
He looked at his friend—shivering, lips blue, icy particles clinging where tears had fallen. He saw himself in the same state. He knew they would die.
As the driver reflected on his life he tried to summon the good things he had done for his parents and others, but could remember only a few moments. He regretted choosing a life without guidance. Now it would end so soon. What could he do? Maybe—he thought—he could pray.
The car was discovered by a police officer the following week. When the officer pried open the door he found two young boys inside. The passenger’s face was frozen with fear. The driver was frozen in prayer.
The policeman shook his head; he had seen this sorrow before and longed for young people to learn to lead wholesome lives before it was too late. How sad, he thought, that such lives could be cut so short.
As the officers lifted the boys from the car, the sun came out and glinted on their tears—icicles melting into drops—while the memory of that desperate prayer lingered in the cold air.
© Nancy Hilton 2011
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